JANE’S HOLIDAY

By Bob French

Jane had a huge smile on her face as she realised that Sammy, her daughter, had made her breakfast.

“Oh, you are a dear, love.”

“It’s alright Mum.  I know you’ve been working late these past few weeks and that you are really looking forward to your girl’s holiday.”

All Jane could do was embrace her. “Now you’ll be OK with Dad looking after you?”

Sammy gave he one of her looks.

Jane nodded, knowing that she had brought Samantha Jane, her daughter, up to stand on her own two feet and face any problems regardless.  Nothing seemed to faze her.  

“Now I leave tomorrow, so if there is anything you need, tell me now.”  As she spoke, she gently twisted the gold ring around on her pinky.

Sammy looked down at her hand.  “You always do that Mum when you get concerned about something.  What is it?”

“It’s a family heirloom that my mother gave to me.  She told me that before I die, I must pass the ring onto my eldest child, that’s you.”

“Can I see it please?”

Jane held out her hand and showed her. 

“It’s got a coat of arms or something on it.  Do you know what it means?”

“No. All my mother said was that it should never leave my hand until I pass it on.”

Just then the front doorbell rang, causing Sammy to jump up, grab her school satchel, kiss her Mum and vanish out the door.

As she watched Sammy link arms with Sarika and Jilly, she thought of the little gold ring and how long she had before she had to hand it over to her daughter.

Jane and her five friends landed at Santiago de Compostela airport in the middle of the afternoon and were greeted with a blast of hot air as they stepped down from the Iberian Airliner. Three hours later they were ushered into the foyer of the Pension Casa do Gallo Serria, a pleasant guest house on the south west fringe of the town of Serria, where Nicholas, a handsome young Spaniard from the travel company met them. 

After a brief introduction and a drink, they were shown their rooms and told to assemble in the bar after their evening meal, when he would take them through the itinerary, which entailed a 110 kilometer walk along the old pilgrim way from the church of Iglesia de Santa Maria de Sarria to the Cathedral Basilica de Santiago de Compostela, the burial place of Saint James the Great, one of the apostles of Jesus Christ.

As they assembled outside the Pension the following morning, Nicholas explained that the pilgrim way had existed for hundreds of years, and was used by those who wanted to take the pilgrimage to the tomb of Saint James, the patron saint of Spain and Calicia. The pilgrims would pass through this town and stop at the Church Iglesia de Santa Maria, situated just around the corner. This beautiful church was built between 1205 and 1301 and had been cherished down the centuries by the people of the town; even during the Reconquista, the Muslim Moors had failed to conquer the region of Calicia, due to the tenacity of its people.

As the church bells sounded ten o’clock, Nicholas declared that they would begin the walk. 

The first day’s walk started with enthusiasm by everyone, with a gentle climb, followed by a steep drop into a lush green valley towards Portomarin.  Even though spirits were high, they were starting to feel their tired muscles.  They stopped briefly for lunch, then moved off, a little slower than they had started.  As Night drew in, they crossed the bridge at Portomarin and reached the little la Pension de Mar. That night everyone slept soundly.

It was at lunchtime on the third day that Nicholas called a halt at the town of Melide, and as they ate their sandwiches in the quaint town square, Jane and Harriet decided, on the recommendation of Nicholas, to visit the 14^th century church, Igreza de San Pedro de Melide and at the same time to get their pilgrims card stamped.

It was cool inside the little church and not too many tourists around.  As they slowly took in the beautiful trappings, the smell of incense and the quiet peacefulness of the church, they came across an old nun, sitting next to a silver collection tray.  Jane lent forward and dropped a couple of Euro notes into it.  The nun looked up into her face, smiled, then took her hand and kissed it.  Jane felt very humbled at the kind gesture.

Suddenly the old nun quickly stepped back and looked up into Jane’s face and started to speak quickly at her. From nowhere a younger nun seemed to appear and listened to the rantings of the old nun, then turned to confront Jane.

“Scussy Madam.  Please let me see your hand.”

Harriet stepped forward and tried to intervene, but the younger nun was insistent.  Jane, not wanting to make a scene, stretched out her hand and the nun gently took it and studied the little gold ring on her pinky.

“How did you come by this ring madam?”

“It is a family heirloom. My mother gave it to me, Why?” The nun slowly nodded. “Please to come with me.”

Jane glanced at Harriet, shrugged, then followed the nun into the heart of the church, then off into a small chapel beside the main altar. She stopped, crossed herself, and knelt.

Jane, realizing that she had better follow what the nun had done; crossed herself then knelt as well. The nun turned and spoke to her in a hushed voice.

“Madam.  If you look at the arms on your ring, then look to the arms on the wall over there, you will see they are the same.”

Jane stared across at the coat of arms and realized, they were the same.

“I don’t understand,” Jane muttered.

They were interrupted by an elderly Priest who started to speak rapidly with the younger nun, then, they all bowed low in unison to Jane.

Harriet took all this in as an amusing prank, probably a trick to fool the tourists, but the Priest spoke first.

“My Lady. The ring that you wear.  Has it been in your family for many generations?”

Jane recalled her mother telling her that the ring was probably many hundreds of years old, and nodded.

“Have you ever been to Spain before?”

“No, this is my first time.”

The Priest and the two nuns spoke quickly between themselves again before he took Jane’s elbow and guided her to a seat.

“My Lady.  If what you tell us is true, then you are the descendant of Margarette, Isabella, Maria Jana, de Contessa de Calicia.”

Jane stared at the Priest. “Are you sure?”

“My Lady.  You wear her ring.”  By now a crowd had started to gather around the entrance to the small chapel.

“Margaret, Isabel, Mary and ….. What is Jana in English please?”

It was the young nun who spoke. “My Lady, in English, I think it would be Jane.” Suddenly Jane’s memory went back to the day her mother had passed her the ring.  She recalled the two demands she put upon her.  Firstly, to pass the ring onto the eldest child and secondly, whenever possible, to retain the Christian name of Jane.

Harriet broke the silence. “So, what happened to the Contessa?”

The old nun slowly sat down on one of the pews.

“The story goes that in the 14^th century when the Muslim Moors were threatening the frontiers of Calicia, Ferdinand, Emanuel de Corso, the Count of Calicia, and his army confronted them.  The Moors were too strong and the Count lost his life in the battle.  The Moors pushed on into Calicia until they came to this town.  Here, the Contessa and her ladies were waiting for their men to return.  When she realised the situation, she rallied the towns people and sent word to out-lying towns and cities in Calicia, calling them to arms.  She held off the Moors for three months; long enough for Ramiro, Alonzo, Ricardo, the Duke of Leon to raise an army and defeat the Moors.

Ricardo had wanted access to the sea and Calicia stood in his way, so when he relieved the town, the first thing he wanted to do was to imprison the Contessa and claim the region as his own.  According to the legend, she was smuggled aboard a ship bound for France, and later, she crossed the English Sea to England and was never seen or heard of again.”

Suddenly the noise of the crowd broke into the church and when the Priest and his nuns pulled open the doors to the church, they were surprised to see hundreds of cheering people.

Jane yelled at the Priest. “What are they saying?”

“They have come to witness the return of their Contessa and say thanks to their God.”

As Jane and Harriet stepped out of the church into the sunlight, the crowds instantly fell silent and everyone fell to their knees.

It took Nicholas, the town constable, and the mayor nearly two hours to thank everyone and allow Jane and the party to move on. When they finally reached Santiago de Compostela, Nicholas took them to the cathedral and the tomb of Saint James.

As they approached the steps to the cathedral, everyone was surprised to see that the bishop, in his fine regalia, and his huge entourage of priests and nuns had suddenly appeared from the huge wooden doors of the cathedral.

As Jane, Harriet, and the rest of the party started to climb the steps, the bishop and his party took the knee.  Then the bishop stood and extended his hand.  Jane had seen this on TV and knew that she had to kiss the ring, so she knelt and kissed the holy ring.

“My child.  I cannot say how pleased we all are that you have chosen to return after so long. Will you pray with us a while?”

Jane looked at Harriet, then Nicholas, who nodded at her, then stood and followed the bishop into the cathedral.

At dinner that night, the market square where the pension was situated was buzzing with gossip.  The Contessa of Calicia had returned and chosen this humble place to dine.

As everyone sat and enjoyed their last meal before returning to England, Harriet leaned over and spoke to Jane with a broad smile on her face.

“Well, are you going to tell Sammy about this My Lady?”

Jane thought for a minute then smiled. “No, I don’t think so. Well not until I have to hand over the ring to her. Then she can make up her own mind.”  

Copyright Bob French