Day 4 (July 18) Heart to Heart

Warm and sunny again today—an unexpected blessing any time in England! I slept till 8:15 (not having fallen asleep until about 4 a.m., when it was already light), waking in time for my breakfast, which always included: muesli with oat milk, fresh plums from the back garden, fresh eggs from the chickens, beans, mushrooms, and tomatoes. Also homemade bread, butter, and homemade marmalade and fruit conserve. And lots of tea. I am steadily gaining weight here, and happy to do it. Actually, the breakfast keeps me going until 3 or 4 in the afternoon.

These wonderful breakfasts prepared by Jack and Christine, my B&B hosts. They are so lovely! Both are retired nurses, and Christine was also a midwife. They are widely traveled and knowledgeable about many things. We have had many a spirited conversation.

And we mustn’t forget Thomas the cat:

The purple potatoes on the paving were harvested by Jack because the badgers kept digging them up and eating them.

Because my knee is painful (bursitis, Jack thinks, ironically from over-exercising on the bicycle and stair-stepper while trying to get in shape for hiking here), walking was not in the cards for today. I had a leisurely morning, then drove to Presteigne for a final visit with Teresa. We sat in her back garden under the shade of an umbrella, drinking tea and watching the soft clouds sail overhead, the butterflies flitting around the buddleia and the birds dipping and swooping over the fields beyond. 

It was a treat to simply sit and talk about our lives. Where our griefs lie. What gives us joy. What we hope and long for. Emerson’s essay on a noble character—which reinforced the deeper wisdom of silence in the face of criticism and hurt. The simple pleasure of speaking heart to heart. 

Then we walked to the Spar store for provisions and I sat again in the church for a while, this time praying as well as reading, and listening to glorious organ music filling the height and depth and length and width of this ancient place of worship. 

Outside, I stopped by the tombstone of Mary Morgan, a young woman hung in 1805 for the crime of murdering her newborn infant. That sounds horrific, but Christine explained the backstory to me. Mary Morgan was a housemaid in the employ of a wealthy local landowner. She was “taken advantage of” by a man of some political standing and wealth. When she became pregnant, this man presented her with a very sharp and expensive knife, with the understanding that she was to kill the infant when it was born. His political standing and social reputation could not be damaged by having a bastard child revealed. 

Mary did as he asked. At 16, she gave birth, alone, and used the knife to kill her child. There were no other options for her, as no one would hire a young, unwed mother with a child. She would have no way to support herself and her child.

She was brought to justice when the death was discovered. Such was the feeling against her in her small community, that the trial was moved to Presteigne. At that time, British law specified that no mother could be convicted of murder for killing her infant within one year of birth, given the incidence of mental illness related to postpartum depression. However, the family of the man who had fathered this child exerted such pressure on the judge that he pronounced her guilty and sentenced her to death by hanging.

The community of Presteigne was outraged, but the hanging took place there anyway. The vicar of the church took the unusual step of burying Mary within the church grounds, and the townspeople put up a marker. The judge, likely suffering pangs of conscience, himself erected a tombstone that told her sad story but showed him in a better light. And here it is:

A sad reminder of how tragically unfair life was for women in those days.