
| | by admin | | posted on 17th April 2025 in Quakers in 100 Objects | | views 331 | |
Geoffrey Durham’s torn newspaper reveals how a simple stage illusion can illuminate the 'magic' of Quakerism.
Among the more unusual objects in Quakers in 100 Objects is not an old book, a meeting house bench or a historical artefact, but a sheet of newspaper. Torn, then restored.
The torn-and-restored newspaper is a classic stage illusion. A full page is shown to the audience. It is ripped deliberately into strips and pieces. The fragments are displayed clearly. Then, with careful movement, the magician unfolds the paper again.
It is whole.
Geoffrey Durham, a professional magician and member of the Society of Friends, has performed this illusion for years. Long before he became known within Quaker circles, he was familiar to British audiences under his stage name The Great Soprendo. During the 1970s and 1980s he appeared regularly on British children’s television, including Crackerjack, touring theatres with a flamboyant Spanish magician persona and the catchphrase “Piff Paff Poof!” For many, he was their first encounter with stage magic.
Yet Durham’s life bridges two worlds: performance and faith.
At first glance, magic and Quakerism might seem to have little in common. Quakers have no rituals, no sacraments and no sacred objects. They do not rely on outward ceremony to make something happen. Early Friends were wary of anything that looked like spiritual manipulation.
And yet something happens in Quaker Meetings.
Friends gather in silence. There is no minister and no prepared sermon. People sit together and wait. Gradually, the room becomes still. If someone feels moved by The Spirit, they stand and speak. Often the words are simple. Sometimes they are deeply personal. Many who attend describe the experience as powerful. Some call it transformative.
Some people today speak of:
Contemporary Friends often use psychological or contemplative language rather than supernatural language. They talk about presence, depth and attentiveness.
Whatever words are used, the core remains:
That transformation can feel magical, especially in a secular age.
Geoffrey Durham’s torn newspaper does not claim supernatural power. It does not pretend to heal the world. But it hints at something deeper. What appears torn is not always beyond restoration.
A newspaper carries the daily record of conflict, injustice and fracture. To tear it is easy. To restore it feels impossible.
Quaker faith makes a similar claim. Not through spectacle, but through stillness. Friends believe that people can change, that communities can heal and that truth can emerge from silence. Restoration is not illusion. It is a discipline of attention.
In that sense, the torn newspaper is more than a stage prop. It becomes a reminder that the world, however damaged, may yet be gathered again.
This is the 'magic' of Quakerism.

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