An Unholy Communion by Donna Fletcher Crow

Author:Donna Fletcher Crow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lion Hudson
Published: 2013-01-14T16:00:00+00:00

Antony zipped his anorak, pulling the collar tight around his neck. He longed to turn his back to the driving rain, but that would force his hearers to face into the storm. He could finish the account later, but all were intent. Best to complete it on the spot. “Two months later, on a crisp September day in London, perhaps not unlike the day on which our simple Welsh farmer first discovered her in the branches of the oak tree, Our Lady of Penrhys, Our Lady of Walsingham and two of their Sisters were burned in a great bonfire. Some say the burning was at Tyburn—the traditional place for the execution of criminals in London, and where just a year earlier Henry had executed the leaders who had marched against the closing of the northern monasteries in the Pilgrimage of Grace.

“But wherever it was, the Shrine of Our Lady—even in its empty state—was still visited throughout the following centuries, with records showing devotion up until 1842. In the early twentieth century, a devout lady financed the building of a memorial church in the valley below in Ferndale—complete with a wooden replica of the original statue. In 1936, the Ferndale priest revived the ancient pilgrimage tradition.”

A sheet of water hit Antony full from the side. The wind whipped at his words. He raised his voice, determined to finish the story. “This statue—” He raised his face to look up at the modern stone statue towering almost straight above his head, then wished he hadn’t as rain sluiced his face. “This statue was erected in 1953, using descriptions from Welsh medieval poetry to reconstruct the original as closely as possible.” Although obviously much larger.

It was unnecessary to add the caveat, and it would have been futile as the strength of the wind and volume of the rain increased. If Mair, their hostess from the Uniting Church, hadn’t turned to lead them down the wet, green slope, they would likely have been washed down.

The tiny stone hut built into the hillside at the bottom of the incline couldn’t shelter all their group at once, but those who didn’t make it through the small doorway into Ffynnon Fair, Mary’s Well, huddled against the north wall for protection. Antony was with the last group to duck into the dim interior of the small rectangular building. Stone benches circled around three walls; a cistern occupied the south end. It was a blessed relief to be out of the driving rain, but it was equally chill inside. Until he felt Felicity snuggle close to him. Their exchange of smiles warmed the room. “This is the original building,” he told those around him. “Heavily restored, of course. The niche,” he pointed to the wall opposite the well, “was said to have held a statue of Mary.”

Felicity started to say something, but the sound that emerged was that of chattering teeth. “Right, into the minibus,” Antony directed. “We’ll have to rearrange the luggage—”

Michael pulled the keys from his pocket and handed them across.

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