In the garden of the Old Rectory, Hastings. (Probably the best bed & breakfast in the world.)
It sounds like something Vic Serotonin would know and attempt, with much futility, to map
I was thinking more in terms of “religious site” or “burial site”; but I suppose that’s because I’m still obsessed by Vanessa Bell’s garden pond.
You can leave it, you can’t enter. The stones are not shells.
Out here there is an old Cape Dutch homestead where the back garden has walkways paved with slabs of stone marking the graves of slaves brought from Madagascar to the Cape Colony. from the 18th century. It makes my blood run cold to have to walk across those graves. Many of the slabs have shells or stone embedded in them, good luck charms perhaps.
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