Holyfen, three days ago —  Cromwell and I to the Market square; there the boy before St Aethelbert, beating his drum with great vigor, and a determined expression; beside him  Kilmister. Cromwell pacing back and forth, fingering his sword-hilt; birds were singing, and a smell of drying leaves,  as men gathered from the shops, and the works, and the fields, and the tavern (the Two Cats, it was Three Hounds in my day); Cromwell greeting with a nod, or a brief word. Known in the Fens: per Mother, he undertook a suit to prevent the drainage and enclosure by a Dutchman and my Lord Manchester, a scheme taken over by the King.

The village quite handsome, so changed from my day.  The square paved, brick from dismantled kiln; houses new-thatched, brickwork soot scraped away, whitewashed, etc. Handsome pargeting on many; a trade revived recently, Cromwell said. I remarked to Kilmister, that in my memory Holyfen teetered on the edge of shabby; Kilmister said it was so, until the settlement.