Milhoes Hero


In the lands of Murça, there are battlefields to plough, olive groves which reflect an infinite pain and bravery.

In the lands of Murça, there are battlefields to plough, olive groves which reflect an infinite pain and bravery.
The houses of Valongo have grown there like stones and trees. Around them, there is always a wind crawling along that lifts up the dust from the soil and blows it into the hills. And behind that mist, the olive groves: Fixed in the ground like mothers that can be waiting for a dead son. Fixed in the ground like statues that will be soldiers of stone carved by their bayonets. In the lands of Murça, there are terrible mixed sounds; ancient voices, current voices; if one can hear the sound of silences, one can notice that each one of them brings its eco. Farmers sing at the end of a working day, soldiers sing to laugh at their own death; the sound of boots coming from the harvest it is the sound of Lusitanian souls marching towards La Lys; The beating of the olive trees, the shots of the artillery; the crowd and the troops; olive oil and blood flowing together, strange juice of a people shaped by cold and by pain. In the lands of Murça, the past perfect is only past if it is forgotten. And this is how a story of a hero is written, being the land of a few, it is the land of “Million”*. N. da T. – Million is Milhões in Portuguese - The nickname of the Portuguese hero. By João Pinto Coelho