Yesterday we came across Saint Zita three times on the day the city of Lucca dedicates to her.

The first occasion was at the flower fair held in the square on the site of the Roman amphitheatre.

What better idea to have a flower fair than on Saint Zita’s day! After two years’ absence because of the wretched pandemic it was wonderful to again be able to spend a colourful afternoon in and around Amphitheatre square in Lucca admiring the displays and buying some fine blooms for our new garden including a Citronella to replace the one we left behind at Longoio and a Sundaville to replace one of the five we inherited in our new place but which, alas, had not outlasted the winter.

The second occasion of meeting one of Lucca’s favourite saints was in the great basilica of San Frediano where Zita’s body had been hauled out of her side-chapel and placed on display in the main nave. Her devotees bought some white flowers from a desk to the right, touching them against the glass containing her mummified body and a verger gave us a commemorative immaginetta.

Santa Zita, patron saint of that increasingly rare species, the domestic servant (and, perhaps more usefully for most of us to be invoked for help in finding lost keys, thus avoiding that boring dialogue: “You’ve got the car keys”. “No, I haven’t!” “Yes you have.”  etc.) was a poor peasant girl born near Monsagrato (where there is a chapel dedicated to her, visited a few years back when it was being painstakingly restored) who was taken into employment by a rich family as a scullery maid. Through plain hard work she became principal housekeeper (St Zita believed that a hard graft rather than prayer was the way to produce results – which I would certainly not disagree with!). She was generous to the poor and needy and on one occasion was accused of having stolen bread to give to them. Zita was strip-searched but instead of the stolen goods they found beautiful flowers in her apron pockets (hence the appositeness of having that blooming fair on her day).

St Zita should also be patron saint of those who, like me, use bread-making machines since on one occasion she had to leave kneading the morning loaf to visit a sick relative.  Her fellow servants went into the kitchen and found a host of angels baking the bread instead! These and other miracles are depicted in large canvases on the walls of the chapel dedicated to her. I should add that although an uncorrupted body is regarded as a sign of sainthood a beautiful appearance is not: gazing on the saint’s mummified face I was reminded of that unflattering Luccan expression “E’ brutta come Santa Zita (“She’s as ugly as Saint Zita” which could more idiomatically be translated as “she’s as ugly as sin!”)

The third occasion of meeting up with the bread-transforming saint was in the Casa di Cura (rest home and clinic) named after Santa Zita where I had a medical appointment. Founded by the nuns devoted to the Saint the monastery has a lovely garden complete with banana trees. (Photos by Sandra).

After our ‘Saint Zita Day’ we left the wonderful walled city.

On our way out we passed a palazzo with strange grotesque window surrounds which were also photographed by Sandra .

Stopping just outside Borgo a Mozzano we topped our floral shopping spree with a vivid Azalea from Mrs Garibaldi’s nursery.