A travel narrative recounting a stay in Utrera, a small Andalusian town in southern Spain situated between Seville and Jerez, written by a British visitor accompanying friends whose business affairs required them to spend time in the region. The narrator describes arriving in Utrera and finding it possessed of a striking Oriental appearance from a distance, with its whitewashed Moorish-style houses, the tall tower of Santiago, and a solitary palm tree rising in the town centre. Despite this picturesque first impression, the author is candid in advising that the town holds little appeal for anyone not genuinely disposed toward travel or driven by commercial necessity. The party initially lodges at the local posada before finding it too noisy and uncomfortable, eventually securing a small private house with a pleasant inner courtyard, or patio, which becomes their chief refuge from the growing heat. The courtyard is fitted with an awning, and the group spends much of their time there beside a small fountain, reading and doing needlework in the manner of their Spanish neighbours. A considerable portion of the account is devoted to the practical difficulties of running a household in Spain. Two successive servants prove frustrating. The first, Antonia, has an obsession with dousing the stone floors with water but cannot be taught the rudiments of cookery or table-setting, and eventually disappears without notice the day after receiving her wages, a practice the narrator learns is entirely common among Spanish domestics. Her replacement, Pepa, is charming and pretty, always wearing flowers or jessamine in her hair and adorned with long gold earrings, but equally unhelpful in the kitchen. Pepa does eventually prepare a Spanish dinner of puchero, a slow-simmered stew of beef, lard, garlic, chickpeas, and vegetables, alongside gaspacho and rice sprinkled with cinnamon, which the visitors receive with cautious approval. The household relies heavily on game such as hares, partridges, wild ducks, and quail, as well as bread, oranges, chestnuts, melons, and pomegranates to supplement what their cook cannot reliably produce. The narrator describes the notable sights of the town. In the vaults beneath the church of Santiago, the group encounters a disturbing spectacle of mummified bodies discovered during earlier excavations, preserved by some quality of the local soil and placed upright against the walls. The author expresses distress at seeing local idlers treating the remains with casual irreverence. The Church of Consolation on the edge of town is a more agreeable destination, reached by a long walk bordered with olive trees. Its walls are covered with votive offerings to Our Lady of Consolation, including wax and silver effigies of limbs, children's clothing, and braided tresses of hair left by worshippers in gratitude for recoveries from illness. The walls near the western door are hung with naive painted scenes depicting the miraculous cures attributed to the Virgin, each identifying the patient and the nature of their affliction. The town cemetery is noted for its high white walls, cypress trees, and the custom of interring the dead in thick-walled recesses sealed with marble slabs. The author witnesses children carrying the open bier of a small girl with flowers on her brow, chatting and laughing without ceremony as they go, an attitude toward death that strikes the narrator as unsettlingly casual. The group makes an excursion by rail to Moron, an ancient hilltop town, where they visit a fine old church containing valuable paintings by Murillo, richly gilded altar furnishings, and a vestry full of precious plate and gemstones that the local sacristan proudly notes survived the French occupation through concealment. Evening walks to a small tree-shaded mound on the Cadiz road offer views across vast open plains to the distant Sierra Nevada, with sunsets of extraordinary colour. The silence is occasionally broken by passing muleteers on mules whose bells are heard long before the riders appear, each pausing to offer a courteous good evening before continuing on their way. The narrative concludes with a fond and quietly melancholic farewell to Utrera, the author acknowledging that while the stay produced no spectacular memories, it was marked throughout by the consistent kindness of the local people and possessed a tranquillity that leaves a gentle rather than a troubled impression on the mind.
By Florence Marryat · First published 1869 · Genre: Travel Writing, Essay, Memoir