So, we got through the third day. There was so much I wanted to write about the second day here, but my time was taken up trying to find out how seriously injured my hand was. Indeed, I missed the end of the programme sitting in Borrow A&E with my companion entertaining one another with funny stories and 'Good Housekeeping.'
The hospital was good and the x-ray straight forward, and the signal that there were no broken bones was loud and clear. Not much to be done, but to wait for my hand to get better and take pain killers.
As soon as I got home to my little cupboard room, I fell asleep. The pain from my hand didn't wake me in the night. No, I rested peacefully after such an eventful day.
Yesterday is fading in my memory a little. I shall start with some news from today, before doing to epilogue. Today, in brief, we toured Swathmore Hall, and talked more about how Margaret Fell and her husband lived here. Afterwards we walked to the local meeting house to worship, and met with kind hospitality. I had a conversation with a much older woman about staying true to your heart, and not forcing children into careers they do not desire. I took heart.
After lunch we went to the area surrounding Margaret Fell's childhood home, and walked up to the beach. Another blast from the past. The beach was reminded me of guess where...beaches in Pembroke, Wales. Yesterday, at Pendal Hill, I thought we were in the Brecon Beacons...this strange ghost of my childhood holidays in Wales is still haunting me.
I followed another pilgrim, wordlessly, to the beach, to take off our shoes, and paddle. How I have missed such places. The freedom in salt water. The wind, the curiosity, the daring of water. The little waves of sand under my feet, watching out for stones.
Nothing is much better than open water and a few sand dunes.
I figured, with arms spread wide, and feet immersed, I must have picked up an interest in rocks and geology from wondering beaches and collecting 'things'. I collected rat bones, and rocks, and pestered my father for their names and what they were. This was when I was in childhood, about five or six, I imagine. We spent a lot of time at Fresh Water West.
There is more to write about today, and yesterday. Time to go.
The hospital was good and the x-ray straight forward, and the signal that there were no broken bones was loud and clear. Not much to be done, but to wait for my hand to get better and take pain killers.
As soon as I got home to my little cupboard room, I fell asleep. The pain from my hand didn't wake me in the night. No, I rested peacefully after such an eventful day.
Yesterday is fading in my memory a little. I shall start with some news from today, before doing to epilogue. Today, in brief, we toured Swathmore Hall, and talked more about how Margaret Fell and her husband lived here. Afterwards we walked to the local meeting house to worship, and met with kind hospitality. I had a conversation with a much older woman about staying true to your heart, and not forcing children into careers they do not desire. I took heart.
After lunch we went to the area surrounding Margaret Fell's childhood home, and walked up to the beach. Another blast from the past. The beach was reminded me of guess where...beaches in Pembroke, Wales. Yesterday, at Pendal Hill, I thought we were in the Brecon Beacons...this strange ghost of my childhood holidays in Wales is still haunting me.
I followed another pilgrim, wordlessly, to the beach, to take off our shoes, and paddle. How I have missed such places. The freedom in salt water. The wind, the curiosity, the daring of water. The little waves of sand under my feet, watching out for stones.
Nothing is much better than open water and a few sand dunes.
I figured, with arms spread wide, and feet immersed, I must have picked up an interest in rocks and geology from wondering beaches and collecting 'things'. I collected rat bones, and rocks, and pestered my father for their names and what they were. This was when I was in childhood, about five or six, I imagine. We spent a lot of time at Fresh Water West.
There is more to write about today, and yesterday. Time to go.
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