I tried to refuse. No, I couldn’t intrude on their family celebration. But the man insisted, taking my arm. Reluctantly I was led over. The father introduced them all in rapid succession. His wife, his daughter, her husband, her two children, his two sons, his mother. When they heard I was English, they were all fascinated and peppered me with questions. Did we have such feasts in England? How many brothers and sisters did I have? And why wasn’t I married yet? I answered them all and heard their amazement that such a beautiful young woman did not have a husband.

“We must do something about this,” the wife said. “Who do we know with unmarried sons?”

There were suggestions, laughter, and I began to relax amongst them. Food was offered, including the sardines in their sauce, polenta, pasta. Everything tasted wonderful. I found myself thinking how pale and dull our lives in England were compared to this. And then the thought crept in, unbidden. Did I want to go home at the end of the year? What if I just stayed and found a job and spent my life amongst these happy, loud, affectionate people?

Wine was offered and poured. Toasts were drunk, one of them to me. And then the church bells rang.

“We must go to Mass now if we want to get a seat,” the wife said. “You come with us?”

I could hardly refuse. The wife and daughter linked arms with mine. I believe they were Giovanna and Sofia, but I wasn’t quite sure which was which. We left the food and the table with the absolute conviction that nobody would touch it, and off we went into the church. It was filling up fast. We were squeezed into a pew. I felt horribly uncomfortable at flesh pressing against mine, the smells of sweat and everyone’s just-consumed picnic around me, mingled with the scent of incense. More and more people streamed in. The aisles were packed. People stood around the walls. Then a bell rang, and a great procession of priests, acolytes, choir entered. I didn’t understand much of what was going on. I stood when they stood, knelt when they knelt. When hymns were sung, the whole place echoed with sound. I could tell it was a moving experience for those around me, but the heat was intense. Many of the women had fans, including my adopted family, so I benefitted from a small wafting of air, but as the service progressed I started to feel really clammy, as if I might pass out. I was so relieved when they stood for the final blessing, followed by a closing song and a great fight for the doorway.

As we came out, it was getting dark. Usually there was a glowing twilight at this time, but the clouds from the mainland had now built over the city and a wind had sprung up.