The Pardon.

Brittany.  In the Year of Our Lord, 2015, AD.

It is the Season of The Pardon again.  In particuliar, Saint Rivalain.  And No, I had never heard of him before I came here.

It is the time when all good Catholic Bretons beg The Pardon of the Saints that they have neglected for the past year.

The Bretons in general are not very good Catholics because it is more a way of life to them.  They would much rather be kind on a daily basis than worry about what God thinks of them.  And so they go to often no longer active churches once a year to say sorry.

The church service is beyond my ability to describe, it is just too simple and too glorious.  It is just there in the hearts and minds of the people who live around me.  It is always spoken in Breton.  But as some sort of past Christian, and Pagan if you like, I have always been able to understand.

After the service they set fire the this bush that someone has conveniently placed in front of the shrine, I suspect because it laid hidden for many a long year after The War, during which they weren’t allowed to be Breton.

And then they have a lovely party in a nearby field.  A communal dinner that you don’t want to know about because Christ alone knows what went into the pot.  And then they all get drunk and dance.  And if you have never done a Breton Dance when you are rat arsed then you don’t know what you have been missing.  But it’s okay because everyone holds hands and arms, so no one actually falls over.

No, I don’t go anymore. Brit Ex Pats have taken over.  And you can’t beat a Brit Ex Pat when it comes to turning foreign things into how they think it should be.

They are all up the road from me as I write, and I can hear the Breton music.  But I am there in spirit.  And I will resolve to be more kind in the coming year.