Rebecca West (1892-1983), Black Lamb and Grey Falcon: A Journey Through Yugoslavia
(1941; rpt. New York: Penguin Books, 2007), pp. 764-765:
He drove us through the town to the ruins of Heracleia, the Roman city which lay a mile or so beyond it
on the Via Egnatia, the Roman road that ran from the Adriatic through Albania to Salonika and
Constantinople. Its excavations are at a stage that can interest only dogs and archaeologists, and my
husband and I went and sat for a few minutes in the Orthodox cemetery, which straggles over the
hillside near by. I have a deep attachment to this cemetery, for it was here that I realized Macedonia to be the bridge between our age and the past. I saw a peasant woman sitting on a grave under the trees with a dish of wheat and milk on her lap, the sunlight dappling the white kerchief on her head. Another peasant woman came by, who must have been from another village, for her dress was
different. I think they were total strangers. They greeted each other, and the woman with the dish held it out to the new-comer and gave her a spoon, and she took some sups of it. To me it was an
enchantment; for when St Monica came to Milan over fifteen hundred years ago, to be with her gifted
and difficult son, St Augustine, she went to eat her food on the Christian graves and was hurt because the sexton reproved her for offering sups to other people on the same errand, as she had been wont to do in Africa. That protocol-loving saint, Ambrose, had forbidden the practice because it was too like picnicking for his type of mind. To see these women gently munching to the glory of God was like finding that I could walk into the past as into another room.
I owe the reference to James J. O'Donnell, Augustine: A New Biography
(New York: Ecco, 2005), p. 355, n. 265.