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Hidden gardens

21 July, in the year of our Lord 2020 

In the afternoon with Mr. M. Jones to visit a garden which is newly open again with the Easements for the plague, which is the Hidden gardens in Many Bridge, where comes also Dr. S. Francis, who is latterlie a Physician for Delirium, Insanitie and Weaknesse of the Mind, and though she doth not work anymore I feel always that I must mind what I say lest she form an Opinion that I am possessed of a spirit from the past, like a tyrant or a writer of Diaries, or some other famous, and I end my days in an Asylum. The gardens did content us prettily, and it is confounding to think that four years since a mighty flood did sweep through them, with a force so great as to wash away a wall and pour the wreckage of it, and all the water, into the wood, all this on a Boxing Day, with a great storm; and all that was done in the gardens for the restorating of them was undone, which was valiant and had took many years for their state of dereliction, it destroying at a stroke all such good werke as were done, though they have repared it all and you would not know. And by and by went all of us for tea and did partake of fine cakes with hunny, and lardy cakes and a cake for Mr. Jones with poppy seeds, which I said looked like flour mites so he did not want to eat it. And Dr. Francis telling us the while of her maid who in Lock Up came twice a week to banish her upstairs for the cleaning of the rooms below; and as we supped my cares did desperce further and I ventured that, ‘It doth satisfy me to a very great content to be in such company, and to discourse as lightly as if the last four months were not’, whereupon she, which is Dr. Francis, did threw me a glance so curious as to frit me, so I sought to correct any misaprehencion with, ‘Man, they totally slayed dis cake, it is mightily well good!’ at which Mr. Jones felt of a sudden that we should take our leave, and so to our carriages, and away with good cheer that I had not been sectioned again. After supper to the feeding of the cats, incl. the cat of Mr. Owen, who is working on the boats, and to leyendo mi libro, which for once in these Diaries hides nothing skurillousse; and late the Messenger with news from my parents, who are well, thanks be to God, and I think to visit them. Tonight the sky cast over again, and I thought that to see the out line of the bright white Comette with the dark clouds behind it would have been a fine sight, but it was not there. When I say I had not been sectioned again, I mean that again I had not been sectioned. And so to bed. 

By andywmacfarlane

I am a retired medic who likes messing around with a bit of writing, and friends seemed to like my social media postings of "Samuel Pepys: The Covid Diaries". So I'm having a go at blogging them.

2 replies on “Hidden gardens”

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