August 24, 2019
Bikes south through Lund towards Hjärup. At road 108 there is a cycle path west to Lomma. Take it, soon I'm at St. Lars's Cemetery, which from the outside looks like a forest grove. At first glance over the hedge, one might think it is overgrown. Adjacent is Flackarp's mill. Sets the bike at the gate to the cemetery. An information sign and a pot of orpine.

Around 1895-1951, approximately 2,000 patients were buried here at Sankt Lars mental hospital, which was located on the other side of Höje å. The buildings remain but are used for other purposes. Most often they were buried anonymously with a journal number on an iron bar shaped like a flower. Many relatives did not care, but for some relatives paid a tombstone. Today there are about 200 iron flowers and some tombstones. The grass is cut at the sites of the graves. Long rows of iron flowers along a wooden bar, at the ends of the rows is an iron cross. There stand some rusty tomblights, someone who has cared. A piece of history about how psychic care once was. A man is walking his dog. I walk around and read journal numbers and tombstones.

Adjacent is Flackarp's mill. There you can park. I bike home, have lunch at Stadsparkens café.

25/1 2009. Half past eight in the morning do I drive to refuel and wash the car. The sixth stamp on the card, it will be a gold wash. Then I drive to S:t Lars cemetery in Flackarp south of Lund. It is almost that the sun manage to break its cloud veil. At the entrance is a barely readable information sign. Between 1895 and 1951 were here buried around 2000 patients from the S:t Lars mental hospital. Many were buried without relatives interested in it, it was not popular to have a mentally ill relative. Most graves have only an iron rod with the top like a flower, and with a number on it. Some families paid for a gravestone. Today about 200 iron rods and a few gravestones remain. All the candles indicates presence of visitors. In northeast is S:t Lars of today with its park, in the north is the residential area Klostergården of high-rise buildings. Above me plows flocks of geese to the east. I meet a couple with dogs, dalmatina and some English type. After the summer, when schools began thee 'received' about ten cats, probably summer cats thrown away at the motorway. Shame! Nearby is Flackarp mill, which was in operation 1868-1950. The fog rolls in. I drink my tea and eat chocolate at the staircase. I drive home and cut my tree. This year, there is no cat helping me, she lies in her grave below and watch. Magpie who since last year has been living in the hawthorn have already started to pick with sticks. Hope they do not take offense of my cutting. They had previuosly their nest in the elm that I had to take down due to elm sickness.

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