Author: andywmacfarlane

18 January-31 March, in the year of our Lord 2023

These weeks slow to pass, so I commit to my Journall a summary record of events. Two days after my father left this earth we did meet, it being a very cold day and Mr. Jones with me, at Mr. Porter & Son’s, they being directors of Funerals, where Mrs. Porter made all necessary arrangements. The day after, I went to Saint George Hall, where they did sign the Certificate pertayning to my father, and give it to me, and after, to the Hospitall to pick up what was left there that belonged to him. All the next week about very much business, so full of it that I feared it [might] over come me, the main businesses being with Mrs. Cohen from Special Services to discuss my mother’s position and what might become of her, with the Rev. Colmer, in person, and a printer, separate and by the Messenger, to discuss the Order of Service [for the funeral], and with Mr. Lee at the Abbey Inne, where we settled upon the victuals we eat and drank thereafter. On the Tuesday, I think it was, the Messenger being back and forth to Dr. Cunninghame, whom I find a fine man, with some very honest wisdom, by the magick screen met Mrs. Daveys from the Conservatoire and we did settle, to my great sadness, that my course in Musique be put off a year. And all the while at these responsibilities, also at an amount of papers that my father had kept, the like I never saw in my entire life, so that Mr. Jones went to the Exchange to buy a bigger shredder.
  Ten days after my fathers death I home again, Mr. Jones with me and to his own house, the Sitter once more with my mother; and in the streets nearby did visit three establishments who might be payed to take care of my mother, my father now being gone, who cared for her all these years, and one very quickly wrote to me that they would take care of her, this being the one, thanks be to God, in which I placed my greatest faith, and all done so quick, and removing such a weight from my mind, I wept a little that it done. Again with my mother, Mr. Jones did set with great gusto to cancell all that was no longer to my fathers need nor hers — the Coach Association, the coal merchant, the candle maker, and the woodsman amongst them. A very great task. Now finding myselfe to be Attorny for my mother, the Messenger sent in all directions with the Notifications thereof, and of bereavment, to Halifax in the north and young Miss Barclay on Thread Needle street, and by ship all the way to Santender, in Spayne, where my father kept his ducats.
  My father’s funeral took place the sixth day of February, it cold but a great sunshine, the month being very dry. And there came very many to it, more than I thought come to it, there being in the congregation my mother, Mr. M. Jones, my aunt from Redding and my cousen Benjamin, along with them a body of fine men with whom my father worked, all now very aged, and a number who shared his pursuit of clocks; and neighbours from the street, many of them, all worthy souls, and I was grateful that they came and made themselves known to me, those I did not know; and also come many friends dear to me, among them Mr. J. Thomas, Mr. Ben Jones, Mr. I. Jones and Mrs. Curly, the Abotts from the coast and my oldest friend Mr. Bowen, all the way from Aberryhitswithit, which I did think wholly admirable that he should come, and it touched me that he did it, so recent his own loss; and even, though I concede it may have been my imagination, I thought I saw in the shadows cast at the back of the church by the candles at the apse, some I did not expect at all — the Physician, a little more stooped than I remembered, Mr. Erchin, almost a man and smartened in his dress, and beside them a stout figure, no longer awkward and insecure but sitting upright with a quiet confidence, all self assured in his grey hat, bodice and skirt; and alone in the furthest and dimmest corner of all, face hidden by the wide brim of an exquisite hat, an elegant figure all in black, save for trade mark scarlet gloves and matching flaming scarf, and on her breast, I think, a brooch of rubies and black crystal; though they must all have quietly gone after the last prayer was said, for they were there no more when we came to leave the chapel. Rev. Colmer made a handsome service and Mr. Sharples played the organ and waved his fee, though he is a Catholique. I did read out a little eulogie that I had composed, not, I trust, of undue length, hoping thereby to summerise a life and the spirit of a man in the minutes allowed for the speaking of it all; and afterwards some of the people there were very kind, and did tell me it was well wrote and they were moved by it. After, gathered for victuals and much pleasant discourse, and payed Mr. Lee the reckoning, 18l 7s 6d, and then all parted.
  The next day came again Mrs. Cohen, by arrangement, another from Special Services with her, to visit my mother, I all the night a-fret that they will not let her go to her new home, perhaps by reason of some Regulation unknown to me, and so could not sleep. But all they wished was to say their goodbyes, which I thought it was a kind thing to do, and they stayed a quarter of an hour before they went, and after I felt foolish for my suspitions. The day after that momentous, as, Mr. Jones with me, we did take my mother in Mr. Jones’ coach, which we managed with some little difficulty and no more, which was to our great surprise, to be cared for on the first day in her new home, though she did not wish to go and said she would manage on her own; but all her distress I hoped to God short lived, and the main matter that she should be safe, which I think she will be, though a shadow of guilt and melancholy fell across me for the doing of it. That done, Mr. Jones and I to the White Fort Arms, on White Fort street, where dined, and a merry supper, and the most merry discourse these two months.
  The next weeks unsettled for our being between our own houses, Mr. Jones and myselfe, and my mother’s house, and Lord! the dispiriting effort of resolving all the contents of it. Not a week by that we not severall times by coach to sundry charitable Foundations, and to the waste pits by the River where must be thrown all that may be used again, that a new purpose may be found for it, and to the Exchange so many times for victuals to support us. All this being done, a great pile become a lesser pile, and the lesser pile a smaller pile, I hardening my mind to keep only some old portraits, those documents that confirmed achievements of importance in the lifes of my mother and father, certain items of a personall nature that have particular value, being imbued with the essence of some person important to me or my mother, and what memorabilia remained for the history of my family (which, now I see it wrote, seems still to be too much). I did take a last look at some things of my childhood that my mother had kept, in trunks here and drawers there, but did not allow the cloying frailty of sentiment to stay my hand, and come to realise that the pain of parting with such things lies in the very act of parting, and then, once parted, dies. And there settled upon us a routine, each day we were there, so that Mr. Jones took his poudle, newly clipped of his curley hair in a three-for-the-price-of-two deal by Petts at Home that saved him two guineas, to walk in the woods, where found many about the same, though with dogs, and met with them and did discourse merrily each day we were there with them; and many times we took an Ordinary at Zara’s Hubb on an avenue very close, which was owned, I think, by the Ottomans who held the barber shop next door, where I went to be cropped for the ease of wearing my periwigg. And took stock, and come to realise anew how pleasant is this part of the City where my parents had chose to live their lifes, and bring me up.
  Four weeks after my father’s death, rose betimes at my house, and took my coach, Mr. Jones with me, so as to meet my father’s Lawyer, at one a-clock by appointment. Only we did find no candles lit within, the door locked and a note in its window: ‘If this Door be Locked, be advised that you must send a Messenger to — ’, and a string of numbers, which instructions we followed but no avayle, which vexed me, that we should arrive on time yet none here to greet us. And so stood there in the cold, it beginning to rain, till eventually shambled a figure from within to unlock the door, which was Mr. Garland bearing a candle stick, who, humbler now than last we met, took us through a very Labyrynth of cluttered corridors to a dusty inner chamber where he bowed his head a little before a seated figure, begowned and with such a great mass of enormous frissy hair upon her head that it would frighten severely not merely any miscreant but any Judge of Court; and Mr. Garland did tell this figure with a grave seriousness that Mr. Pepys wished to meet with her against Probate. Introductions done, I felt I must disburden myselfe of a lingering point of order.
  ‘I understand from your clerk that you have been very busy with legal affaires more pressing than even mine,’ say I, non-confrontationally, ‘but I have to confess to a certain dismay at finding it so difficult to arrange a meeting.’
  ‘Ah, yes,’ says she, disarmingly, ‘it must have been the very definition of a disappointment, must it not? But I am afraid Mr. Garland was simply obeying my instructions. In fact, I was not in Chancery at all, nor anywhere at the Inns of Court. They were looking for someone to defend the former First Lord against more Party Gate charges so I took the grand-kids to Tenerife. Now, let us see what you have brought me.’
  Business done, we finding my father’s Lawyer not as entimidating as I, for one, had feared, but rather very able — and she praiseworthy of our efforts to present very reasonable accounts, which would lessen her endeavores, and thus the reckoning — we moved to some inconsequential discourse, in the course of which it transpired that Miss Mason was not only acquainted with my Lord Anglesey, but moreover had stayed many years ago with him on his island beyond the Marches, her two children with her, only it rained all the week and they vowed to never return. And so we parted on very good terms.
   ‘Well, she seems very nice,’ says Mr. Jones, as we saunter along the street. ‘But never before have I seen such a voluminous wig upon the head of a Lawyer!’
  ‘I admit that none could miss noticing the Big Hair,’ say I, ‘and she must cut a figure in the Bailey. But was it not all her own?’
  Mr. Jones considers this. ‘If that is the case, it must cost a bomb at the hair dresser,’ says he.
  ‘If it were a wig,’ say I, ‘she would likely save a guinea being cropped by my Ottoman barbers.’
  ‘If it were her own,’ counters he, ‘she would save two being clipped by Petts at Home.’
   The same week come Gareth, a man from Redding with a trayler to take away my father’s little coach, which my father willed must go to my aunt, and a kind man to take away the contrivance that carried my mother upstairs, who remembered my father for his clocks and his working upon the River. Only each visit took away also some little memories from the house, and from time to time I felt a shiver of sorrow, that I was removing my childhood and all that was familiar to my poor mother, and that once gone these things could no more be retrieved.
  March come in very cold, with snow, but all the business of these last months begun to settle, my mother at ease in her new home, the old slowly cleared, and all usual events coming once more into our lifes: again to the theatre, and to musique, and to dine with friends, as is customery. Even to the point of my thinking to go to Ireland, to see old friends who live in the city they now call Londonderry, and walk upon the great walls newly built there. And while sometimes comes a humour that pauses me for a moment, against my own health and ageing, I recall the lessons of my fathers life: to maintain an enquiring mind, to keep active, and to be conscientious. And I hope I am doing those things as he would wish.
  As I come to finish writing, by and by comes Banjo, for whom such matters are never of any great concern, which I think must be a great assett, and as he creeps on to my lap to try to prevent me writing more, I am struck by what a Conundrum a diary is, and who it is really for, with its seeming private thoughts vouchsafed for all to read.

 

  ‘I wrote this to put it all in order, to make sure one more time about the life I lived. […] And I’ve finally finished it. I’ve written everything I need to write.’
  […]
  ‘Writing things was important, wasn’t it?’ Nakata asked.
  ‘Yes, it was. The process of writing was important. Even though the finished product is meaningless.’
  ‘I can’t read or write, so I can’t write things down. Nakata’s just like a cat.’

  — Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore.

17 January, in the year of our Lord 2023

No sooner up than comes a Messenger, sent from Sister Abbie, on the ward in the Hospitall where lies my father, to deliver news of some significance, which was that my father’s breathing hath become less regular, should we wish to visit, which she encourages us to do, and by return I thanked her for her kindness. Breakfast swiftly done, and the mayde come to dress my mother, Mr. Jones and I by his coach to the Hospitall, it being a very cold morning and fresh snow yesterday. There, my father did not awaken to us, but slept, so we sat a good while beside his bed, his only treatment now fortified air and a little clear fluid dripping into the veins of his arm. And there sat, for an hour or more, with a nurse kindly inquiring of us what she might bring to us, whether a little coffee or a decoction of tea, which we took, and all quiet around, the door closed for our privacy and the candles low. At midday Mr. Jones took my forearm gently and by my agreement went, to prepare dinner for my mother, who waited at home, though she had told me in the morning that we should not have any concern for her, for she would make herselfe a honey sandwich; and so left just myselfe and my father, his hand in mine. It is difficult now to remember what thoughts went through my mind, except that this would be to his great Relief and, my being reconciled to it, the Relief of us both. A little after one a-clock my father’s breath lessened, all strength to maintain it gone, and it slowed and, as I sat and observed it, became slower and deeper breath by breath, and I kept his hand in mine though he did not know it. Until his breath stopped all together.
  After a little while, I stood, and stroked his hand, and placed it quietly upon the sheet beside him, and stepped to the door of his little room, where I said to the nurse there, simply, ‘He hath gone.’ Whereupon she rose, and gave a nod of her head and placed a hand upon my arm, which was better than any words. And so I returned to the bedside and sat a while, and by and by come the young apprentice Physician, very respecktfull, who took my hand and did offer his condolence, which I saw he meant truly, every bit of it, and asked me very soft at what hour it occurred, for he must enter it in the records. And I told him that it was five minutes before the ward clock struck a half-past one a-clock. By the Messenger to Mr. Jones, who come in his coach, and we met there, upon the ward, and he said his last farewell, and I dealt with the little practicalities that accompany all such tremendous events — what I must do about the Certification of death, and where and when I might pick up what little belongings my father had there, among them his gown, his razor, his pocket watch and the tiny devices that helped him hear.
  That done, home, speaking barely a word, only travelling in companiable silence. The journey done, I found my mother in her customery chair, and I knelt in front of her and once more took her hand.
  ‘I am afraid I have some news,’ say I, quietly.
  She looked distraught, but though she struggled to marshal her thoughts she guessed enough of what I was to say.
  ‘You remember how poorly father was?’ say I.
  ‘He hath not died?’ says she in disbelief, and tears well up in her eyes.
  I nod, and all I can say is, ‘Yes. I am afraid he has.’ And I took in my arms not just my mother, but a woman of ninety-two years and a wife of sixty-eight, who hath lost the greatest companion she ever knew.
  ‘Am I a widow?’ says she at last, seeking confirmacion through the tears that fall. To which I have no answer but to once more squeeze her hand and hold it, the tightest I think I ever did.
  After, in the quiet of the kitchen, Mr. Jones says simply, ‘Well done.’
  My mother did not want supper but, encouraged, eat a little. After the mayde come with her lanthorn, Mr. Jones and I shared a pint of wine, it not being an evening to be about any purpose, and considered the matter of the day, and that it was five weeks to the very day that my father went into the Hospitall, the course of those weeks so back and forth, and we raised a glass to a life well-lived. And so to bed.

15 January, in the year of our Lord 2023

Lord’s Day. Up, and all ablutions done, and breakfasted, Mr. Jones and I to visit my father. The report thus: that he hath by today had two Remedys which are specifique to the Covey plague itselfe, and all the other treatments that he hath had, yet all his scores pertayning to Vitality are stubborn, and refuse to increase, and still he fights for breath. So we sat, quietly in a little anteroom, and come to agree, in the discussion of every thing, how little the likelyhood that any future Intervencion might be to the betterment of it all, and concluded it best to attempt no more. The resolution thus made, we sat again for little while, and contemplated not merely the sadness but also the comfort that comes with the decision, for all of us that be concerned, not the least of them, I pray to God, being my poor father who lay asleep before us.

11 January, in the year of our Lord 2023

A desolate day, all optymism dashed, for today my father’s breathing worse again, his scores lower despite the abundance of his treatments, which are styroids, pastilles to make him pass more water, active physick against the Covey plague its very selfe, and his air being so much fortified that they can fortify it no further. His Physician for this week thinks to treat him also with a great deal of albumen, such as is to be found in the white of an egg, which she hopes will pull fluid from his lungs back into the circulation, this being the Compartment (as she says it) where it should belong. After dinner, weighted with a great dispondency not only for this new turn of events but also (and more) for its contrast with the confidence of yesterday, took coach to the premices of Helping Hands on Alerton road, which company provides maydes not just to visit in the day, but to live in a house, where they sleep, and live as if in their own house, that they might thus care for my mother in her own home if it prove a necessity, the notion being put into my mind by a message sent by Dr. Francis. Only the cost! which is an excess of 100l for one week. At supper my mother asked why my father hath not come home, for she frets his absence, and so I explayned with all the gentleness I could summon the circumstances of the day. And though she remembered our discourse of last night, she hath forgot why he went into the Hospitall at the outset, so I gently explayned that too. ‘I cannot get my memorie to work properly,’ says she, sadly. And I could find no answer except to squeeze her hand.

 

12 January, in the year of our Lord 2023

Up but as tired as ever I was in my life, my night restless and my mind occupied with matters of every complexion. My father was today out of his isolation, it being one week since they found the Covey.

 

14 January, in the year of our Lord 2023

Today, satisfactory arrangements made to repatriate the Rominick poudle, her owners being returned from the Antipodes, and for care to be provided for his own, Mr. Jones come to stay, for which my gratitude is boundless. My father had the strength to ask him how his flood was, which took him (which is Mr. Jones) by pleasant surprise, that my father’s mind be still so alert. After supper in dispair at the stock we must take of all practickle matters — a pile of manuscripts here and a mountain of accounts there, an accumulation of correspondence in this file and a hoard of papers in that — and gasped at how hard it is to decide what to do, and in what order to do it. But it must be done, for I must have foreknowledge of the accounts, at the very least, if I am to manage all the payments that must be made, for the invoices that come daily; and so we set about it.

6 January, in the year of our Lord 2023

Up very betimes, stirred by a great hammering upon the door, and in the street two rogues who tell me they have come for bedding. Only after some perplexitie did I understand their business, and still clad only in my nightshirt, in a great hurry to find the key to the coach house, which I did not know where my father kept it, whence they hauled my parent’s old mattress over the little fence with the neighbour’s house, and so take it away. In the morning comes a pleasant fellow to repayre the chip on the glass of my coach. My father I did find no worse, and reconciled to his being with the plague, though he hath received four Vaxines, which must surely mitigate it.

 

7 January, in the year of our Lord 2023

Today again comes the Sitter, to spend time once more with my mother, and read to her some storys by Mr. Dahl, which my mother likes, or so I am told. Whereupon I leave a little dinner, and some supper, and, being enabled thus for a second time, by my coach to my own home. After attending to business, and to my cat, took tea and passed some little pleasantrys with Mr. Owen, then parted. More digging, by report, at Mr. Jones house, though he sent to the boylerman (the Messenger being met by his mother, as is usual) and Rudy come and removed his burner. All this in anticipation of more rain.

 

8 January, in the year of our Lord 2023

My father not as good as he was these two days, his throat being very sore. Treatment now with a powerful physick, that simulates the effects of the suprarenal glands, but exceeding potent.

 

9 January, in the year of our Lord 2023

This afternoon Leanne went to visit my father in Hospitall, who was one of the maydes who come to care for my mother, which pleased me greatly that she should go; and did pronounce him better than when she saw him a week ago. In the evening, my mother in bed, I attended to the work I must complete for my course in musique, which, thanks be to God, is nearly done. And, after, the magick screen did grant access to my mother’s Records, which are kept by her own Physician, so I may attend to all the physick that she needs from the Apothecary, among very many other matters.

 

10 January, in the year of our Lord 2023

Today my father the best I saw him in a month, and eat some broth, yohgert and a yellow banana, and in the discourse, that we had, inquired after Mr. Jones flood, which amazed me that he remembered it. At supper I dared think a corner turned, and my mother much contented with the news, so that she hopes him home tomorrow. In a greater ease of mind than for many weeks, we together took some rum and violett. I finished my coursework which was in Harmonie, my mother asleep all the while before the magick screen, and, the document sealed, sent it by a boy to Dr. Cunninghame at the Conservatoire, having sufficient of it, and my essay on the Symphony as well, to Mr. Rees.

5 January, in the year of our Lord 2023

Today a note pinned upon the door of my fathers room at the Hospitalle, that all must be masqued on entering, with gloves or use a proper Jell, for they found my father contracted the Covey plague.

1 January, in the year of our Lord 2023

Lords Day. Up betimes and, by the Messenger, that Mr. Jones hath heat, his boyler working. Today my father slept very long, and was not eating, and when he woke he told me openly, to my great sorrow, that he hath had enough. In the evening watched a wretched comedie called Happy Valley, but it did not make me any happier.

 

2-4 January, in the year of our Lord 2023

A little improvement in my fathers health. I was much contented to find him sitting upon the side of his bed to exercise his breathing, the physical Therapists with him; and, in better spirit and among a little other discourse, he told me that he hath placed in his coach house a mattress, and some matter about it that I should understand, but his voice being very weak and with his wearing of the masque that delivered his fortified air, I did not, only did my best to assure him that all will be well. On Tuesday he was in Hospitall three weeks.
  Thence home, where my mind turned to the dilemmer pertaining to the Conservatoire, it not being clear how matters will run: God willing, that my father’s improvement continue, but not withstanding if it does or not, he will not be able to care for my mother any more, as he hath done valiantly these last years. Mr. Jones again feared for his boyler, for Mr. Bett hath been around the streets with his bell, handing out yellow leafletts for rain.
  My father at his best on Wednesday, when he eat a little more.

31 December, in the year of our Lord 2022

The rain today some of the heaviest I think I ever saw. Mr. Jones, poor man, digging a great trench outside his house since a half-past four in the morning, and only then after an hour come Nathan and Davey from the farm to help, though by them all doing it avert a flood. All this by the Messenger.
  Thus ends the year, with great sadness to myselfe and family as to health, though my own, blessed be God, in as good condition as I ever had, and I pray my father be granted the fortitude to overcome all current infirmity. But I am thankful for what I have, and the good friends that I have, and enter here some little memorys of them, to ingender cheer in myselfe and whomsoever may read these words. That in August I did visit with Mr. J. Thomas the great yearly Show of Flowers in the south port of the River, where were errected many great constructions of canvas, with poles and ropes, and within them a great desplay of flowers, and we eat a souvlakey from Greece for dinner on the lawn and saw there the biggest Salsify in all the City. That Dr. Rh. Davies and Sr. Llorence Cubedo come to supper, and all very merry and joyed by one another his company, so that Mr. M. Jones and I determined we should meet with them one day in Madridd, where Sr. Cubedo hath chambers. That I was of singular assistance to Mr. Jones, paynting his house with him, it being a very dry month, in that I stood with my foot on the lowest rung of his ladder for him, lest he fall and kill himself, which he did not, so proving the value of my service.
  In September I went to the Tower grounds with Mr. Jones and Mr. Owen and there we saw As You Like It by Mr. Shakespeare, performed well enough in the open air, only it the most ridiculous and facetiose play I ever saw in my entire life and I Did Not Like It And Will Never See It Again. That same week Mr. Jones’s daughters dog eat all her Ibuproffen and was very poorly. And on the same day, to wide spread scorn and disbelief, the Secretarie for Foreyne Parts, Mrs. Trusse, won the competition to succeed the dissembling incumbent as First Lord of the Treasurie, which was a case of the unfit replacing the incorrigeably unfit, though, thanks be to God, the new proved naught than a Jayne Grey de nos jours. A few days after that, I think it was, by water with Mr. Jones, his sister and her husband with us, to Fox Hall, our purpose being to joy ourselfs, with many other brave people who were there, by having at a new entertaynement which was there constructed across the length of the boating lake, it being of four great ropes that were strung between two great scaffolds, one at each opposing end of the water, the east a little higher than the west so as to form a suspension that was sloped, and from a position upon a platform at the top end of the ropes the people dangled prostrate, each in a harnesse suspended below his rope, and with a push were sent a-plunge down the rope and across the lake, to make land (very abrupt) at the Coffee-house at the bottom, the total length being all of a furlong and the speed greater than the fastest stagecoach, which did cause many onlookers to gasp in awe that any could still breathe while they did it. And we did do it, and breathed, my new surcoat flapping and my waistcoat and breeches displayed for all to see, and exceeding merry for the sport we had, 7l 7s. 6d. for each one of us. The same day at supper comes the cryer with the news that the old King dead, with some cynickle people saying that it was from Incredulitie at who should lead his Gouvernement; all very somber throughout the land, with even those such as Mr. Jones who craved the Commonwealth admitting respect for a life of such long service. But the nation at years end in a poor way, with many not able to heat their mouldy homes or pay for all their Necessities, and many doubtful for yet another untried First Lord and a still unproven King. Abroad, the Emperor of Russia continues to bombard the lands of the Cossacks, a most brutal onslaught, and his justification of it the bitterest Calumny in all Evrope.
  But best of all that I begun my course in musique at the Conservatoire, all doubt leaving me for the difficulty of it (except, I concede, for Sonique Art), and joyed by the learning of it and the making of many new friends. And I resolved that in the next days I will submit two of my three Assignments, these being, firstly, my exercises — which are threefold, in Chordal and Cadence Analisys, Harmonisacion of a Chorale in the Manner of Mr. Bach, and Fifth Species Counterpoint Above and Below the Cantus Firmus Following the Rules Layed Out in the Great Treatise Gradus ad Parnassum by Mr. Fux — together with, secondly, my Essay on the subject To What Extent is There a Single Tradition in the Composition of Symphonys Between 1850 and the Present Day? though I still harbour doubts about when exactly is the Present Day and wonder if I must work backwards. Today I started my new Composition, which will be a fine piece, or so it is to be hoped, and excede even my first endeavore (which was ‘Zip Wire’, for clavachord solo), it being for a Quintett of Wind Instruments, which are flageolet, hautbois, clarinette, fagotto and a horn-player — only, feeling melancholy and without any keyboard in the house upon which to work out my ideas, ran aground after five bars. And so to bed.

24 December, in the year of our Lord 2022

Up, and to my exercises, to keep in abbeyance the pain in my back, this now being added to the pattern of my days, which is thus: first, in the morning, comes the mayde to help rise my mother, then breakfast, then I by my coach to visit my father, thence home to make dinner for my mother; in the afternoon very often to the Exchange, or to wash clothes or sheets, or write letters, and at a half-past four prepare supper; then returns the mayde, and my mother to bed, or changed and we watch the magick screen. My father today did transfer with help to a chair, but it is sad to see him eat so little, and remayn so thin. I shaved him and did try to spur him to a little food, but he would not and said he was full, and that his appetite was always very small. My mother to my great content is to the contrary, for she eats a great deal, more than I ever saw her eat, for my father would prepare as small a plate for her as to take for himselfe, yet she can huver up as much as I, and share a goodly portion of a pint of wine; and when I inquire gently how is the state of everything with her, she smiles as sweet as I ever saw.

 

25 December, in the year of our Lord 2022

Christmas Day. A day like any other of these two weeks past. My father not eating, and coughing more. My mother and I shared a little duck and a flaggon of prosseco and made the best cheer we could muster, though she doubted it was Christmas.

 

26 December, in the year of our Lord 2022

My father today eat a little wheaterbicks in the morning, with some milk; then naught.

 

28 December, in the year of our Lord 2022

Up, and this morning left my coach in a different square to visit the Hospitall, for yesterday comes Wayne, an old friend of my father who is a soldier, newly returned to the City from Ireland against the Dutch who have come into the River, to visit my father, and told me of a more salubreose Q-Park than Hepworth Street, where I fear to leave my coach too long lest I return to find its wheels gone. My father’s Physician acquainted me with what had passed lately — viz., firstly, that the number of tiny particles that cause the Blood to congeal was very low, and second, they feared his heart to be failing a little, with Fluid upon the lungs, but to confirm it will put him again through the Contryvance that shines the special light into his chest. And I feel a weight of helplessness that my father go through all this, for his strength hath fallen away from him, and what remayns resolves itself upon gasping for fortified air. Through the Society of Maydes I organised a Sitter for all the afternoon tomorrow, to stay with my mother, so I may cross the City to spend a little time in my own house. This week my mother and father’s neighbours have been very troubled for them, and it contents me, as much as I can be contented in these down days between Christmas and New Year, that they have such kind people to ask after them.

 

29 December, in the year of our Lord 2022

Very tired. Today a few hours in my own home, where I have not been for two and a half weeks, and there gave a great fuss to my cat, Banjo, who is being fed by my friends, as they are able. Vexed that my coaches glass was chipped by a piece of grit that flew from the road, sent by the wheel of a coach in front of me. Much time about mundane duties, and to read correspondence and buy victuals, but all a greater burden than I had hoped, to do everything and return before the Sitter leaves my mother on her own. On the way back I stopped the coach at the roadside for my tiredness, and slept a little in it, fearing I might fall asleep at the reins.

 

30 December, in the year of our Lord 2022

This morning by the Messenger Mr. M. Jones did report very bad weather again, which left him without any form of heat in his house, for his Boyler, which is in the tiny yard behind his house, hath packed up, the burner being under under water and mud run off the sloping field behind, which is turned to a quagmyre by pigs and incompetent farming so that the rain can not soak into it. Rudy the boylerman will try to rescue the burner. At the Hospitall, in discourse again with Gareth, my father’s Physician, who confessed that last week he may have been overly optimistick. My father sleeps a lot, telling me he is very tired. Agnes, a diligent nurse from the Orient (Malayer, I think, though she once did work as a tour Guide in Iceland), helped him to eat a little soft dinner.

23 December, in the year of our Lord 2022

In the morning, consulted with a physical Therapist in the localitie, against the pain in my back, which has been the longest such that I ever experienced, though thanks be to God, in these two days I have dispenced [with] my arm crutch. In a half hour Joe from Portugall did put my lumber area through various contortions, nead the tense and tender areas, and give me exercises to be done severall times each day. My father I found again to be sat out, though very tired and still requiring a special masque to breath fortified air, and he engaged in some discourse with me and inquired after my mother. Then I spoke with his Physician for this week, Gareth, who told me that in 10 days my father’s scores had changed very little (though I did not know what that did mean), but did reassure me that he continues to treat him vigorosely, and with great hope. Thence to the Exchange for victuals and, after, to the Coffee-house at the wharf, purposing a little time to watch the boats to and forth on the River, this being my father’s profession when he worked. And there by a window, gazing in abstraction toward the docks outside, sat an elegant figure clad in red, her scarlet coat fur-lined and her fur pillbox hat set upon the table beside her.
  ‘Why, Mr. Pepys,’ says she, noticing my presence and turning towards me; and I found that my mind returned immediately to our first encounter a year ago, the familiar tone once again working its seductive spell and causing my mouth to dry as I babbled an inane acknowledgement.
  ‘Why, Mrs. Cadwaddler!’ say I, almost allowing my coffee cup to slip from its saucer.
  ‘Pray, do be seated, if you are able to spare the time. The Coffee-house is very busy at this hour and I fear you will find no other table free.’ Flustered and red of cheek, I accept.
  ‘Might I inquire what brings you here?’ continues she.
  ‘I am between my parents’ home and St. Thomas’s, where my father ails. I sought a quiet spot to observe the ships. My father being a pilot upon the river, I have memorys of this view from my childhood.’ Then, emboldened: ‘And you, what brings you here?’
  She turns back, so I am privy to her perfect profile as she once more stares, lost in thought, out of the window.
  ‘A sentiment very much like yours, Mr. Pepys. We have that in common. This scene reminds me of my youth. A captain’s mayde.’ Yet her focus seems no longer on the teeming berths and jettys, but on some memory that hangs just beyond the window pane, as if reflected in it. ‘I travelled,’ she murmurs. ‘Travelled for many years by sea. Before the Crimea. Long before all this. And now I think that perhaps that may be my destiny again.’
  ‘Again?’ venture I. ‘But surely the Crymea gave you your Vocation: caring for the sick?’
  ‘Caring for the sick, indeed,’ she says, wistfully, and with a slender, scarlet-gloved hand lifts the cup to her shiny, vermilion lips and takes a sip of coffee, before turning again to face me. ‘But my Vocation hath been called into question. I am accused of fraud, Mr. Pepys. By the Secretary of State, no less, in His Majestie’s Gouvernement. Imagine! I, who have devoted my life to caring for the sick, am slandered, my reputation traduced.’
  ‘Well, my father’s care is unparalleled,’ say I, by way of reassurance. ‘Hardly a day passes that I do not receive notice as to his condition.’
  ‘I am gratified to hear that, Mr. Pepys. But I cannot take credit for it, for St. Thomas’s is south of the River, and not a part of my jurisdiction. And whilst most of my operatives and hirelings in the medical fraternity strive with a passion to deliver of their best, the Physician and his associates on your lane amongst them, there are accusations. Accusations that rumble on to do with Bedlam; accusations to do with the Management by Chirurgerie of Conditions of the Circulatory Vessels. And now allegations of financial impropriety. And so people abroad begin to ask if they should trust their health to my Board. And I begin to ask myselfe if any answer I can give will assuage the charges; if it might not be better to relinquish my role, and if I might better serve my Vocation by returning to the sea. I am versed in seacraft and in caring for the sick on board ship. I could help that cadet there, for instance, the one with the bandaged skull, or that scurvied China boatswain, whose crew is having problems mooring their Oriental ship in our Occidental port.’
  ‘Well,’ say I, following her gaze to a ship with strange, square sails and bamboo battens, ‘if I were having trouble heaving to, I would gladly place my Junk in your hands.’
  Then struck the clock the hour, and up went a great roar from a carrousing office party behind us, all at odds with the mood of our little corner. And I was woken out of my revery, and stood abruptly and began to button my coat.
  ‘It hath been a pleasure renewing our acquaintance,’ say I. ‘But I must attend my mother, for my father fears her to be left alone so long, and I must respect his wishes.’
  ‘You are a good son, Samuel,’ says she, and I flush to the limit my skin will redden, for I did not know she knew my name. ‘You must pass my best wishes for Christmas to your mother and father.’
  ‘And I wish you well in your trials and deliberacions,’ say I. And then, with my throat constricted almost to the point of closure, add hesitantly, ‘May I call you Bets— ?’
  But she raises a gloved hand.
  ‘No, you may not.’
  ‘Of course,’ say I, ashamed of my audacity, and place my hat upon my head and make to leave.
  ‘But you may call me Elizabeth.’
  Whereupon I turn in amazement, but the low December sun is in my eyes and all I see is a silheoutte staring out into the distance, a little cup poised between the delicate fingers of both hands, like an officiant with a chalice before her.
  After supper, my mother come back down from her bedchamber till ten a-clock, and shared a little wine, and then I to my day’s exercises, and my mind turned to what might be the consequence of my father’s scores being unchanged. And so to bed.