RIBADAVIA

The northeast region of Spain is divided into four provinces, collectively known as Galicia. It is a mountainous land, in some parts forested in others heath-covered, with silver rivers winding ever downwards to form wide estuaries where they meet the sea. Frequently, during the summer months, fires sweep through the densely wooded slopes destroying vast areas of vegetation and exposing the thin soil to the erosion of the wind. The lower slopes of the mountains are thickly wooded, chestnut eucalyptus and many other types of trees form a dappled pattern of greenery beneath the penetrating sunlight. On dark days when the clouds obscure the mountain tops the slopes take on a gloomy forbidding aspect. The main towns offer every modern convenience and luxury. Out in the countryside some of the pueblos and aldeas appear to have remained unaltered for the last two hundred years. where water has been piped from local springs or wells washing is done In some cased the spring is in the middle of a field and the women kneel at a smooth-stone-lined hollow. the clear water gushes from the ground and is held in the ‘bowl’ by a rag stopper which is stuffed into a small hole at the lower side of the ‘bowl’ A large box of detergent and a plastic washing basket are reminders that the scene is taking place in modern times. Ox-carts with solid wooden wheels trundle along the dusty roads laden with maize or brushwood, vying for space with sleek cars, caravan trailers and giant lorries. In the centre of the city of Orense are springs of a different type. Scalding water gushes constantly from the centre of the earth and is channeled through conduits to splash incessantly into stone basins and large troughs from which it disappears down gratings. Early in the mornings women wash out their milk churns in the hot water. Others carry it away by the bucketful. It is supposed to have healing properties and people drink it, splash it on their faces and rub it into aching limbs.

One church which I visited in Orense is situated at the town end of the Roman bridge, it is the Church of the Remedies. Recently re-roofed and still going restoration it was founded in 1522 by a wealthy man. the simplicity of the wooden-planked ceiling, supported by eight white-plastered pillars, and the unevenly plastered walls – white with a pinkish- brown dado – contrasted markedly with the wall at the far end. There the high altar with its statue of the white-robed Virgin glowed richly in the sunlight streaming from the open door. On one long wal, suspended from pegs fastened along a narrow wooden rack, hung dozens of wax offerings, some of them brown with agew and dust. Heads, breasts, legs and arms, each one a plea for help in healing the corresponding part of the afflicted person’s anatomy. Discarded crutches at one end indicate the recovery of some supplicants. these objects are sold from a small counter just inside the church door and are to be seen in many churches in Galicia.

A glass case in Leeds City Museum holds similar artefacts, formed from some hard substance. they are offerings to the Roman Goddess Juno and were found in am excavated temple in Greece. This custom appears to have survived the ages and been grafted onto Christianity. Each pueblo has its own church, small towns have several. there are semi-ruined monasteries with tiny satellite villages, only to be approached via narrow winding lanes miles away from the main roads.The great days when they were important seats of learning now almost forgotten except by the few tourists with patience to seek them out. I have visited some which have still a skeleton staff of monks who care for the buildings and show visitors round. All these are kept immaculate. Most days, somewhere, there is a fiesta. The patron saint of this or that pueblo, a particular quarter of a city, or one of the national days of celebration. there are fiestas of wine, potatoes, and sardines, to name but a few. Galicians love fiestas! The sound of exploding fireworks is never far away from the scene, if not in one village then in another. The squealing sound of the gaita, an instrument similar the the Scottish bagpipes, is a familiar sound and small bands of musicians and dancers, dressed in their red and black national costume parade and dance through the streets and squares. Galicia is sometimes called ‘Tierra de Chispas’ – ‘The Land of Sparks. the origin for this name lies in the past when itinerant knife-grinders travelled throughout the land scratching a living from the grinding of knives and other sharp implements on their wheel-mounted grinding stones. Even today the traditional flute-like notes of wooden pan pipes herald the presence of the wandering knife-grinder. The people of Galicia have the same hopes and fears as people everywhere. What is happening to the environment. the horror of war. the dread of unemployment and the desire for their children to have a good education in order to be better equipped for obtaining a secure future. they are a very hard working people. In the past many people have had to work abroad because of the lack of opportunity at home. Galicians have a great sense of national pride, in particular pride in their own region and their Celtic origins. For the last few years, Gallego, the language of the region, has been taught in the state schools. ‘When we went to school we were told that Gallego was a dialect and we hadn’t to use it at school. Now it is a compulsory lesson!’ say the parents. Ribadavia is a small, medieval-looking town 30 kilometres from Orense, the capital of Orense province. It is famous for its wine production and coffin manufacture. Once a year, the townspeople dress in the type of clothing worn in the middle ages and decorate the streets of the town accordingly. Booths, decorated with mimosa branches and vine leaves are erected at intervals along the steeply sloping narrow streets and traditional items are sold. Sliced squid, drenched in a spicy red sauce is ladled onto wooden platters from huge black cauldrons, whole sardines, much larger then those we are used to getting in tins in England, repose, heaa and all, on hunks of crusty bread and the local wine is served in the shallow earthenware drinking bowls which are traditionally used at fiesta times. Bands of musicians stroll through the streets creating an alternative din to the babble of the populace and the shouts of the stallholders. We visited the town on one such day and it was as though we had stepped several hundred years back in time. Half-way up a steep house-lined slope a white-clothed table had been place outside the door. It supported various artifacts pertaining to Jewish life. Silver bowls and seven-branched menorah flanked a Talmud restingon a a silver stand. Antiquities, relics of the past, at home in a medieval setting. The owner of the house invited us inside and we stepped into a tiny museum. We climbed the steep staircase and gazed at the objects displayed on each of the three floors (most of the houses are tall and narrow to make the best use of limited ground space). At the head of each flight of stairs were two doors, each opening into a small room. Incongruously placed amongst the various exhibits was a modern bed, flamboyantly covered, and other contemporary furniture used by the owner of the house on his visits to his home town from Madrid. the owner explained that there had once been a Jewish quarter in Ribadavia and that in 1386, when the walled town was besieged by the Duke of Lancaster and his English troops, the Jews defended the town. The Duke who was married to the daughter of Pedro the Cruel and fighting, in order to regain the usurped throne of castile and Leon finally defeated the town. the memory of the valiant Jewish defence is still remembered to this day – also the fact that some hundred years later all Jews were banished from Spain by order of the Inquisition. The house which we visited was situated in what had been the Jewish quarter. When the duke of Lancaster returned to England he left a small band of soldiers in command of the town. these men married and integrated into the population Later their descendants were instrumental in introducing the culture of wine production into Portugal. We told the owner of the house that our home, back in England, was only 3 kilometres from the ruins of Pontefract castle which had belonged to the duke of Lancaster,John of Gaunt. Maybe some of those soldiers had originated in our home town. Perhaps some of those people partaking in the pageantry had unknown ancestry akin to ours.