Old records tell us that towards the close of the 16th century the Attendant of Our Lady of El Pino was Doña Isabel Pérez de Villanueva, the daughter of Juan Pérez de Villanueva, Patron of the Virgin and one of the earliest settlers of the Teror valley. By virtue of this position, Doña Isabel was entrusted with the safekeeping of the Image’s jewels.

There is evidence going back to the middle of that century of the custom of dressing the Image, though not in the splendour that would emerge from the 18th century onwards, when the garments began to reflect the traditional attire of the well-to-do. In the days of the first chapel, Our Lady of El Pino stood upon the main altar, flanked by another image of the Virgin on one side and that of the Child Jesus on the other. According to the town’s Chronicler, Don Vicente Hernández, records survive from as early as 1558 of a finely crafted green silk robe in which the Image was clothed.

By the late 16th century the decay of this first construction had become so evident that the people of Teror resolved to demolish it and erect a new chapel, which was quickly completed. By the middle of the following century the Image had been placed in a gilded stone niche in the rear wall of the main altar. Some years later a back door was opened here and work began on a shrine at the same level as the rest of the chapel. Through this rear doorway in the niche the Image could be taken into this chamber to be dressed and placed upon the processional platform, out of sight of the congregation.

Among the many miracles attributed to the Virgin there is a particularly striking account involving another attendant, Doña Ángela del Toro. It is said that while changing the Virgin’s skirt she felt her hands grow damp and discovered among the garments traces of white sand of a kind found only in coastal areas. She recounted this to others in the town, who took it as evidence of a miracle performed by Our Lady of El Pino to save from shipwreck someone who had invoked her intercession when they found themselves in peril at sea. When, owing to the collapse of this second chapel, construction began in 1760 on the third and present-day church, its architect, Colonel Don Antonio de la Rocha, designed and carried out a more ambitious, spacious and richly ornamented building, in keeping with the growing devotion and worship of Our Lady of El Pino. The Image was then installed in a central niche of the Main Altarpiece, with access to a larger shrine that included a Chamber of Jewels and a Chamber of Mantles, where the task of dressing her and preparing her for various occasions—services, festivities and the processions to Las Palmas—could be undertaken with greater ease. At the same time, the role of attendant became formally established following a decree issued by Bishop Ruiz Simón in 1707, which set out who was allowed to be present on such occasions, the attendant being one of them. Throughout the 18th century the Virgin’s vestments grew ever more elaborate, luxurious and richly adorned, leaving an outstanding legacy of religious textile craftsmanship: silks, gold and silver embroidery created by the skilled artisans of Teror—from the nuns of the Cistercian convent to Juan Carrasco and the talented Francisco Herrera.

With the completion of the church in 1767, a problem arose that had not previously existed: as the shrine was now situated on the upper floor, the Image had to be brought down to the body of the church by the internal staircase, with an evident risk of damage. This is why, from 1786 onwards, they started to lower it by means of a system of pulleys through an opening made in the upper floor.

This arrangement remained in use until 1927 when, following the death of the parish priest Don Juan González, Don Antonio Socorro Lantigua was appointed to succeed him. According to Don José Miguel Alzola, it was his uncle, Agustín Alzola y González-Corvo—a regular summer resident in the town and keenly interested in the life of the Church and of Teror—who proposed a safer way of carrying out the descent and one that could be witnessed by the faithful. Don Agustín suggested that the annual lowering of the Image for the September festivities should take place directly from the shrine into the church rather than through the vestry. Don Manuel Henríquez Yánez, a highly regarded carpenter of the town, together with his craftsmen, devised a solution based on a system of tilted rails down which a platform would glide, allowing the Virgin of El Pino to descend slowly and far more safely. The new method was first used during the 1928 festivities, and its success meant that two ceremonies which had previously been conducted behind closed doors and at some risk to the Image—the Descent and the Ascent—have, over the years, become major highlights in the calendar of the El Pino festival and attract large crowds.

The current attendant is Doña María del Pino Escudero del Castillo, the daughter of the former attendant, Doña Ana del Castillo, continuing the tradition of service for the annual preparation of the Image. Ever since the restoration carried out in 1974, and following the express advice of specialists, the carving is left for a suitable period without its garments and on public view, to allow the wood to breathe naturally. The red and silver gown that she will wear this year was commissioned by her mother and completed at the request of the current attendant after her mother’s death while it was being made.

During this year’s El Pino celebrations, the Descent of the Image from the Shrine will once again take place using the system devised in 1927 but updated in certain respects; and, as has occurred throughout the decades, a group of people, working discreetly and anonymously, will lend their efforts to ensure that it is carried out safely and with due dignity. From within the structure of the Descent they will oversee its safety, the shifting of the tulles that cover the ramp and all the small details that lend grace to the ceremony. The priests will assist from the altar in ensuring that everything is properly executed and will of course take part in the event.

Thereafter begin the festivities in the Image’s honour: the arrival of thousands of Canarians who, in the course of their pilgrimage, will renew their offerings to the Lady and to the purest spirit of Canarian identity; the Pilgrimage created sixty years ago by Néstor Álamo; the songs and traditional pageants; and the Big Day when, guided by the Patron, the throne of the Holy Image will once again shine in the streets of the town. While in the early 16th century this honourable post was held by Juan Pérez de Villanueva, today it is fulfilled by Don Agustín Manrique de Lara.

The Virgin’s attendant, her family, the Patron, the craftspeople of the mantles, the parish priest and clergy, the church staff and many helpers—an entire organisation rooted in centuries of tradition—work quietly year after year to carry out a task that unites the present-day festivities and devotion to the Patroness of the Canary Islands Diocese with the deepest foundations of its history.

From the earliest days of devotion to El Pino, a deeply festive and vibrant popular religiosity gradually developed. In a society in which religion encompassed and explained all aspects of life, popular celebration and religious observance were one and the same, blending into a single expression. The directives issued by Bishop Cámara y Murga, the prelate from 1627 to 1635, clearly reflect practices he must have witnessed in Teror during the festivities of 8 September, customs already rooted in earlier times: “we command, inasmuch as we have been made aware of the inconveniences arising from people sleeping and eating within the church of Our Lady in this place, that henceforth the current or future priest and verger shall not permit any person to eat or sleep in the said church, nor shall dancing be allowed therein”.

Other regulations from the 1629 Synod refer to popular customs that must have been well established since the 16th century. It was decreed that on feast days “there is no dispensation from His Holiness for all to run races”; mention is also made of certain tasks permitted on holy days, provided they did not prevent attendance at Mass, such as those performed by barbers, farriers and merchants selling essential goods. Regarding certain games, it adds: “Likewise, we forbid on those days, until after High Mass and the conclusion of the divine offices, the games of bowls, hoop and ball.” Such popular practices may well have formed an integral part of the El Pino festivities in the 16th century, perhaps even of an early Sunday fair. Open-air theatrical performances were held from the very first celebrations of El Pino; their existence is documented in the 17th century by an entry in the accounts presented by the Virgin’s Steward for the year 1647: “Check, charged half a barrel of wine and ten reales which he said he had purchased for those who performed on the day of Our Lady.”

The El Pino festivities are an expression of popular devotion. In times when today’s roads did not exist and travel was only by paths, great crowds would descend upon Teror from all the surrounding hillsides. Pilgrims set out from their homes on foot over the mountains, carrying little more than a timple instrument and a song ever on their lips; the melodies of our traditional music and the lively parades, the parrandas, filled the island’s roads with joyful notes. On the Eve they slept in the main square, in the poplar avenue, among the chestnut groves, or in the ventorrillos—street taverns that were set up in Teror at “the raising of the flag”. These were a kind of open-air inns for all the pilgrims, who enjoyed themselves with guitars and dancing until, on the morning of the 8th, they would fulfil their promises and await the emergence of the Image.

The history of the El Pino Festivities is one of popular feeling, Marian faith, walkers and pilgrims; one could compile an anthology of the verses of our traditional songs dedicated to the Patroness. Popular poetry, centred on the Marian invocation of Our Lady of El Pino, is both ancient and fascinating: folías, isas and seguidillas folk songs capture the joy of the Canarian people on their pilgrimage to Teror, as in these lines inspired by Néstor Álamo:

This is the parranda on its way to the fiesta,
Never in my life saw I a parranda like this.
This is the parranda on its way to Teror,
Never in my life saw I a better one.
Oh Teror, Teror, Teror,
Oh Teror, how beautiful you are!
How lovely the Virgin looks,
High upon her altar!…

I am in the town of Teror, where I have come to witness the renowned festival and pilgrimage of El Pino. I write amid the bustle of the last of the pilgrims’ departure, in sight of the mountains that stand sharply outlined against a wonderful blue sky, beneath the soothing caress of an atmosphere that invites me to sleep—or rather, to dream. The landscape, beautiful in itself, gains further splendour from the light of this springlike morning in which everything smiles gently: sky, earth, and sea… At this moment, the last carriages of the fairground folk are departing—true gypsy wagons, enormous and heavily laden—carrying away in a single mass the rearguard, the remnants of the human multitude that for three days has inundated Teror.

The spectacle is original, strange, picturesque. Men, women and children go together, pressed into a dense cluster, in a mingling that is both repellent and ill-smelling. They call to mind the theatrical and pictorial vision of those caravans of bohemians who wander the world, bearing amid sordid rags the rebellious spirit of that eternally nomadic race. That spirit weeps in the raw notes of the guitars that enliven the procession, in the hoarse voices of the singers, in the creaking of the battered wagons, in the pale, hollow-eyed faces of the women, in the monotonous refrain of fading songs, in the whimpering of children neglected and seemingly ignored by their mothers. The evil spell of alcohol produces these final spasms in that vast crowd.
Those who leave are in a hurry: haste to flee, haste to return to the ordered rhythm of ordinary life. They gather their belongings and stream onto the broad highways. The tribe scatters beneath the magnificent halo of a spring-like sun, amid an apotheosis of nature that makes the shrine gleam like an arca sanctorum.

The festival has ended without incidents or disorder despite the confusion of the throng in which the dregs of the populace were mixed. From the furthest corners of the island the pilgrims came in waves, drawn by a primitive and guileless faith. On the eve, every path resembled a human anthill. People arrived dancing, singing, intoning hymns to the Virgin, and set up their camp around the church. No fewer than ten thousand took up positions in the square, the streets and the outskirts of the town, which scarcely numbers a thousand inhabitants. Almost all have had to sleep à la belle étoile.

What feeling or instinct moves this whole multitude? Undoubtedly a religious impulse, though distorted and perhaps perverted in its outward expression. Around the sanctuary there is drinking, dancing, shouting and quarrelling; yet when the image of Our Lady of El Pino appears at the church door, as if by enchantment all voices, all conversations, all noise cease; the guitars fall silent and the general unrest gives way to a movement of prostration and reverence. Some of those present fall to their knees; the peasants look ecstatic, absorbed in contemplation of the sacred and beloved effigy.

Now comes the moment when the procession sets out—a moment of indescribable grandeur. The Virgin’s throne, sumptuous and made entirely of silver, cleaves and breaks up the narrow ranks of the assembly, and as it passes the pilgrims and fairgoers drop to their knees as though struck by a lightning bolt of faith—those same people who moments earlier had raised a clamour of wrangled trading or Bacchic excess. A mystical, cloistered silence falls over the marketplace. Our Lady moves between bowed heads. She is a small and ancient sculpture wrapped in silks and gold, laden with jewels, almost overwhelmed and eclipsed by the precious stones offered to her by many generations of believers; a relic fused with treasure. It matters not. Eyes turn to her as if to heaven. Souls seek her out and call to her; even sceptics feel the passing breath of something divine, under whose influence simple-hearted people live in perpetual rapture.

It is beautiful, whichever way one looks at it. Behind the throne, which passes slowly and laboriously through the tightly packed crowd not unlike a huddled flock, the Bishop of the Diocese walks beneath a canopy, vested in pontifical ornaments; several members of the chapter accompany him, and his hand is constantly extended over the multitude in a blessing. The church bells ring out joyfully; rockets and mortar fire explode on all sides; long lines of lighted candles frame the procession, which moves forward amid the dazzling glory of the morning sun. The diamonds in the Virgin’s crown sparkle, and the expressionless face of “the favoured one” seems to come alive, blushing in the emotion of her triumph.

The procession circles the sanctuary with the same discipline and the same remarkable reverence. Fireworks zigzag through the air like luminous serpents, exploding at the feet of the spectators and whistling through the windows of the houses like messengers of joy. They are a tribute of fire offered to the Mother of God, the fulfilment of countless promises. Those who do not come with wax candles, votive offerings or monetary gifts offer rockets; in a few minutes hundreds of coins are thus turned into smoke…

On the procession’s return, the throne of Our Lady pauses at the door of the church, facing the crowd: it is the moment of “farewell”. One hears groans, entreaties, supplications, words of religious passion exalted almost to delirium. The faithful give thanks for favours received. We shall return next year! many cry, if you grant us life and continue to bestow your protection! The bishop and his ecclesiastical entourage kneel briefly in adoration of the holy image. Rockets launched in great clusters seem to explode above that human ocean with the rumble of unending thunder. Seen from above, as I saw it, the scene is artistically magnificent beyond description.

Once a year the calm of Teror is interrupted by these half-religious, half-profane festivities. The turmoil of the livestock fair and of commercial dealings held beside the church mingles with the devout expressions of countless pilgrims. All of Gran Canaria, by every road, from every corner and every summit, sends to Teror joyful caravans that completely invade it and overflow its walls, spilling into the beautiful countryside. The pilgrims bring with them provisions, household goods, tents, like migrating tribes. They set up their transitory taverns and their camps in the square, sleep on the pavements in a dreadful jumble, or do not sleep at all, giving themselves over to noisy revelry that turns the pilgrimage into a carousal.

It is easy to understand why Teror parish is the richest on the island thanks to the prestige and attraction of its Virgin of El Pino, Our Lady of The Pine. The total annual offering amounts to many thousands of pesetas. In money, in wax and in objects of worship, a great treasure is thus amassed year after year. Moreover, the Virgin possesses highly valuable jewels, as I mentioned at the beginning: costly mantles embroidered in silver and gold, pieces of antique silverwork, necklaces, rings, bracelets, huge emeralds.

Apart from this classic and traditional festival, on this 8th of September commemoration votive ceremonies in honour of Our Lady of El Pino are frequently held in Teror. The indianos, emigrants who returned wealthy from the Americas, are especially devoted to honouring her. Many come from Cuba solely to lay their alms, their prayers, their tribute at the feet of the sacred effigy. They attribute to her astonishing miracles, wondrous healings, and the simple and sincere popular faithful never cease to implore and petition her. When drought threatens to devastate the region, the people of Teror bring their Virgin out into the streets, carry her through the fields and confidently wait for the life-giving rain which, they believe, cannot fail to pour down on them as a blessing from on high.

They ask everything of her. They see her as the refuge of sinners, the comforter of the afflicted, a shoulder to weep on, a universal provider and mother. They are always singing her litany.

No sooner has the procession entered the church than the vast crowd starts to disperse, departing as it arrived, in waves. The scattering is extraordinary to behold. Motorcars, carriages, fruit carts pressed into service to carry pilgrims, carioles, hundreds of vehicles lined up on either side of the road out of Teror, gather up their passengers and carry them away amid blinding clouds of dust, in bewildering and motley confusion. Those who came on foot return on foot, singing and dancing. The vendors laboriously load what remains of their wares, trumpeting and offering them all along the way, almost certain to sell the last of their stock before they return to their dwelling place.

The transient taverns, once dismantled, disappear into the depths of the wagons, where the throngs of gypsies come together again. Along the road numerous makeshift drinks stalls have been set up for the occasion. Libations continue relentlessly, and it is likely that by now very few remember the Virgin in whose name and glorification they have revelled to the point of exhausting their truly remarkable endurance.

Once more the paths resemble human anthills; yet of those “ants” many carry home a profitable load, the fruits of a brisk and humble trade conducted under the shelter of Marian devotion and the shrine, while others who had come from further afield leave behind all that they brought. And in the final dissolution of all pleasures, the hope of next year’s festival smiles upon them, one that will be for them as this one was—vain and fleeting, and in the end, melancholy…

Only the turroneras remain in Teror, the first to arrive and the last to depart. They are the sellers of local nougat, who always do good business at the popular festivities. With their painted wooden boxes filled with tempting sweets that lure young and old alike, their huge blue umbrellas and their lanterns, they are a sight to behold in Gran Canaria, a typical figure, a living note of regional character.

They will not leave until the last pilgrim, the last fairgoer, the last visitor has gone, for they still hope to sell their last piece of nougat. Their boxes have been emptied and refilled many times. Their contents never seem to run out! And they call tirelessly to the stragglers: “A little nougat for the children!”

At ten o’clock at night, there are still some fifty turroneras around the shrine, intent on sweetening the dregs of the late revellers’ merrymaking.

“Some five hundred years ago a tree—a pine tree—gave its name to an image, the Virgin of the Pine, Our Lady of El Pino. Since then its shadow has gradually receded as farmland encroached upon forested areas. By contrast, the shadow of the Virgin has spread from the local sphere to the entire island, for both religious and socioeconomic reasons.

Throughout the Ancien Régime, particularly in the 17th and 18th centuries, the Pine of Teror was present in every natural catastrophe that struck the island of Gran Canaria. Epidemics, wars, droughts, subsistence crises and the like invoked the intercession of the Virgin of El Pino, seeking a remedy for such calamities through her descents to the city of Las Palmas. These were the times of greatest splendour in divine worship at the church of Teror, thanks to the steady increase in the funds of the Parish Fabric. It was an era of donations of money, jewels, livestock, votive offerings, houses and land, culminating in the royal grant issued by Charles III on 19 November 1767: 1,500 reales de vellón coins to assist in the construction of the church and 126 fanegas of land on the Doramas Mountain (Barranco de la Virgen, the Virgin’s Ravine). Coinciding with this period of splendour, Bishop Morán recommended that girls be baptised with the name of María del Pino in order to spread devotion to the Pine—a practice attested in the baptismal registers of the Teror Parish.

The 19th century marked a decline both in devotion and in the economic situation of the Parish Fabric, largely as a result of the disentailment laws, and this was reflected in the actual descents of the Virgin to the City. From 1815 until 1936 there was only one attempt—in 1858—to take the Image to the City on the occasion of the assumption of office of the Provincial Deputy Governor, who instructed the mayor, Francisco Bethencourt López, to undertake the preparations for the descent. Although at a session on 25 February of that year the Town Council accepted the proposal and appointed ward representatives to collect alms, the plan ultimately came to nothing. During the 19th century all that the Pine had represented on an island-wide scale became confined to Teror itself. Its prominence was reduced to the votive festival or the prayers for rain, or else it served as the principal argument used by Teror to meet any material need, such as the construction of the road to Tamaraceite in 1877.

With the arrival of the 20th century the influence of the Pine of Teror once again acquired an outward dimension: the descents to the City were resumed, the pilgrimage on her feast day emerged, and her name came to be used not only for people but also for clinics, schools, ships, cafeterias and many other institutions. This expansion has made the name of Teror synonymous with that of the Virgin of El Pino.

Throughout these times of ebb and flow in the influence of the Pine of Teror, the Virgin’s presence has been felt in situations of conflict such as the Dutch invasion of the island in 1599, the uprising of 1768, the mutiny of 1808, and the problem concerning the Fuente Agria spring in 1914. During the invasion of 1599, the role played by the Teror Militia Company in the defence of the island was particularly notable, especially that of its captain, Baltasar González Arencibia. Written records state that, “when the enemy entered this island and he found himself with the men of his company on the shore, fighting the enemy, he captured the enemy’s drum and banner; and in recompense and reward for this, the Captain-General of these islands at that time ordered that the banner of the said company should bear the image of Our Lady of El Pino, patroness of the town of Teror, and to this day (1715) the said image remains upon the banner of that company…”. The connection between the Pine and the uprising of 1768 stems from the land grant of 1767, which led to the ploughing up of lands that had served as pasture for local livestock. The local cattle breeders opposed this measure and were “rewarded” with exile to the African strongholds. The mutiny of 1808 arose from the question of whether or not a new church should be built in the Chaplaincies of El Hoyo. The people rejected the demolition, and in this opposition there were, in the opinion of the parish priest Don Agustín Cabral, “certain individuals who, unwilling to lose the convenience of having the church close to their homes, and invoking a most heartfelt devotion to the Holy Image, incited the neighbours to appeal to the High Court so that it should not be moved, but rather that the ruined church be repaired”.

On 13 February 1914, during the dispute over the Fuente Agria, a group of residents petitioned the Town Council to create a municipal coat of arms featuring “the Pine and the Virgin of El Pino”. They also requested that a painting be commissioned depicting “in the centre a majestic pine tree with the name of María surrounded by light amid its branches; to the right of the pine tree a drawing of the parish church façade, and to the left a drawing of the Fuente Agria spring, both beneath the shade of the pine’s boughs, bearing at the bottom the words ‘The Town of Teror in gratitude’ and at the top ‘Our Honour and Our Glory’.”

Today, in an irony of history, it is not the tree that gives its name to the image; rather, it is the image that preserves the memory of its name and the legend that once, long ago, there was a pine tree in Teror.”

An impenetrable mystery surrounds the origin of the Image of Our Lady of El Pino. Some explain it through pious traditions; others strip the event of any supernatural character and even point to the person who had it brought over from Peninsular Spain.

The author of the Novena to Our Lady, Don Fernando Hernández Zumbado, recounted the prodigy of Teror: “Our forebears told us that, guided by a wondrous radiance, they found her upon the canopy of a pine tree, surrounded by three beautiful dragon trees whose branches formed a kind of niche; that a very smooth stone served as her pedestal, and that from the trunk of that tree sprang a perennial fountain of healing waters.” Such is the tradition of centuries expressed in a few brief lines.

The Virgin of Teror very soon entered the heart of the Canarian people, and there can be no doubt of her lineage and prestige in the history of Gran Canaria. The Pine of Teror is linked to the beginnings of Marian devotion in Gran Canaria, to the roots of the island’s Christian civilisation; the first Christian expression of our people emerged in the shade of the Pine Tree.

The account of Friar Diego Henríquez concerning the circumstances of the Image’s discovery says: “that the origin and first appearance of this heavenly Image did not occur in the time when the Spaniards, and with them the faith, entered this island; nor were they the first to see and find her, or to whom she first manifested herself; many years earlier those pagan peoples saw her and continued to see her, and after having been subdued they made this known to the Spaniards”. Ships from Mallorca arrived here around 1360 with merchants and missionaries, who were well received by the islanders and allowed to build small shrines and carve rustic Images. The entire 15th century was a time of missions in Gran Canaria; in a Bull dated 20 November 1424, Pope Martin V acknowledged the existence of Christians in certain parts of Gran Canaria. In another Bull of 12 January 1435, Pope Eugene IV recorded that Bishop Calvetos had converted many Gran Canaria natives. In 1462 Pope Pius II authorised the Bishops of Rubico to sign peace treaties with the pagans of the islands, who by that sole act came under the Pope’s protection. This evangelising campaign carried out on our island throughout the 15th century leads to the logical conclusion that the missionaries, while spreading the principles of the Gospel, also instilled devotion to the Virgin in the spirit of the native population. Is it conceivable that chapels were erected and bells cast, yet no Image of Our Lady was enthroned? This reasoning explains how, in times of fervent faith and devotion, the Image of La Candelaria in Tenerife was seen by the indigenous people and venerated by those who were Christians before the Conquest.

A pine tree was the Virgin’s first shrine; later a modest chapel was erected. Following the complete surrender of Gran Canaria to the Castilian forces of Pedro de Vera, the small chapel was incorporated into the Cathedral in 1514. In its early days, devotion to the Virgin of Teror did not yet bear the strong mark of popular enthusiasm that would characterise it in later centuries.

The first decade of the 17th century saw the establishment of a parish church and the start of a vigorous expansion in the devotion and worship of Our Lady of El Pino. The Synod held in 1629 recorded the special devotion of the Canarian people to Our Lady of El Pino, because her church attracted “many devout people who come on account of the many miracles she has performed and continues to perform.” Year by year, the feast of 8 September acquired greater solemnity, and this brought about the frequent presence of the Prelate, the deputation of the Ecclesiastical Chapter, and an ever-increasing influx of pilgrims.

The 18th century was the golden age of devotion to the Virgin of El Pino: frequent processions to Las Palmas in times of public calamity, testamentary bequests, the acquisition of valuable jewels, and above all a popular devotion that came to constitute a highly significant factor in the public life of Gran Canaria. The culmination of this worship was the construction of the current Basilica and the splendid donation made by Carlos III of one hundred and twenty-six fanegadas of land in the Mountain Ravine “to provide for the maintenance of the chapel and its ministry”.

The splendour of the cult was diminished by the disentailment laws, when the properties that formed part of the wealth of Our Lady of El Pino were sold at public auction.

In the 20th century devotion to the Virgin once again acquired an outward dimension: the descents to Las Palmas were resumed and, in 1929, the Image was granted the honours of Captain-General.

The transformation of contemporary society has affected customs and beliefs, and traditions rooted in the island’s soul are now viewed from a new perspective; nevertheless, popular feeling continues to draw the islanders to Teror with an undercurrent of joy in their hearts, and the Week of El Pino remains the major festive week of Gran Canaria.

These are the three names by which that tree was known among the simple and devout people, a tree measuring forty fathoms in height and five in circumference at its trunk, unequalled in all the surrounding area: a Pinus Canariensis upon which those Spaniards, arriving on this island chosen by Her from heaven, placed the image of Mary with her Child in the leafy Valley of Aterura—thence to be called Santa María del Pino, Saint Mary of the Pine. The tree stood until Easter Monday, 3 April 1684, when a violent storm felled it; it lay down gently without causing harm to anyone, not even to the single-nave church that is so very similar to today’s church of San Lorenzo.

The parishioners wept at the collapse of the tree where they had first beheld the heavenly Lady, from which she had been lowered into the arms of Bishop Don Juan de Frías after that wondrous radiance had been seen in the canopy of the Sacred Pine. The age of the tree that served as a bell tower, together with the force of the storm, caused it to fall gently and quietly.

Of the Virgin’s Holy Pine only a Cross now remains. This Cross first stood in the Plaza del Pino, upon a simple pillar.

During the building works of the Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus in Arbejales, the Cross was taken there to preside over the works from 1913 until 28 July 1924, and after various vicissitudes it was transferred to the Basilica. Today it is kept in the Shrine Chamber, within a glass case.

When the wooden Cross was moved to the Basilica, a green metal Cross was placed in its stead upon the pillar, with an arch bearing several coloured lights. Years later this was reduced to a single lantern with a small garden enclosed by a railing. Following the remodelling of the Plaza del Pino it was relocated to its present position, without a garden or lighting. This pillar is decorated with greenery in May of each year for the Feast of the Cross.

On 9 September 1991 a lorry struck an electric cable and knocked down the Cross, though the monument itself suffered no damage.

From my childhood I remember seven pine trees in the square of Teror. The largest and strongest of them, the elders used to say, was descended from the very tree in which the Virgin had appeared; it stood where the Plaza Teresa Bolívar is today and was also brought down by a storm in the 1960s. The other four were removed when the square was remodelled. Today only two pine trees remain.