Peter in the Garden- a short piece by volunteer Adrian
On a cold stone bench in the Autumn Sun, Peter snoozed. An uncomfortable seat to sleep on, but he was old, and often dropped off for forty winks when gazing from his favourite place, his personal Shangri-La. He was half-awake as he looked around thinking about the fishpond he had dug out, the conservatory he had built, the chapel building he had renovated from a derelict shed, the window high up in the attic of Mabel’s house. Yes, he had contributed much in his time here. The stone seats as well, especially the carved one outside the chapel were all the work of a skilled man, just as centuries before, the great cathedrals had been built by skilled and devoted craftsmen whose names were now lost.
But it still rankled him that in the 1921 Census he had been described as merely a Labourer.
He had been her rock. One of “The Four.“ He had stood up to the devil Piessart even though he himself was small and weak.“Wizened Aussie Pete“ someone had called him. But she called him Son, her Galahad, her Angel Gabriel, and that was enough for him. He stood up, moving slowly and carefully, like a sloth, aware of his limitations nowadays. Just as a fat man might have a slim man inside him, he could still imagine that inside his elderly frame was an athlete, a leopard, a gazelle.
He gazed across the gardens, at the high hedges along Albany Road and then at Ygdrasyll where others were sitting and being unserious. He was the last proper follower left here, who had known Mabel in her pomp, whereas most remaining had lost their way, even Miss Dilys who had lost far more than that. If only he could sleep and wake forty years later, like Rip van Winkle, but to the better world promised.
And had it been one of the unserious members who had complained about him all those years ago? His knew that his habits could irritate others, with his shabby clothes, poor speech and table manners. Perhaps that was why she had introduced instructions to all members on correct eating etiquette, so as to save him the embarrassment of being singled out. Yes, she had been kind to him, but she, his only hope, was long gone.
This was the place where he would end his days, and be remembered by very few. As he drowsed, his mind went back over the years, smiling as he again felt a place and a time when all things were possible and all things would come to pass. A place and a time when Hope was at the highest it had ever been and higher than it ever would be again.
When he woke he wasn’t sure whether it had all been just a dream. He wanted, more than he could ever say, to climb back into that wonderful world again, the one that he could only see when half-asleep in his favourite place, in the sunshine, in his Eden.
Inspired by real-life Panacea Society Member Peter Rasmussen. Learn more about Peter here: Servants at the Panacea Society
