John the Historian
Bev came in with John and the children ~ tomorrow he will take the other curtain down for the wash and put it back later ~ how kind ~ John Gaunt (!) is a very talented craftsman and can turn his hand to anything ~ he has done most of the work on Johnny's cottage (no.3) and before that was working on Crystal's house ~ and such a lovely fellow ~ so good having that curtain back in place feeling and smelling wonderfully clean ~ it wasMary who hung it back for me, scrambling nimbly up the step ladder. Visitors in all the cottages, and the sun shining down on them all.
This book I'm reading on Kindle is gripping and quite horrifying, the story of witch hunting, witch persecution in the mid sixteen hundreds ~ how could people have accepted that these poor illiterate women (for the most part) were servants of the Devil with imps doing their will ~ once someone had spoken out against you, you were almost certainly condemned ~ and hanged ! It only took the word of an agrieved neighbour, a farmer whose chickens had fallen sick, a poor crop of apples, the slightest thing could spell doom to some unfortunate creature ~ and all this in the name of Christianiety ~ cleansing the country of evil !
With Sainsbury's delivery I treated my self to a small chicken which went in the oven straight away so tonight I will have cold chicken, oven chips and salad ~ quite a treat. Turning chilly now so must shut windows and the door before the heating comes on at 6pm/ Just time for a bath while the chips go in the oven . . .
Thursday evening : Just a quick word tonight as the trip to Bridlington Eye Clinic fairly knocks me out ~ I was collected around 9.15 and not home till 4pm but a heavenly ride with daffs lining the roadside most of the way in great golden clumps and the hedges ablaze with gorse and towards Bridlington fields of rape already in flower ~ the driver who brought me home took a different route to avoid Scarborough through several villages with stone cottages, old barns and always a church ~ and dense swathes of daffodils everywhere ~ it was a taxi home rather than the rickety ambulance in the morning so that was nice and comfortable and the friendly driver had so much to tell me about his large family and particularly about his 16 year old daughter Jasmine Rose who is obviously his pride and joy ~ when we arrived he walked me up the yard, bless him ~ I am so lame and wobbly even with a stick ~ on the door step we found two bunches of flowers ~ one of daffodils, the other of carnations but no clue as to who had left them for me ~ what a lovely surprise.
Again, I did not have to have the dreaded eye injection ~ I have been hoping it means they have cured my macro degeneration but they said there is little more they can do for me except keep an eye on the situation (!) in case more leakage occurrs.
Maundy Thursday ~ the day on which I am told the vicar of St Martin's Church, Knowle, Bristol laid hands on me and cured me of epilepsy ~ right there, right then ~ until that day Mother told me I was having at least one major fit a day, often more ~ this had been happening since I was a toddler of 2 or 3 ~ the amazing thing is that it did not leave me with brain damage, indeed Mensa told me I have an IQ of 161 (not that I've much to show for it, apart from surviving ~ maybe survival is enough ~ and my four bright and beatiful babies) ~ in spite of those years of epilepsy ~ the Vicar cured me (miraculously) though it must still have been in my genes as both Georgie and Will have suffered with it. Every Maundy Thursday Mother would chastise me : "You must start going to church, considering what the church did for you . . . " Poor old Mum, I was a Big Disappointment to her.
For Mothering Sunday Kate gave me a tube of this brilliant HEMP ointment which is marvellous on chapped hands, odd patches of dry skin, and I've even applied some when I caught my hand on the Aga hot plate ~ I suppose it might be classed as an illegal drug but whatever, it seems to work a treat. No more tonight ~ I must flop on the sofa and finish this hair raising novel of witch craft in Essex and thereabouts in the 1640s. Oh, and I'll give you a picture of the mysterious flowers . . .