No, it’s not a typo, it’s a direct translation.
Of what, you will ask, being the inquisitive folk that you are. Of the name of an image of Our Lady.
Let me step back a bit first, before I get there. The word “romería” denotes a pilgrimage undertaken on certain specific dates; the Hajj or a pilgrimage to Rome wouldn’t be romerías, as you can perform them at any time of year, but that massive yearly pilgrimage to bathe in Ganges for purification fits the definition. The name comes from “romero”, a name originally applied to “those who go to Rome in pilgrimage”, which is kind of curious as that original meaning would now be completely lost if not for RAE. Most Spanish romerías are to a specific small church or shrine called “ermita”, out of but close to a village; some have a story or legend, from “the king was running after a band of horse thieves and promised to build a church here if they caught the bastards” to “the image was found in a cave nearby”. These romerías used to be huge social events: many girls of marriageable age wouldn’t be leaving their farms at all except for these, so it was a perfect occasion for meet and greet.
When I moved to Dos Hermanas (“Two Sisters”), which is next door to Seville, I noticed a lot of references to Valme this and Valme that, both in 2S and in Bellavista (“Beautifulview”), a section of Seville which enters 2S’s municipal boundaries like a puzzle piece its sister. One of 2S’s squares has a plaque celebrating the Coronation of the Image of Our Lady of Valme, but the local patron saint is St Anne (huh, same as in the town where I grew up).
So, here’s the story, as pieced from several sources (i.e., each webpage I’ve read has a slightly different version post King Fernando). Turns out that, and you’ll excuse me if the translation is a bit over-literal because I’m doing it on purpose, our good lord King Fernando of Castille, who would later be known as Fernando the Saint, prayed in front of this small image of Our Lady on the day before his troops were to assault the great city of Seville, and he started his prayer by saying “valedme, Señora, en este día…” “pray thee help me, My Lady, in this day…” The battle was won, the city taken, and several weeks of minor battles and major administrative decisions followed, during which some people built a wooden shrine around the image, and it was left in place, and the people of Two Sisters, upon whose land the shrine rested on the area called Beautiful View, would take care of it as they took care of other shrines in their land, and as the image was left in place, so the shrine was turned into one of brick and adobe, which were the materials most used for building in this land.
And it came to happen that there was an epidemic upon Two Sisters, and the image of Our Lady of Valme (for the locals were more direct in their address than the King had been, and they treated Her with the familiarity due an old friend and protector) was taken to the main church there along with other images from other shrines, but this one was left there because the shrine was in bad repair, and then the city limits were changed and Seville took over Bellavista, and they claimed the image back but the good folk of Two Sisters would not give it to them, as the shrine was in disrepair and the people of Seville would not repair it, nor did the people of Two Sisters want to repair it now as it was not in the land any more, until finally it was decided that the shrine would be repaired by both, and the image taken back once repairs were finished, and a romería would be held each year on the third week of October, with the people of Two Sisters and the people of Seville going to worship together.
This romería claims to be the second-biggest in Spain, after the one to El Rocío (lit. Dew… as I’ve said many times, in Spain we just turn anything into a girl’s name by the procedure of sticking an advocation of Our Lady on it) and with some 200,000 pilgrims every year. I took a few pictures, which I hope you enjoy; there’s more commentary in their captions.