Last night I went to a party. It was in a house that had belonged to two sisters who were musicians and church organists, and who lived into their nineties. One died a little while ago and the second, E, went in to a nursing home, and good, kind C , a friend, volunteered to clear out the house and raise some money towards the cost of her care, but in fact E died soon after. The house was stuffed with furniture, including two grand pianos and one upright, and two large organs. There was more knitting wool than I have ever seen in one place, huge wardrobes were stuffed with fur coats, innumerable pairs of shoes, extraordinary knitted dresses and mohair scarves by the dozen. The upstairs was like a church hall, and one sister slept on the stage with the curtains drawn across . There were two ancient cars in the sitting room downstairs. It was indescribable and unique. C. organised a dance and thirty of us gathered there, including a set Morris Men (related to one of C`s friends)and a band. It was not a youthful gathering but we all joined in enthusiastically, stripping the willow, circle dancing and morris dancing, with abandon. The house is under offer. I expect a developer will pull it down and replace it with some boring, hygienic modern flats.
I was up early this morning putting up our stalls for Quaker Week. I got cold to the bone, but our cakes and jam all got sold. My daughter Julia always said that the Quakers were like the Mafia, quietly beavering away unseen and unheard, so we were trying today to redress the balance.