Silly Poor Gospel: Life and Times of Margaret Fell

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Silly Poor Gospel: Life and Times of Margaret Fell

The following play was written for the QREC Conference in Richmond IN, June 2016. It was based on several web sources.

In order of appearance:

SUSAN FELL

MARGARET FELL/OLD

GEORGE FELL

MARGARET FELL/YOUNG

ROBERT NAYLOR

PRIEST

CONGREGANTS

SOLDIER 1

SOLDIERS

NEIGHBOR

THOMAS FELL

GEORGE FOX

QUAKER WOMAN

SUSAN FELL: Margaret Askew was born in 1614, in Marsh Grange, Lancashire; she became Margaret Fell when she married Thomas Fell in 1632. She was known as the mother of Quakerism, or the nursing mother of Quakerism, but I knew her as my mother-in-law, since I married her son, George Fell. George was not a Quaker; neither was I.

(she exits right. A table is set in the middle of the stage and Margaret/O is seen walking around the kitchen. SUSAN re-enters from the right and now MARGARET/O greets her. A sign on the wall reads “1694”)

MARGARET/O Oh, Susan, come in! How are you, dear? (Hugs her)

SUSAN: Why I’m fine, how are you, Mrs. Fell?
MARGARET/O: Margaret, please. Call me Margaret.

SUSAN: Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. How are you, Margaret? I hope you’re having a good birthday!
MARGARET/O: I’m fine, and I’m grateful to be alive and free, in any case! I understand you will have a baby?

SUSAN: Yes, the baby is due in about four months.

MARGARET/O: Oh, congratulations! That’s about the best birthday gift you could give me!

SUSAN: It makes me want to know about his ancestors.

MARGARET/O: Or hers, as the case may be? Do you think it’s a boy, or a girl?

SUSAN: Well, he kicks a lot already.

MARGARET/O: So it’s a girl! And does she speak?

SUSAN: Not yet. Though sometimes, when things are very quiet….

MARGARET/O: Quite seriously, now, Susan, I don’t think you can expect this baby to speak. I don’t think this baby is even ready to listen, so how can it speak? And it is just as likely to speak if it’s a boy, as if it’s a girl. Boys and girls are quite equal in that regard.

SUSAN: I know that that’s what you wrote about.

MARGARET/O: Oh, yes. The Quakers in my time were trying to decide whether women could speak at meeting, and I said, of course they can, we are all God’s children, and we all receive messages from the Almighty God. And if we were not to speak them, what should we do, just hang onto them? Try to say them later, so that only our husbands can hear them? I think not! (she waves her hand grandly) Would you like some tea?

SUSAN: Sure, I would like tea. Can you tell me that story? I’d especially like to know about Thomas Fell, my father-in-law. You rarely talk about him.

(MARGARET brings out a tea kettle and pours water into two different tea cups, on the table. They both sit at the table).

MARGARET/O: Why yes, surely. I married Thomas Fell in 1632. He was a Justice of the Peace in Lancashire, and would often be away from Swarthmoor, where we lived. He did not approve of Oliver Cromwell, so we were not especially in with the political establishment, for many years.

SUSAN: Was he a good father?
MARGARET/O: Oh yes, and we had nine children, so we needed him.

SUSAN: Did you attend any kind of church before you became a Quaker?
MARGARET/O: Oh, yes, we went to the local church in Ulverston. In fact, when I met George Fox, we were regular attenders there, and I took George Fox to the place. That was a problem! (They leave; table is removed as well. 1694 sign is removed, and replaced with 1652 sign.) The set looks like woods, though there is a sign that says Ulverston, and an arrow to stage left).

 

ACT TWO – CONVERSION OF MARGARET

(MARGARET/Y arrives from left. GEORGE FOX and ROBERT NAYLOR arrive from right.)

GEORGE FOX: Excuse me, is this the way to Swarthmoor, near Ulverston?

MARGARET/Y: Yes it is, in fact, I am the lady of the house, at Swarthmoor.

GEORGE FOX: Well, I understand that at Swarthmoor, they will board a traveler such as myself, who goes about the countryside preaching the Gospel.

MARGARET/Y: Indeed, we board countryside preachers such as yourself. May I ask you, do you partake in alcohol, or tobacco, as some of the other traveling preachers do?

GEORGE FOX: In fact I do not, for I seek simplicity in my ways, and I seek communion with all that is holy, and I do not find solace in those things. (he shifts on his feet, and, sensing the opportunity to preach, addresses her and audience at the same time). At one time I sought out the priests, that they would speak to my condition. But, after a while, I came to understand that it was only my understanding of the Lord, that would speak to my condition. And thus I travel the countryside, showing others the way.

MARGARET/Y: I believe I should take you to my church.

ACT THREE: (Parish church, Ulverston – can be decorated as a typical English church might – a single picture of Jesus or a cross would be appropriate…there is a lectern on the left, and the PRIEST stands at it, facing right. A number of CONGREGANTS (children) squirm in the seats.

PRIEST: My good people, it is known that the King demands complete loyalty, and as we know from scripture, Christ sayeth, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.” And as Matthew says, “Jesus said to us, “Follow me, and leave the dead to bury their own dead.” And it appears, that, as I am the priest of the Church of England, and a representative of the King himself, that, it is my general responsibility…

MARGARET: Excuse me, pastor?

PRIEST: Yes, Mrs. Fell?

MARGARET: I have a visitor who might have some questions.

PRIEST: Yes, please let me finish. It is my responsibility that the good people of Ulverston attend services, and I am happy to see some of you here, among you Mrs. Fell…and if there are no further questions…

GEORGE FOX: Excuse me, kind sir, but I am quite stricken by your speech, and you speak as though your words come from Christ himself.  Christ may in fact speak through you, or through the King, or the Deacon. But you will say Christ saith this, and the apostles say this; but what canst thou say? Art thou a child of Light, and hast thou walked in the Light, and what thou speakest is it inwardly from God?"

(there is great unease in the congregation, and CONGREGANTS are talking to each other, and pretty soon they raise their voices.)

PRIEST: What can I say? I say, it is time we get on with our business. I bid you good day, Mr. Fox! (everyone scatters to either left or right)

(back in the woods. NEIGHBOR appears in center stage. JAMES NAYLOR enters from left)

NEIGHBOR: Hey you! Aren’t you the one who came through here before with that Fox fellow? That guy with the shaggy locks? And the leather britches?

JAMES NAYLOR: That was us. Why?

NEIGHBOR: Is he the one that’s gathering crowds? At the church for example?

JAMES NAYLOR: Yes, that’s true. He’s gathered a following everywhere he spoke. It is clear that the priests of the Church of England are not always speaking to the hearts of the people, and George Fox speaks to their hearts.

NEIGHBOR: But the priests are approved and ordained by the King.

JAMES NAYLOR: So, they defend an unpopular King. A King who blusters, and brags, whose court is drunk, and who always has another lady at night.

NEIGHBOR: You follow Fox and others like him, you will become political enemies of the King, and so, the King will send his soldiers to harass you. George Fox is not popular with the King. If Margaret Fell starts following him, she will become unpopular as well.

NAYLOR: She will be following her conscience.

NEIGHBOR: She’s always wearing red, did you notice that?

JAMES NAYLOR: If you speak from the heart, it shouldn’t matter what you wear, or rather, you shouldn’t need finery, like buttons, and lace, and such. That’s why we Quakers prefer plain dress.

NEIGHBOR: Does red count as plain dress?

JAMES NAYLOR: I’d say, she speaks from the heart. Good day my friend!

(he exits)

(THOMAS FELL enters from left)

THOMAS FELL: Hello Neighbor!

NEIGHBOR: Thomas Fell! You have returned from the Welsh circuit?

THOMAS FELL: Indeed I have just returned.

NEIGHBOR: And have you heard what has happened?

THOMAS FELL: No, what?

NEIGHBOR: The lady, Margaret, who wears red shoes…

THOMAS FELL: Yes?

NEIGHBOR: She has fallen under the influence of George Fox. Are you aware of who George Fox is?
THOMAS FELL: Correct me if I’m wrong. George Fox is a traveling preacher, and a leader of the Quakers. Are you telling me that she has come to believe in him?
NEIGHBOR: Yes, yes, that’s right. She has indeed. But that is not what bothers me. The lady, she can believe as she likes. But, here is the problem. The government does not like this George Fox fellow. He is not a popular fellow. He is a persuasive speaker, yes. She took him to speak at the church, and he was quite persuasive. But they were ready to have him removed! I warn you, my friend, this could be trouble!

THOMAS FELL: Ah, yes, my friend, I thank thee for the warning.

(NEIGHBOR leaves, THOMAS FELL hesitates.  MARGARET/Y enters from left)

Ah, my fair wife! How are thee?
MARGARET/Y: I am walking in the glory of God Almighty!

THOMAS FELL: And what is this all about?

MARGARET/Y: I have met George Fox, and he has revealed to me the Divine truth of the Almighty God! Oh Thomas, you must believe me! He spoke at our church. He asked us if we walked in the Light, and if we had received the Spirit. You know, the Pastor, he is a little bit false, in the way he presents the scripture. And this opened me so, that it cut me to the heart, and then I saw clearly we were all wrong. So I sat down in my pew again and cried bitterly: and I cried in my spirit to the Lord, 'We are all thieves; we have taken the Scripture in words, and know nothing of them in ourselves.'

THOMAS FELL: I see that you are sincere in your heart, and I will support you.

(they exit)(table is returned to center of stage; SUSAN and MARGARET/O return to sit at the table. 1694 sign replaces the other one.

SUSAN: So, he was not jealous of George Fox?

MARGARET/O: No, he was never converted to Quakerism, but we remained happily married, as long as he lived. He understood that I had come to support the Quakers, and he allowed me to use the house to support them.

SUSAN: At great cost to both of you!

MARGARET/O: Oh yes. At first I bailed the Quakers out of jail, and that attracted the King’s attention. But then, they demanded that I take the oath, and I couldn’t do that.

SUSAN: That’s why you went to jail?

MARGARET/O: Oh, yes. That’s why I went to jail. That’s why I was kept in jail. That’s why I lost our Swarthmoor. All because of that oath!

SUSAN: Margaret, I was just a child when that happened. Can you explain to me? Why NOT simply say an oath, of allegiance to the Crown?

MARGARET: To a dishonest King? To say you will be loyal forever to a King who says and does as he pleases, according to his whim? I’m sorry, but I couldn’t do it.

(back to the woods. NEIGHBOR comes out and confronts GEORGE FELL as he is walking by).

NEIGHBOR: Well, George, young lad, it’s good to see you. My guess is, you’re going to town?

GEORGE: Indeed. To get supplies for my mother.

NEIGHBOR: And how is your mother?
GEORGE: She is well, thank you.

NEIGHBOR: I am so sorry to hear of your father’s death!

GEORGE: Oh thank you, but I believe we will be alright.

NEIGHBOR: Have you heard of the oath?

GEORGE: Oh yes, I have heard about that.

NEIGHBOR: I know that the King is pompous. He’s a tyrant. He’s shallow and ignorant, and knows not what his ministers are doing!

GEORGE: Yes, I would agree.

NEIGHBOR: But the King has all the soldiers! If she doesn’t say the oath, he can put her in jail!

(they leave)(Now, we are in Swarthmoor, with the table in the center of the room again. MARGARET/Y is alone, but hears a knock off stage. She goes to the corner of the stage and lets the SOLDIERS in.

SOLDIER 1: Under orders of the King, we must know if you declare allegiance to the King.

MARGARET/Y: I shall not.

SOLDIER 1: You are not loyal to the King?

MARGARET/Y: This I shall say, as for my allegiance, I love, own, and honor the King and desire his peace and welfare; and that we may live a peaceable, a quiet and a godly life under his government, according to the Scriptures; and this is my allegiance to the King. And as for the oath itself, Christ Jesus, the King of Kings, hath commanded me not to swear at all, neither by heaven, nor by earth, nor by any other Oath.

SOLDIER 1: You are under arrest. Come with us! (All leave).

(Back in the woods. Sign says: ).(GEORGE FOX is walking by, carrying a red sweater). NEIGHBOR approaches him).

NEIGHBOR: Hello! I see you are going up to Swarthmoor.

GEORGE FOX: Indeed I am.

NEIGHBOR: And you are carrying a fine red sweater?

GEORGE FOX: The lady, Margaret Fell, is quite fond of red. Have you noticed?

NEIGHBOR: Yes, in fact, I knew that.

GEORGE FOX: And, I thought she would like this as a gift.

NEIGHBOR: I should warn you.

GEORGE FOX: Yes?

NEIGHBOR: Have you heard of the Conventicle Act? That, if five or more people worship together, and are not following the ways of the Church of England…

GEORGE FOX: Look, my young fellow. I am not afraid of the King. He can tell us not to worship together. He can throw us in jail. We have all been in jail, for not saying that oath, and we may go to jail again. We will do as we believe is right. Good day!

(GEORGE FOX leaves, GEORGE FELL enters from the opposite side).

NEIGHBOR: Young George! How are thee?

GEORGE FELL: I am well, thank you!

NEIGHBOR: I see that George Fox is on his way to visit your mother!

GEORGE FELL: Yes, and this would not be the first time.

NEIGHBOR: I should warn you about the Conventicle Act! You see, if you have five people, who worship outside of the confines of the Divine Church of England, that is against the law. Now correct me if I’m wrong. You have your mother, and this George Fox fellow, and then there’s your sister, and you….

GEORGE FELL: I, sir, am not a Quaker.

NEIGHBOR: Ha ha ha ha! Do you think the King’s soldiers will believe that, when they throw you in jail? Just wait, and see if I’m right! You can count your way, and they will count their way! Listen, my boy, those soldiers will throw your mother in jail again, mark my words!

GEORGE FELL: Do you think I can have any influence over my mother’s actions? I think not! She’ll do as she wants!  (they leave)

Back to the kitchen. Sign says 1694 again. At the table, MARGARET/O and SUSAN are still talking.

SUSAN: So you married George Fox in 1669?
MARGARET/O: That’s right. We had a happy marriage, though we were both busy, and he was gone a lot. He just died, as you know, three years ago.

SUSAN: And you were in prison part of that time?
MARGARET/O: Ten years altogether, and mostly for stupid things, like the oath. It wasn’t easy.

SUSAN: But that’s when you did most of your writing, like Women’s Speaking Justified?

MARGARET/O: Oh yes, that’s when I did almost all my writing.

SUSAN: Now it seems to me you’ve played a pretty strong role in the beginning of Quakerism…

(GEORGE FELL enters from left)

GEORGE FELL: Mother! Susan! Time for Quaker Meeting!

SUSAN: We are ready! (They get up and all exit to left).

At Quaker Meeting

(sign still says 1694)(There are benches. No pictures, crosses, etc. Kids squirm. QUAKER WOMAN tries to control them. MARGARET, SUSAN and THOMAS FELL enter from left).

QUAKER WOMAN: Good morning, Margaret! Good morning, Thomas and Susan!

MARGARET/O, THOMAS, SUSAN: Good morning!

QUAKER WOMAN: We Quakers have been discussing the importance of showing the world that we are a group and that we follow our own conscience, and don’t adjust our clothing to the newest styles.

MARGARET/O: I agree with that.

QUAKER WOMAN: But we have come to agree that plain colors are best.

MARGARET/O: Yes?

QUAKER WOMAN: So we are thinking that wearing red is to be discouraged.

MARGARET/O: That’s silly poor gospel! I’ll not abide it!

(they leave)(SUSAN returns)

SUSAN: Margaret Fell lived in a tumultuous time, and wrote prolifically about her beliefs. She went on to write about that experience, and many more, in the few years before she died, in 1702. She had lived a rich, full life, had had nine children, and along with George Fox, founded Quakerism as we know it today. (exits)

MARGARET/O: (enters and speaks to audience)

Away with these whimsical, narrow imaginations, and let the spirit of God which he hath given us, lead us and guide us; and let us stand fast in that liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free. . .This narrowness and strictness is entering in, that many cannot tell what to do, or not to do. Poor Friends is mangled in their minds, that they know not what to do; for one Friend says one way, and another, another. But Christ Jesus saith, that we must take no thought what we shall eat, or what we shall drink, or what we shall put on; but bids us consider the lilies how they grow in more royalty than Solomon. But contrary to this, they say we must look at no colours, nor make anything that is changeable colours as the hills are, nor sell them nor wear them. But we must be all in one dress, and one colour. This is a silly poor Gospel. It is more fit for us to be covered with God's eternal spirit, and clothed with his eternal Light, which leads us and guides us into righteousness and to live righteously and justly and holily in this present evil world.

CURTAIN CALL/THE END

e pluribus haiku 2015

So, I've been compiling and formatting my plays, a rather tedious job, but one that allows me to reread them, in preparation for making final changes to them and publishing them. my goal was to offer them to Quakers in Philly to help them raise money for QVS or some similar Quaker foundation, but I'm beginning to realize that this would be difficult for several reasons. First, they are inconsistent; some are not even Quaker plays, yet they are pretty good, and since I don't write many plays, I want them included. Second, there's the question of historical accuracy. I've been kind of lenient with myself in that regard; I made them for the children, and it didn't matter how literally accurate they were. But if I were to give them to a national organization, it might matter. They might not savor the opportunity, for example, to misrepresent William Penn.

Not that I ever did it on purpose. I did my best research, put what I learned right into them, and even then sometimes it came out a little sideways. In other cases, as in Turning Point, research later uncovered a Quaker connection that wasn't there when I first wrote the play. With that one, I considered compiling a book about everything I learned about the bombing of Sterling Hall at UW Madison in 1970. But the very last book, of the three or so that I read, was the one I would have written; it was complete, dry, and inclusive, and I couldn't have done any better. I've always kind of wanted to write historical non-fiction, or even historical fiction. But I have this habit of clouding the real and unreal; it's not healthy. One wants to document every tangent from the truth.

If I sell it myself (promising to send profits to QVS), or give it away, it can be what it is, a collection of historical stories with interesting quotes pulled right out of history, that kids are then allowed to say, explore and remember. I'd like to know how much my kids actually remembered from performing these plays; they acted in about ten out of the twelve I have. In other words, I'd like to prove that drama is a good way of educating the young. But I can't. I know one kid who really didn't like performing in them; yet he always did, and it might have turned him against Quakerism, for all I know. My own kids are still at least nominally associated with Quakers, though the question, as I've said, is what effect the plays themselves had.

Then there's another question. There are two more plays that I could either write, or find. One, I did a lot of research on, and started, and this was maybe six or seven years ago. It was morphing into perhaps my biggest one. It was called Down in Our Hearts and was based on a book about CO's in WWII called Down in My Heart by William Stafford. But I lost it! I'm wondering how much I can recover, if any, and what it would take to salvage another play out of the situation.

The other is a modern version of White Feather, about a father who remembers the White Feather story and then realizes his son is reliving it, or that he himself is reliving it through his son. This would be a little easier to recover (though I don't believe I actually ever started it) - and could be added to this collection in the next month.

Here are some other ideas that have come to me over the years:
-Rufus Jones, famous Quaker during WWII
-Cadbury and the Quaker chocolate dynasty
-Scattergood and the housing of refugees in WWII
-the Quaker who became bad, spent money, went around the world, etc. (forgot his name)
-Quakers in Civil War


I'm leaning toward that option of self-publishing, but I'm obviously contemplating more writing. It's been fun writing these, even though my days may be numbered, and I certainly can't put them on as easily as I used to be able to.

My plays are interesting, but, I'm sorry to say, they have not been as available as I would like. They are supposed to be all linked, generally, from the template of this blog. Some of the most recent appear at this weblog (and some of those are not truly Quaker) - but, some of the better ones seem to have have fallen by the wayside.

I have been trying to compile them into a single volume that I'd like to make available this summer. This would be useful to all first-day educators, but also useful to anyone who might want to produce Quaker dramas. I would give it away, or give profits to a Quaker organization such as QVS.

Some of the better ones had gone missing, but I seem to have found them. White Feather (the earliest, most basic one) was on the ILYM website, but the rest were here at the Southern Illinois Quaker site, and now it's linked properly (more or less), and I'm working on compiling them.

It's a worthy project, and I'll keep up with it. Fortunately, I have the hard copies. If I have to retype them myself, I will!

Mo Ri Xon

(in order of appearance)

NARRATOR

ROBERT (MCNAMARA)
ANNE (MORRISON WELSH)
EMILY

TINA

DUC

HOANG

(Scene opens with ROBERT at a table in a cafe. NARRATOR enters.)

NARRATOR: On November 2, 1965, Norman Morrison, a Quaker from Baltimore, set himself on fire and killed himself outside Robert McNamara's window in the Pentagon, in Washington, D.C. This is a cafe near the Pentagon; now, it is 1999, thirty-four years later. (NARRATOR exits to right. ANNE enters from left. ROBERT stands when he sees her.)

ROBERT:                  Ms. Morrison Welsh, I'm glad to meet you! Robert McNamara. (They shake hands). Please sit down.

ANNE:                      It's my pleasure. Please call me Anne.

ROBERT:                  Anne, as you know, I asked to meet you because of my book. I felt that, if I mentioned your former husband in my book, and in fact I've got a couple of pages, it would be only fair to check with you and get your approval of what I wrote.

ANNE:                       It's not a problem. I approve of what you wrote. In fact, I read the whole book.

ROBERT:                  You did?

ANNE:                       And I commend you for it. It's not every day that a high government official, a Secretary of Defense no less, admits to doubts about American foreign policy, let alone admitting that it might have been a mistaken policy.

ROBERT:                   Anne, I am aware that you and your husband were strongly against the war from the beginning. And that you protested, after his suicide, for years and years.

ANNE:                        I prefer to call it a sacrifice. He sacrificed his life to protest that war.

ROBERT:                   And believe me, what I want you to know is, if he did it to be noticed, he was noticed.

ANNE:                       Well, he did it right outside your window.

ROBERT:                  Yes, he did. Two of our men injured themselves trying to save him, in vain.

ANNE:                       I am sorry that they were injured, and I am sorry that it was in vain.

ROBERT:                  Don't worry about that; you've had enough on your mind.

ANNE:                      I would still like to know about the baby. She was almost one at the time. Apparently he handed her to someone at the very end. She was physically unharmed and even in good spirits, though confused. I would like to get a clearer picture of that.

ROBERT:                  Unfortunately, that's all we know. It happened quickly. The witnesses agree to that account. We really don't know any more. 

ANNE:                      I will have to live with that explanation, then.

ROBERT:                  He left you to raise three children alone?

ANNE:                      Yes, my oldest son, Ben, died of cancer in 1979.

ROBERT:                  Oh, I'm so sorry.

ANNE:        (hiding her eyes in her napkin for a moment, wiping away tears) There's nothing we could do. He was fourteen. We are trying to move on. We are leaving for Vietnam in two weeks.

ROBERT:                  You and your daughters?

ANNE:                      And their husbands. I have been invited to Vietnam many times in the last thirty-four years. I am finally ready to accept their offer.

ROBERT:                  I don't think they'll extend the same offer to me. (standing) I wish you well, Anne. Please come to the release of my book, when it comes out. I will look forward to your presence. And have good safe trip!

ANNE:                      (standing) Thank you. It was good to meet you!

(three seats are in a row such that the audience can see all three passengers. This is a flight from Hong Kong to Hanoi on Vietnam Airlines. ANNE, TINA, and EMILY come and sit in the seats with ANNE on the LEFT (aisle seat) and TINA in the middle. They enter, and settle in as you would on any flight (seatbelt, magazine, etc.)

NARRATOR:            This is flight 265, from Hong Kong to Hanoi.

EMILY:                      Mom, I know that Dad is very famous in Vietnam.

ANNE:                       He may be more famous than we realize. They named a street after him. They call him Mo Ri Xon (mo ri zhon). I have also heard him referred to as Uncle Morrison.

TINA:                        There were many famous poems, like Emily, My Child, written about him or for him.

EMILY:                      Mom, now that I'm pregnant, I want to know more about Dad. He was so famous for what he did. But I didn't get to know him.

ANNE:                        Our lives changed forever on that day. And you know what? Because of the public scrutiny, I don't think we ever really talked about it enough, or even grieved enough.

TINA:                         You always told us to be strong. That he would have wanted it that way.

ANNE:                        Yes, and I regret that now. Twenty years later, now I wish we had talked about it more. Grieved more.

EMILY:                       But what was he like?

ANNE:                        After much thought, this is what I'd like to say. He was not a saint. He also was not insane. He knew what he was doing and I think he did it on purpose. He believed in the Quaker principle of "holy obedience," or, listening carefully for direction, for God's guidance and inspiration. He was smart, confident, compassionate, and good with his hands...but he was desperate. Every day we read or heard about the war and it seemed like we had done everything we could do. He felt so strongly the suffering caused by the war. The suffering of the children, and the Vietnamese people, and the American soldiers dying. One day he said to me, what more could we do? That was right before it happened. And I didn't have an answer.  All I said was, we shouldn't despair. Now, I wish I'd had a better answer.

TINA:                          But what he did, that didn't stop the war.

ANNE:                        Yes, you always reminded me of that. But it did make a difference, I think.

(DUC arrives, faces audience but looks at Anne)

DUC:                           Would you like coffee or tea? (looks at them carefully with quizzical look on his face) Aren't you Ms. Morrison? I think I recognize you from pictures in our country's news.

ANNE:                         Yes, I am.

DUC:                           Then, these are your daughters? (to EMILY) Are you Emily, by any chance?

EMILY:                         Yes I am.

DUC:                            Oh, it is such an honor to meet you! (He shakes hands with all three with great ceremony) Emily, I want you to know that I know the entire poem, Emily, My Child, by the great poet To Huu. I received an honor, in my school, for memorizing it well.

EMILY:                         Are you serious?

DUC:      (reciting, hands outstretched) Emily, come with me, So when grown up you will know the way, and not be lost.

EMILY:                         You know the whole poem?

DUC:       (reciting again, in dramatic fashion) McNamara! Where are you hiding? In the graveyard Of your five-cornered house, Each corner a continent. You hide yourself From the flaming world...Oh, I'm sorry, I couldn't help it.

EMILY:                          That's ok.

DUC:                              I am so pleased to meet you. I will remember this moment forever. (he bows, and backs off, offstage, exiting by backing up the aisle).

(ROBERT enters alone and speaks to the audience).

ROBERT:                   He did it right outside my window, she says. Yes indeed. He covered himself with gasoline, and he caught himself on fire! He handed his baby girl to someone, and set himself on fire. For years and years, I've been haunted by that, by that image. You know, there were other protestors. There were people who threw rocks, or blew up buildings. Whole crowds of them! But this was different.  (pauses) You see, before that, we had resolve. We believed we were right. We believed it was the best thing for the US and for Vietnam. We believed that the protestors were just trying to get out of fighting, or just being young and rebellious. But after that, our doubts set in a little more. His act put the light on the suffering. After that, with all the suffering, we lost our resolve.

(A single bed is in the center of the room. ANNE sits on it, sobbing into a blanket. TINA is at her side, comforting her. EMILY enters.)

EMILY:                       What's going on here?

TINA:                          She's been wailing and sobbing uncontrollably for over an hour. Good thing we're in a five-star hotel, and sound doesn't carry through these walls!

EMILY:      (to ANNE) I don't think I've ever seen you cry like that!

ANNE:                          I don't think I've ever cried so hard. You know, all those years I held strong. I faced the press. I talked about Norman and the sacrifice.

TINA:                            And there was Ben, too.

ANNE:                           Oh, yes. Years by his bedside, hoping he would beat that cancer. But you can't beat that kind of cancer. You know, Ben was very close to his father.

TINA:                            Yes, I knew that.

ANNE:                           And, you know what bothered him the most?
TINA:                            Yes, it was that his father never said goodbye.

ANNE:                           I tried to be strong. It took me this long to admit it. I was actually a little angry that I had to face it all alone. It is very difficult when your child dies before you do. If Norman were here, he could have helped me with that.

TINA:                            I guess it was also good that you got out of the US, and away from the media attention.

EMILY:                         There's a lot of media attention here too! In some ways it's even greater!

TINA:                            Yes, he's a god here! And everyone knows that poem!

EMILY:                          Yeah, remember that woman who carried ammunition up the hill? So that her comrades could shoot at American planes? And what did she say? That "Uncle Morrison" gave her the resolve and the courage to keep going, and to fight for her country?

ANNE:                           That makes me a little uneasy, to be quite honest. I don't think Norman intended for anyone to fight harder. His act was intended to promote peace, and end the war.

(HOANG enters)

HOANG:                       Are you feeling ok, Ms. Welch?

ANNE:                           I will be all right, Hoang. Thank you for asking.

HOANG:                       You have taught me how it is a Quaker tradition to hold others in the Light. Now we will hold you in the light, as you are fond of saying.

ANNE:                           You have learned our ways very well, Hoang.

HOANG:                       Are you all ready? We have met the poet To Huu, and today we go to meet the diplomat, in about ten minutes.

TINA:                             It appears that our father was the inspiration for your people.

HOANG:                        That is very true.

TINA:                             But, he inspired them to fight harder, to keep fighting, rather than to make peace.

HOANG:                        There are three things you don't understand, and maybe I should tell you. The first is that we, the Vietnamese people fought many great powers over time. We resisted the Chinese, the French, the Americans. We never gave up, ever. To say that Mr. Morrison gave us courage to persevere is partly true. But we would persevere anyway.

Second, before his sacrifice, we did not really know the Americans. We saw bombers, and soldiers, and napalm. We saw a continuous assault of soldiers who did not know us. To us, it seemed like Americans were all like those soldiers, uncaring. I mean, they knew what they were doing, and maybe they felt badly about it, but they didn't know us. But from Mr. Morrison, we learned, really and truly, for the first time, that not all Americans were like that. We knew that some, or at least one, deeply cared about our people. That is why he has become a legend in our country. That is why everyone knows him.

Finally, Mr. Morrison really spoke to us in our language. We are Buddhists. Our Buddhist monks did what Mr. Morrison did, to show resolve, and courage, and determination that reigned over suffering. When he did that, we knew how much he cared about our situation.

EMILY:                           It is a little overwhelming, I must say.

HOANG:                         I cannot blame you for saying that. We have gone to see the poet To Huu, and now it is time for our visit with the diplomat. Are you ready?

EMILY:                           I am still feeling sick. I have had the flu for several days now.

HOANG:                        Then, you may stay back in the hotel. We will hold you in the light! (HOANG, TINA and ANNE exit to left).

(Back in the cafe. ROBERT is sitting at the table with a pile of books. NARRATOR enters from right.)

NARRATOR:                  We are back in the cafe. The book, In Retrospect, has been published. Many people are mad at McNamara. The book-signing has been contentious. (exits right)

(ANNE and TINA walk in. ROBERT stands and offers his hand; they all shake).

ROBERT:                        Ms. Welsh, good to see you again! And are you Tina?

TINA:                              Yes, good to meet you. Do you two know each other already?

ANNE:                             You could say that. We have met.

TINA:                               But you, (to ROBERT) you were the engineer of the war. The Secretary of the Defense, the one who planned it, carried it out, justified it. And you (to ANNE), you protested, fought it, every step!

ANNE:                              Yes, but that is ancient history. You could say that we are both victims of the war.

ROBERT:      (signing book) To Anne, My thoughts and prayers are with you - sincere condolences, Robert. (Gives her book, she takes it.)

ANNE:                              Thank you. You could say that we have something in common.

(EMILY enters alone).

EMILY:                             OK, so it happened when I was almost one. He carried me; he gave me to someone. I don't remember it. Supposedly I was fine, when they handed me back to my Mom. I didn't cry, and I didn't understand, and I was glad to see her again.

I don't mind that he used me that way, maybe to represent the innocence of children who were dying. I became the hope for the future, to millions of people. I have gotten used to that, and I've come to understand it better.

But now, I have a one-year-old. And sometimes I look at him, and I think: how innocent, how wide-eyed, one who feels everything, though he doesn't say much, he can't talk about it.  (pauses) I look at my own baby, and I think, HOW COULD HE?

ANNE:                              My frozen grief took years to thaw, maybe thirty-four years. Sometimes, when I am talking about Norman, someone will say to me, is this action ever justified? When I consider the suffering our family has endured, I would say no. But in the larger scheme of things, I cannot say no. It may be that his death spoke more clearly to the Vietnamese people than to anyone else. But who better to receive it?

We learned one thing from the Vietnamese. In their houses, they make small altars, with pictures of their ancestors and those who have gone before. When we came home, we did the same. Nowadays, I look at my young grandson, and I take him to that altar. I hold him, and I feel Norman's presence, his pride. In that way, he is not really gone.

TINA:                              I was five when my father died. I have a few precious memories of him, like holding his hand as we walked to school, and laughing as he spun me around to Scottish reels. When I first learned that he took my sister down to the Pentagon, I found it unacceptable. Now I find it a mystery and a miracle. But I believe my father's death was harder on Ben than anyone. Being a boy and knowing my dad longer, he felt the loss more keenly. When he became ill, maybe he was calling for help. Standing helplessly by while he died in a cancer ward was the saddest experience of my life.

My father loved me very much, and the farewell note I didn't receive from him is mine to write. As a little girl who wanted to feel special to her daddy, my heart was broken. But I'm proud of who he was and the way he lived.

(THE END/CURTAIN CALL)

(Most of this play was taken from the following:)

Welsh, Anne Morrison. (2008). Held in the Light. With Joyce Hollyday. Maryknoll, NY. Orbis Books.

-Thomas Leverett

Aug. 30, 2013

Just when I've been busiest with work and other stuff, I ran across an amazing Quaker story, one that would be good to make either a story or a play, or both, out of, one that has totally inspired me to write again, Quakerly things.

This would be the story of Norman Morrison, a Quaker who set himself on fire in 1965 to protest the Vietnam War. The bizarre thing about what he did was that he took his one-year-old daughter down to Washington DC with him, handed her to a passerby, and did it right in front of Robert McNamara's Pentagon office window. His wife was left with the care of his three young children.

Many years later his wife wrote that she was so busy in the following years that she couldn't really get angry. But, when their son died of cancer at the age of 18, she finally expressed some anger with him, that he'd left her alone to raise the children and essentially grieve alone. It was a complex situation for those who were left behind, somewhat selfish of him on a personal level. But the effect he had on the anti-war movement was more questionable. It was the strongest statement of anyone, ever (possibly), against the war, and it could have had a pivotal impact for that reason alone. Such things are hard to measure, I'm sure.

One reason it would make an excellent play is that high school students are always struggling with this issue, and it brings it out into the open. Plays are written for Friends' education (at least in my case), and this one is tailor-made for it. I have not finished a play in years, but I have entertained ideas of collating the ones I have into a single book, and adding a few more.

But another idea has crossed my mind, and that is simply compiling compelling Quaker stories into a storybook that would in itself span many years and generations, and be as true to the facts as possible. This actually would be my weakness; as I've written the plays, I haven't had to worry about the truth or factual nature of what they were about; I took liberties.

Most of my plays, by the way, are linked off of this very site, or appear here as one or several of this site's maybe 44 posts. Most of them need work before being published in book form. Some of them would probably not make very good stories; some could be either plays or stories. I'd have plenty of material, no matter what I do. And I have a friend who keeps throwing leads in my lap. Plenty of leads, plenty of material. I'm also considering Quaker calendars. I'm a wilderness Quaker now, out on the high plains, separated from my people, for the most part. I have to find ways to connect.

Speaking of ways to connect, I've taken to trolling Quaker Facebook sites, among them Association of Bad Friends and several others. Last night I posted to ABF and got, so far, 85 responses. It was a whimsical post, but carried an image that I've maintained for 20 years or so. I'd never got 85 responses for anything. It was an interesting experience, and solidified my general identity as a member of the wider Quaker community...

Grace like a Balm, review, Sojourners

report from lubbock, may 2013

my heart has been stirred up by a series of interesting events. upon moving to lubbock, i found the quakers, who met at 2 on sundays in a presbyterian church on the west side. they had nothing for kids, and 2 was a lousy time for us. another presbyterian church had some quakers attending it, met in the morning, and had extensive programming for kids, so i wen there.

so i found that the actual services stirred me in a lot of ways, but not towards becoming presbyterian. my mom was presbyterian, and at the age of thirteen or so, when i was religiously curious, they sent me down to the local presbyterian church, only a couple of blocks away, and i went there several times, on my own, to experience it. now, i find the songs familiar, the lord's prayer, the familiarity of routine and the gratifying in-tune sounds of entire chorus, plus organ, belting out the hymns. i would gladly trade it all for one quaker sing, where a rustic fiddle is accompanied by voices of friends i've known for years. the sermons teach me a little of scriptural history, i was always weak in that regard, and the book club leads us through a book about the malaise of modern christianity, which, duh, i was well aware of, but which is interesting anyway. my son is overjoyed with a crowd of friends that accepts him and includes him in their activities. this friday, for example, they're having a purple party. now that sounds cool. my quaker leanings, however, are left stranded. i come home and read quakerly things. i consider beginning to write quakerly things. i don't quite know what to do with my quaker practice.

online, on facebook,there are two groups. one is called the association of bad friends; it's decidedly not serious. the other is quakers with attitude. It's a little more serious, and together they give me a connection to international quakers that along with staying in touch with my old meeting, has made me feel connected at least. it actually wouldn't hurt me to keep writing my quaker plays, or work on the local situation so that there were more quaker activities, etc. don't know what i'll do. i may use this space to reflect on it, let it season, so to speak. change can be good, if i lead it that way.