The Toad Battle

The Toad Battle

From one to five years old I just remember being taken care by my mother and sisters, surrounded by poverty but unity. I was never cold or hungry in the extreme.

I was placed in a position of safety by those that loved me. -You see, I had the fortunate position of being the youngest of four sisters.

My eldest sister was 15 years older than me, the second eldest 12 years older and the third 3 years older. My mother was like a hen with her chicks, always protective and loving.

We were poor. My father was a miner in 1952, and behaved as miners did at that time. Miners went to the pub after worked, and spent more than they could afford and got drunk.

-It has to be said that what they spent amounted to very little, but that small amount would have improved life quality for many families.

Tradition is a bad thing in general. Behaving manly is often forgetting the needs of the people that you are supposed to care for. How could a man of that time say to his friends "I am going home because my wife needs me"! It would have been like saying "my wife will beat me up if, I don't get home on time". Instead they all went to the pub and got drunk. Beating their wives was common too. I suppose it was the only way they could face the prospect of going down the pit.Going to work in the pit was a very risky business. Firstly they dressed in very poor quality blue jeans trousers and shirt,with a short sleeve vest underneath and a rough coat. For their feet they wore boots of poor quality, some miners wore socks others did not have any.

Many a time, I saw my father wrapping himself in newspapers to protect himself from the cold win that would accompany him for the 20 mile bicycle ride.(I see today ladies wearing very strong leather boots with a thick sole and excellent leather to walk down red carpeted isles, these would have been a God sent to miners that suffered from cold feet) To protect his hands from the cold my father cut the skin of a goat and made two hoods for the bicycle hand rail and then polished them with lard until they were hard and acted like plastic would today, and thus help him from the chilly winter mornings.

More than once he fell asleep while riding the bicycle and crushed by the road side.

He had not had a full English breakfast before departing. A cup of chicory with a bit of milk and a crust of bread would have been all that was available. For his lunch my mother would have made a small one egg tortilla and a few fried chips accompanied by a small piece of bread and his "bota de vino".

With this meagre packed lunch he would set out into the night for an 11 hour shift.

These vicissitudes and many more were suffered by our ancestors, and today we speak about stress!!!

We the rest of the family would occupy ourselves with different tasks. For my part I was an observer of the proceedings. My mother rented rooms to other miners and would prepare small individual pots with their meals. These were left on the agar cooker put aside to keep warm for when ever the miners came back exhausted from their long shift.

You could point out to each pot and not go wrong predicting what was inside. A few white beans with chunks of potatoes cooked in the "fabada similarity "with a chunk of white bacon and a piece of black pudding. This meagre lunch or dinner was devoured by the men with a large piece of bread, when they return after a 10 to 11 hour shift. A larger pot with the same ingredients would feed the family too.

Additionally,health and safety provision had not been discovered yet, and untrained men executed dangerous tasks that threaten their lives daily.

My mother also had the task of washing and mending all their cloths. Washing was a special treat for me as I would accompany my mother to the river with her big bucket carried on her head.

I would hold her hand and when the weather was good she would talk to me about the birds, the trees and the vegetables growing in someone else allotment.

I had a fixation with printed words and although newspaper cutting were found in the bathroom by the toilet, hanging from a nail, for that special moment when toilet paper was a luxury we had not discovered yet. The papers in the street fascinated me. I would pick them up, for there were plenty,the streets were not spotless as they are now, and I would ask my mother to read me what they said.She was a real treat; she would invent something suitable for my ears and I would listen totally entranced by her simple words. I particularly remember the Job story; his acceptance of God's will without protest, his understanding of the futility of material things and his continuous praise of God's designs on our lives. I suppose this was to me the bedside story that I had never had read to me... Firstly, my mother was too tired by bed time, secondly she had not been informed of such a thing as reading to your children before going to sleep. No one had ever read to her. Washing by the side of the river was exciting for me too. My mother would take the white washing or the navy blue trousers and shirts and soak them in the river water before she would start rubbing at the seams full of soil and sweat with her bar of "Lagarto" soap.-It was an exhausting task. The rough trousers material and shirts with pockets and patches in most parts are not easy to wash or rinse.She scrubbed hard several times each piece, before rinsing it. The different colour rinses flowed down the river with the current representing sweat, tears, effort, humiliation and sadness.

Further down, the same river water, would carry some other soul's sorrow, sadness and similar miserable experiences. She would then squeeze each piece as much as possible to reduce the weight and use all her dexterity to place the bucket on her head. I would watch her, and observe her hands going red from the scrubbing and tossing of the human washing machine.I remember thinking I loved my mother.

From time to time I would wonder off, but her caution eyes would never let me out of sight for very long. Soon I would hear her calling me in desperation and demanding my return to her side. Mostly I obeyed promptly, for without her my reading of the environmental surrounding were not very interesting.

Once, as we were there by the river Luna, washing, we heard a sound approaching our positions as when an army moves forward. We turned to discover what the sound making was,to our surprise we visualised this chrome coloured huge toad pacing the way like a soldier."Boy was this exciting a frog standing on two legs was going to attack us, I though". I quickly held on to my mother's skirt and felt her legs stiffened as she stood up ready for defence. She looked around for something to distract this monster coming directly at us. Nothing was available. In a flash, she looked at the bar of soap and used it as a bullet to the target, catching it full on its back.

The toad reacted and I remember him looking at us in defiance before tossing his odds and changing direction to hide among shrubs and into a paddle.

That day of togetherness, with my mum, fighting in "The Toad Battle " was special to me.

Piglet Pet

Piglet Pet

I also remember having a "piglet pet". Can you believe it! I loved it. My mother actually put a string around his head in the form of rains and I used to ride on it as you would a pony.

It was short and pink with black spots.

I was four yeas old only but I distinctly remember riding on it over a bridge that was just outside our house, and kissing his back side by lifting his curly tail. At one point the bailiffs came and we abandoned our house in a small van. The piglet loss and the spade left behind the door with which I used to help my mother in the vegetable garden were my childhood possessions and I cried desperately for them.

My eldest sisters were in the process of dress making. They were very young but you had to earn your living somehow. The eldest stitched all day fabrics of different colours. Skirts and blouses were mostly her line of business. Coats and trousers were not part of her repertoire as yet.

My second eldest sister was very good mending stocking. This is a lost skill in the developed world, fortunately. A loose thread in those crystal stockings was persistent on moving either up or down the ladder at a speed. Her task was to place the stocking over a drinking glass, and catch the loose thread with a special needle, and at a painful speed, step by step, bring it back to its original position. Then delicately hide the stitch to pretend it was never there. For this she earned some ridiculous some of money, but she was entrepreneurial and one thing would lead to another. My third sister was only 3 years older than me, but she was very studious and she was already going to school and showing teachers and policemen that she could converse with reason and not be intimidated by uniform or status.

We lived in this house with many rooms and a very steep staircase. I remember climbing them once on my knees asking for forgiveness for having killed Ambrosio. Ambrosio, was my friend, a boy of six that lived in the same block. We decided to go by the river which was opposite our house to pick some walnuts we had spotted on a tree. He was very short, as was I. We practised stone throwing to show our target skills. Naturally we tired ourselves to no effect. The walnut defiant kept mocking us from her high an mighty position. -What to do! "Return without our price!"No way", best change strategic and demolish the high and mighty nut at any cost.

Ambrosio, decided to go on top of a wall and shoot the walnut from there. He moved and placed himself on top of this wall near the tree, while I continued displaying my throwing ability.

Unfortuantely,one of the pebbles hit Ambrosio right on his head and he fell over the wall. I run desperately to see the abyss he had fallen to ; when I discovered him flat on his back not moving. -That was it, "I have killed him". I run home crying all the time " I killed Ambrosio" " I killed Ambrosio".

At the bottom of the stairs I looked up and saw them steeper than I had ever seen them before. The weight that I was carrying on my small shoulders was overwhelming. I decided to climb the stairs on my knees supplicating forgiveness and crying out loud :

-"I have killed Ambrosio, I have killed Ambrosio!".

I had killed Ambrosio and my mother would kill me.

Tricycle

Tricycle

In our block of flats yard there were always many children playing. Homes were not comfortable as they are now, with TV and central heating carpet on the floor and a settee. We children were mostly outdoors learning social skills and anything else that would be available. One girl had a beautiful tricycle. I was totally amazed by its beauty. This must have shown in my face for the girl that own it allowed me to ride on it for awhile. Naturally, I loved it, I had never seen anything like it. My father´s bicycle was the nearest to it, but I could not climb on that, this one was my size.

A few days later a photographer appeared with his camera trying to capture us in our childhood. He did not ask whether we wanted to be photographed, he just clicked his camera here and there. With the corner of my eye I saw the tricycle lying idle for an moment while its owner was fascinated by the camera and the flash. I instantly thought a golden opportunity had come my way to ("stardom") show off on the tricycle, and without further a do, I jumped on it and smiled. The end result you can see here (above).

My mother was not too pleased when the photographer asked her for the pictures payment, but the damaged was done, she could not resist the picture presented to her with my smile breaking through the paper.

Although I was now 5 years old and my eldest sister 20, my mother felt pregnant once more at the age of 43. These were difficult times and the stigma of an older woman, all be it legitimately, being pregnant, was frowned upon. My eldest sister could not look at our mother in the face. She actually though it was shameful and she herself would have difficulty facing her own friends with such a development.My mother was distraught , she did not want another pregnancy.

Six months earlier, she had been through an episode of backstreet abortion and had almost died in the process. Her aim was to safe money to pay off the debts and recover her house. She had worked very hard and had made many sacrifices to build it. The pregnancy would make this task much more difficult. (she never recovered her house, and my uncle never recovered his investment as the house remained empty until it was sold in the year 2000)

My parents house in Collanzo 1943

Just the same she continued cooking, washing and mending for all those men in order to enhanced my dad's pay and make ends meet. Her demeanour had changed though, I could sense it even at my age. Four children and a small wage, plus the extra money needed to cover my father's expenses at the pub left very little to put aside if any. My sisters made me a beautiful navy blue jacket for my school debut. I was over the moon. I can't remember much about school but I remember wearing my jacket with pride and hanging it on a nail at the entrance hall, ready for the next day.

My sisters being young they noticed how much care I took with my jacket and thought of nothing better than to tease me by stitching a red patch on its back. The first thing I saw next morning when I got up was the flashing cloth that appeared stuck to my precious jacket. I said nothing and went straight to investigate. Perhaps the ugly cloth was just hanging over it. I tried to pull it off, but it was well placed and perfectly secured, "ruined I though". I started crying in desolation for the sacrilege committed to my precious possession. My sisters were standing next to me observing my reaction and enjoying every minute.

My sisters tried to console me by saying that the nail had tore it and they had repaired it as best they could. -"Well that was no consolation, was it?" It only confirmed my fears of total devastation.

They had their laugh and I had a good cry before I received lots of kisses and cuddles. My delight once the patch was removed and the cloth returned to total perfection was part of their reward too.

I also had a very good friend her name was Paqui. We went everywhere together and shared what ever secrets we had. We even kept a big secret that happened to us during a visit to one of our neighbours. There were several brothers in this house, some older than others. One of them Carlos was going out with my eldest sister, much to the dislike of my father, for the family was touched by tuberculosis.

Their apartment was the same as ours with a long glass corridor. Luis must have been over 20 for he was quite tall and wore long trousers. We were in this gallery for some reason when he called us to show us something. Innocently, we obeyed and went to him. He was sitting on a very low stool and appeared quite normal, until we approached him and he showed us his penis fully erected as he must have been masturbating.

Well, we just run holding each other's hand wondering what we had seen and whether it had been our fault.At that age we had never encounter an episode of that nature, and not knowing exactly why, we never disclosed this secret to any one. Paedophiles existed then and will always be there.

Not long after that my father's job came to an end and it was time to move yet again. My sadness saying good bye to Paqui and Ambrosio has not quite left me. You see I keep living things behind. My pet pig, my spade and now my friends Paqui and Ambrosio

The cow enterprice

The Cow Enterprise

The year 1953, we arrived at this hamlet called Socuello on the outskirts of Bembibre. In this new place all was unknown and strange, there was no river near by and there were no friends to play with. My brother cried in his cot and my sisters found good use for their entrepreneurial skills in the new village.


They stitched and sawed what ever came their way. Mostly it was turning collars to shirts or making new collars from the skirt of the shirt. This too is a lost skill, no young woman today would think of such an economic idea, making a collar from the extra cloth of the skirt of the shirt!!! Stockings were always placed over the glass waiting to be gathered.I attended school in a wave of insomnia as I cannot tell you anything about it. I have no recollection of this time at all. My only knowledge of this period is a scar that I have in my foot from stepping on to a broken bottle. I also remember being punished for something that I cannot recall, but the punishment I have not forgotten. I was told to kneel on two chick peas one under each knee and with my arms stretched hold three heavy books on each hand! It always amazes me to realise man's ability in discovering new ways of torturing their fellow human beings! What could a six year old have done to receive such a harsh punishment?


Not long after having settle down my father decides we needed to move into a larger house.

The house in Bembibre in the vicinity of Socuello, was on the main road, that was the motorway of the time.Huge lorries rallied day and night with the fresh fish that had been caught earlier that same day in the North of Spain, Galicia.Madrid being the capital city of Spain was four hundred kilometres away. Its purchase power was grater than all the cities these lorries passed by in between,poor,mainly rural, agricultural and undeveloped. Once we had some visitors from my father's family. They were accustomed to sleep soundly in the desolate mountains of the North. Their only disturbance was the cock singing the waking call in the early hours of the morning. They could not believe we could actually sleep in that place where the lorries never stopped passing night and day.

The house was divided into two flats.One upstairs and a bar with a small apartment for the people running the bar downstairs. The flat that we occupied had three large rooms.Number one room held four beds for the miners.Number two had two beds for my three sisters and myself. Two to a bed. Number three room was my parents bedroom and my brother slept in a cot by their side. We also had a larger room which was our dining room,kitchen and a complete bathroom. Soon the dining room became a factory of all sorts. My sisters started teaching pattern drawing and fashion design. Tina and I went to school and my brother did his own thing.

My father was behaving badly in front of our very nose. Our flat was over the bar and we could hear him saying another round for everyone. This created an atmosphere at home that we could all sense, for the needs of the family were great. My mother decided to buy one cow. We had no land or where to put it, but she would find a way.


My father was a man of many talents, when he was not at the pub. He could build a house, carved wood or be a farmer, apart from understanding rudimentary machines at the mines.Keeping the men alive in the pit was a relevant effort. The mechanical pumps circulated the air inside the deep galleries and work environment was greatly improved as well as productivity by these machines. (below my mother in 2008 she is 98 years old)








My parents decided that they would built a hut to keep this cow in a piece of land they had rented. The hay is stack for the winter, in a way that looks like an American Indian tent.


My father and mother built one of this in appearance and made it hallow in the interior. It was finished just on time on the day of the arrival of this new addition to the family. It is a survival instinct that makes man inventive. It worked very well and had no effect on the landscape for any one to complain about.My father would go off to work and my mother continued with her innumerable tasks apart from holding the rains of this cow, while it ate for eight hours at a time.

She had discovered that by the road side, the grass grew free and plenty. Cows spend most of the day grazing, and one cannot imagine how monotonous it must have been holding the lead of this cow for hours on end. She had to hold the rains to avoid accidents with passing vehicles and people.But she only thought of our survival.


Her needs always came last. Late in the evening she would take this cow back to the improvised farm and milk it. Buckets of milk would come out of this animal factory and she would come home delighted with a bucket on her head and two milk churns, one of each hand. She would do her innumerable tasks and then at around seven in the evening she would go out to sell the milk.


She built a good clientele, for people knew she was a decent and clean woman trying to look after her family. Other people were doing similar things in a big scale. But the milk was not as whole as the one my mother was selling. Adding water was known to be part of the profit making mechanism. My mother sold it a bit dearer but unadulterated.


I remember her coming home and emptying her apron pocket full of coins. What a delight it was for her and for the rest of the family.A cow will provide you with milk everyday of the year, it is like well fed hens they produce eggs on a daily basis and thus produce product and profit for the owner. I remember in those days hens were only given left overs and did not manufacture an egg a day, poor things... (when I am asked today which is my favorite pet, the answer is always a cow) This milk also gave us a good start in life by having as much milk as we wanted to accompany our simple meals. With all this entrepreneurial ideas going on in my house, the neighbours were amazed. My mother created her own hostel, for she continued having four miners, sleeping and eating in our house. She had four daughters and a 5 year old boy, a husband to upset her, and a cow.


My sisters were by now famous as the “Asturianas Dressmakers” . They operated an academy of fashion and taught up to forty female students from villages around the area.


My mother realised that if she had women instead of men, she could be freer to do her tasks without being concerned about my sisters reputation with the miners. After all they were both in their twenties. So she changed her hotel occupation from miners to future dressmakers that came from some distance to learn the trade with my sisters.


The house was full of excitement. Women in and out, clients choosing the next patterned cloth for their chosen piece of design, buckets of milk in and out, four small pots simmering on the cooker accompanying the larger one, paper, scissors, rulers,chalk, pins and needles as well as laughter and sadness was echoed in between those walls, while the country was suffering hunger, isolation, unemployment and misery.


My sister Tina and I attended school, my brother was by now fighting with the cock that took a special liking to him and playing with his neighbour friend. They were both very dark, they had dark complexion and sometimes they looked even blacker from swimming in the river that flowed black water from the non environmentally friendly mines.


My sisters and my mother often discussed issues beyond my comprehension, but looking at my mother's face I could gage the seriousness of the latest incident. My father had gambled a piece of land that they had bought to start building another house.My mother had already helped build two houses and lost them. This was the last straw, she thought. She could not believe it, when she searched her “aparador” where this document was usually kept and discovered it was no where to be found.


In those days men could do an undo without their wife's permission or knowledge. The law was on their side, one could even gamble one's wife as if she were your own property. I know some men who did just that.


The suffragettes are my heroines and I am very grateful for their courage and vision for a better world of future generations of women. A few of us do enjoy today the life that they would have wanted for themselves, our freedom and independence. We owe to their determination in freeing us from male patriarchy, where women were disrespected and abused.


My main concern was my mother and her hectic life, matrimony issues, money problems for rent and schools, and family needs. My mother or father, contrary to other parents, never used us children as earners for their benefit. On the contrary, albeit with huge difficulty, my mother sent my eldest sister to learn dressmaking professionally. She paid for this with her effort and extra income from all the enterprises that she involved herself in to bring us out of the gutter. She had known a better life,where she felt secure and could provide for her family, but alas, it did not last, and it was not meant to be the first or second time round.


However,as soon as she could, and with forward sight, she bought a sawing machine and made arrangements for my second eldest sister to follow her steps and have a profession of her own. It served them both well, and helped them both along their lives. Both worked from home raising their families supported by the extra income that their skills gave them. My third sister Tina was very bright at school and had remarkable talent for mathematics and academic work.

Transition from child to adult

My sisters Lourdes showing off one of her dresses

( Celebrating Santa Lucia the dressmakers patron saint.

Many lovable faces and names in these pictures)

14 years old 1961

Year 1961, I am now 14 years old . My eldest sisters business grew steadily and I was going to school, running errands, delivering, shopping for the business and teaching the basics of patter design to the Academy students. It was interesting to realise that becoming a dress maker was a good profession to have, and many families thought that if their daughters were to learn the skill they could survive.
Learning the techniques to draw a dress pattern is not as easy as it may appear and many of the young women that came to learn the basics had had very little schooling and found the simple patter very difficult to understand. In order to make a plain dress pattern one needs to divide the collar measurement by 6 parts, the thorax by 4 parts, the hip by four and eight parts, and many of them could vaguely add up.
They also found that their fingers had never entertained delicate work in the fields and farms, and manoeuvring the thread and needle in delicate stitching was a hefty task. Many cried in desperation when they saw the result of their course and unsatisfactory work. Others persevered and achieve their title becoming the dressmakers for their villages.

When I now see the “pret a porter” cloths with beautiful button holes or perfectly stitched lapels I remember the difficulties we all encountered with poor thread, machinery and knowledge. An yet the paying customer demanded the best cut, design and latest fashion with unrealistic expectations. Today the masses are less meticulous and have moved forward to a different level where we can all be quite happy with something ready to wear. Equally, I also think that most women nowadays, in the develop world, have no idea about the effort needed to make a pocket or a button hole. Prove of this concept is Primark and its bad cut, poor finish and cheap quality materials.

Times were very hard, unemployment was extremely high and those that were employed were abused and very badly paid.I remember seeing morning after morning, hundreds of men of all ages leaning against the church wall, in our village, waiting for some employer to arrive and offer a day's work or an hour.

There was not much going on, deep recession was affecting all areas of society and the only preoccupation the government had was to cover their backs in case there was another up rise. Analysing old pictures in festivities of that time around Spain, one can see the Spanish Guardia Civil making sure their presence was felt by their uniforms, their three corner hats and their rifles.The attendance of religious processions enforced on all of us, kept the appearance of devotion for a church that had treated so many so badly.

Employers would ask for the strongest men among the group and take them away for a day's work and a pittance wage. It was not uncommon for these abusive employers to ask the waiting men to show their biceps to assess their potential power.
In this region of North Spain there were many mines and these very men were brave miners that had worked down the pit risking their lives before they were closed down. Poverty and hunger are stimulants to remain silent, keep a low profile and become obedient and subordinate.

As I have mentioned before, we lived by the main road, and there were many dispossessed families going from one town to another begging. I have vivid memories of a mother and child eating a plate of hot soup and a piece of bread that my mother had offered them. Many a time I gave my piece of bread away to passing children that wore no shoes and were much poorer than us.

This was the Spain of the sixties. In Spain we did not have the benefits of the Marshall Plan : (Relations with Spain in the late 1940s, under the government of General Franco, were strained. Spain did not join the UN until the mid-1950s and was not a member of NATO or the European Union until the 1980s, after the death of General Franco and the establishment in the 1970s of the democratic, constitutional monarchy with the present king, Juan Carlos.)

(1944 Approval of Marshall Plan. Two years later, the Bank issued its first, and largest, loan: $250 million to France for post-war reconstruction; an issue which has remained a primary focus, alongside reconstruction after natural disasters, humanitarian emergencies and post-conflict rehabilitation needs affecting developing and transition economies Seventeen European countries received Marshall Plan aid: Austria, Belgium, Denmark, France, West Germany, Greece, Iceland, Ireland, Italy, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Norway, Portugal, Sweden, Switzerland, Turkey, and the UK.)

Franco made the decision after World War II not to participate in the U.S. sponsored Marshall Plan. It was one of the first, but certainly not the last, of Franco's decisions that eventually hurt Spain's economy. In 1951, several years after other European nations had taken advantage of the Marshall Plan, Spain received its first loan from the U.S. government. Later that year Spain and the U.S. signed the Pact of Madrid. Under the terms of agreement, the United States received permission to build military bases in Spain in return for considerable economic aid. In an undoubtedly related incident, many of the United Nations imposed economic sanctions and restrictions (due to Fascist associations and human rights violations) against Spain were lifted, opening the door to foreign investments and markets.

Franco and the church did nothing to abate the famine after the war. (The low export figures, combined with the nation's rising inflation rate, created a volatile situation for Spain's economy and Franco's government. In one year, the nation's rate of inflation rose from an average of 9.1% to 15.5%. In an effort to contain the problem, the Franco regime instituted a series of economic measures collectively known as the "Stabilization Plan."
A ceiling of 80,000 million pesetas was imposed on government spending during the coming year. Strict limits were enforced on lending by the banking system to the public sector. Transportation and public utilities prices were increased up to 50%. Limits were also placed on the amount of credit banks could make available to the private sector. Furthermore, additional efforts were made to attract foreign investors. )

Franco decided our destiny by assuming we were able to take the hunger for another 40 years before he died. And he was right some did survive, many others did not.

Attempts to remove Franco were made by various brave men, but they failed in the attempt and paid with their lives. We owe our gratitude to them.

5 People were machine gunned in 1975, the last of the Franco´s brutal regime. Three from the FRAP organization and 2 from militant ETA. Xose Humbert Baena Alonso, Jose Luis Sanchez Oteagui, and Juan Paredes Manot and Angel Oteagui. The world and the Spaniards manifested its disgust and condemned these deaths.

Soon after this sad episode Franco died, in bed, as most dictators do. Agnostics feel a sense of unfairness for they manage to scape punishment, and one somehow hopes that in the after live these criminals should feel in their flesh the pain they caused for so long,to so many.

In our vicinity there was the headquarters of the Guarda Civil.(Spanish police) We knew many of the officers. Some were good men in the wrong force, others were sadistic animals that enjoyed their power and privilege and took advantage of it when ever they had the opportunity. More than once the screams of young men were heard from our house when the interrogations and tortures were enforced. There was a particular officer named Porro who was well known for breaking legs with a truncheon, thus the name Porro.

Another man we knew had a vine plant around his front yard and he liked listening to “La Pirenaica”, this was an independent radio station, emitting from Romanian, ( before Chauchesco came to power). Listening to this station was prohibited, but men wanted to be informed about other European countries and their political situation, and listen to this enlighten radio station, hoping for a guiding light that would take us out of the inferno. He had the bright idea of wiring the vine plant and use it as an aerial. He enjoyed the improvised system for some time, but one early morning the Guardia Civil came to pick him up and he was never seen again.

Life just went on as best we could. My father felt disillusioned, he had lost two brothers fighting for the Republic against Franco, he himself had to go into hiding for a year. Then a sort of amnesty was announced requesting miners to come forward to reopen the old mines and start production. He was in a state of insomnia as were most of the men that had tasted freedom albeit for a short period.

The Republic of 1931 had been a eye opener of what Spain could have been. Nostalgia set in as the fashiest regime grew stronger and men had to succumb to bad working conditions, humiliation, bad management and pittance wages.

Overall, my father had lost his house with 10 flats ready for habitation, he had to leave his home town, his family and his roots, and he felt trapped in a system without hope. The mines were functioning with the most rudimentary conditions one can imagine. The proprietors, (many mines were privately owned) only understood profit and productivity. He worked very hard, drank very heavily and embraced the pub ambiance where men could feel some freedom talking about what could have been!.

The way out emigration

In 1962 people were talking about emigrating to England and other European countries. This was seen as an opportunity, although it was a huge step to take. Going abroad without skills, language knowledge or money for the journey was seen as a huge hurdle.

I can sympathise with the illegal immigrants coming from all parts of the world to Europe, America or Australia, looking for work and a better life. When your own country has nothing to offer people will take risks even with their own safety.

However, the Spaniards had many more advantages than some other nationalities coming to England or any part of Europe today. Foremost we were white and service providers were in great demand, catering workers, domestic workers, drivers, builders, road sweepers etc. Additionally, we were given work permits and we were respected as workers much more than in our mother land. Today many immigrants are not white, they have no legal documents and are desperate for survival, I personally feel for their predicament.

My mother actually sent Tina and me, and later my brother to a private school directed by a republican tutor. This was very advanced thinking for my parents, considering that we were living in Franco's Spain. The Academy was directed and run by a talented teacher named Sr. Andres. The teaching was advanced in comparison to the national schools infatuated with religious studies, conformity and suppression of free spirits.

My personal advance at the academy was poor, and it was financially difficult to keep us both in private schooling. After some consideration it was decided to teach me a trade like my sisters and keep my bright sibling at the private academy . She would benefit more that I would and I was sent to state school at the age of 14. I remember noticing the change from the Academy to the state school, suddenly all freedoms were interfered with, no more free comments,questions or interruptions. We would be educated as the state saw fit,ready to obey and serve our superiors and that was that....

My mum has always been my concern. By this time the cow enterprise had grown into six cows and a piece of land in ownership, (the same land where the first cow was placed in an hay stack improvised farm), and the foundations for a new house had been laid down. My mother continued being very busy and had many upsetting matrimonial situations, including health ones.

She developed arthritis quite early and it affected her hands. Being a farmer ones hands are always being used. Milking the cows was specially painful, but she had to do it. When she stretched her fingers they pained her and when she closed them even more. Her joints were all deformed and appeared very sore, and looking at her expression you could tell they were very painful. My father helped, but more often than not he would be late or forget about it all together, he too had his health issues and was dealing with them as best he could.
He suffered from spontaneous bleeding, a vein in his lip would burst and emanated blood like a fountain. He was diagnosed with 3rd stage of Silicosis (miners disease). Additionally, the doctor had announced in not very delicate words a bad prognosis and forcasted a three year death sentence, at the age of 55.

Many of his colleagues were dying from lung disease caused by the coaldust. He never complained but deep down he was affected by the breathing difficulties, the tiredness and the courage that we all have to face at some point with our own mortality. I am sure he never thought he would live to the grand age of 84.

My mother had no means of scape and milked the cows with tears in her eyes, physical pain in her hands and sadness in her heart. Customers needed the milk for their breakfast the next morning. Having cows is very demanding job with regard to milking them. It has to be done twice a day, including Christmas and Sundays. The church could not put a stop to that. I remember going to confession one day and the pompous priest asked me about my poor attendance to mass on Sunday. I explained that I had to help my mother as much as I could when I was free from school duties, and was also helping my sisters. He took this as an aberration, my free time as a child should be dedicated to praising and learning about the Lord. He, with his well fed tummy could not understand our precarious situation. On that very Sunday he included my confession in his sermon. As he emphasised the issue I could feel his eyes pointing at me, and I, as a teenager was sure everyone knew he was talking about me. I have never gone to confession since and I have distrusted their advice or teaching from that day onwards...
I was only 14 years old and I had never learned to milk a cow, nor did any of my sisters or brother. My mother wanted better life for us and did not use us in that sense. Neither did she send us to sell the milk, she did it all herself. I suffered for my mother and I was constantly looking to see if it was about to rain, or if the weather turned cold, while she was shepherding the cows in the fields far from home. She would be cold, hungry or wet. All this situations preoccupied me no end. I would jump on my bicycle (by now I had one in possession) and go to her with the umbrella or a cardigan, she always greeted me with affection and a smile.

We also had an agar cooker that functioned very badly. For ever my mother would be blowing trying to make it start up. We were given free coal for my father worked in the mine. (This may appear as some concession from the employers side,but do not be fooled by it,strikes were fought for this benefit.) But coal will not start burning unless you have some wood. This was a task that we children were always involved in finding. It was not very easy as many households had the same problem, and they too looked for fire wood.

Both my parents worked very hard for more than 9 years to build a house with very limited resources. They would buy two sacks on cement one month, and a few bricks the other, the scaffolding was very rudimentary as it was made of cheap materials that my father would carry on his shoulders from the carpenter´s shop. There was no wood lying around like I see today, skips full of any thing and everything that my father had to do without.
The tools that he had were very poor quality too. When I go to the DIY and see the fantastic electric tools for sale I always think of him, and of how much he would have enjoyed using them. But with the regime´s poor power supply would have probably not being able to use them!

They, my parents, managed to build a two story house. We had an entrance hall with the dining area on the left. The kitchen followed with our Agar cooker still not functioning properly, a large bench that my father had built and a long table. A large window opened out to the street. He had also made cupboards around the Agar and the sink. The kitchen was our communal room. The radio was placed on a shelf over our bench, and it had a pretty white cover to protect it from the kitchen fumes. My father was a communist as it is fitting for a miner, and I remember all of us listening to the radio during our evening meal, hoping the estrange voices would helps us to find a solution to our gloomy destiny. Listening to other non national stations was forbidden during Franco's forty years regime, but some people took the risk, and informed themselves about developments elsewhere, even if back home we were in oblivion.

Outside the kitchen was a larder for our cold food staff (fridges had not arrived in Spain yet)and the stairs that led to the three rooms and a complete bathroom. My mother was delighted, she had achieved her gaol, but she could not forget the house that she had lost due to unforeseen circumstances. My mother suffered from claustrophobia and my father came from a large family. He had always lived in a large house with lots of space and light.Having a decent house with lots of windows and spacious, was important to her and he complied. She worked day and night to pay the rent, but we always had a good and bright home. In my time I have always known a bathroom in all the places that we have lived in. It was a luxury, for most people had to go to the cow shed or the pig stay to do their business.
You see both my parents came from farmers homes, and if it hadn't been for the vicissitudes that life had in store for us, by the age of forty they had built a house with ten flats ready to rent, which shows their determination, background and vision to provide for the family and their old age. Alas, it was not to be the first time round.

Teenager years

Fifteen to twenty years old

My third eldest sister Tina, was by now teaching in a convent school in Ponferrada, and staying with my second sister who had married there.It was 1962 a very bad year, as bad as many others, unemployment was very high and jobs were hard to come by. Even the dressmaking business had gone into decline. The parents of future designers were affected by the recession and had to withdraw them from the academy. My eldest sister married a miner and with the miners salary, helping with the farm and my sister's reduced dressmaking business they moved into their rented home.

Life was a bitch as paying rent is a burden that poor people find almost impossible to meet.
My mother, father, brother and myself moved into the new house that had taken seven years to built. Only one flat was finished but it was very nice. It was spacious with a yard at the front that led to the cow shed. We had cows, chickens and a vegetable plot. We also had a pig stay and a pig.
My father continued working in the declining mines and although there was a lot of activity at home it was difficult to make ends meet, life was very tough.

I helped my sister with dress making and in the farm. And continued worrying about my mother's health, work, and general poor home environment. She tried so hard to give us a better life and a stable home.

A year later my third sister (Tina) decided to emigrate to England to study English and perhaps return with one more skill to find a better job. The nuns helped her in this venture and she was actually sent to a very good part of the country Cobham in Surrey to work as a domestic in a boarding school for girls, Notre Dame School.

She did very well there and she learnt quite a lot to start looking for something that would pay better. She applied for a job in St Thomas' Hospital and started training as a cook. At home I was a teenager of 16 with few prospects apart from marrying a miner and start the same sacrificial life of my two eldest sister and my mother, or take a plunge and go to England.
Of course this was a big decision, emigration then was a sad affair, as it is now for those that come from Romania, Poland or Bulgaria needless to say Africa or many parts of Asia or South America.

Those that come to England from Spain today, as students or even as workers, have a completely different approach, as they come with an education, money in their pockets and something to go back to. The Spain that we survived offered us nothing at all, what ever I had my mother lacked.
The country treated us as very badly, without any concern for our well being, our education, our health or our future.

Emigration was also seen as tragic event for the family, for the unknown is always frightful. Lack of information, created a feeling of desolation.What to do in the worst scenario.! How can one deal with problems as such a distance?. -You see, when you are poor, the unknown is equal to fear and uncertenty.

Weighing it all up, I thought I had to take a chance and give it a go. My mother was a dilemma for me as she would be left alone with my brother who was 10 years old, and my father. My eldest sister, Gely, had married and her house was a short distance away. Lourdes, lived further in Ponferrada 20 kilometers away.

Life continued at the same pace with the cows, the hay harvesting, milking and selling milk, my father semiretired by now due to ill health etc.

On 14th June 1964

14th June 1964 I embarked for Tilbury in the Port of Vigo, north of Spain. The ship was a passenger-ship that took migrants from Spain to England.

style="font-size:130%;color:#990000;">Although I was 17 years old, I looked like a 9 year old would look today, and to improve my appearance I had four milk teeth missing at the front.
I had actually saved from somewhere, enough money to visit the dentist once, to have my teeth repaired, as a teenager I was concerned about my dental appearance. I visited the dentist and he actually removed two on each side of my front teeth and left me with two gaps. I looked like a buds bunny.

style="color:#990000;">My brother- in- law had been to Madrid to do the military service and was seen as a man of the world at home, and he was the candidate to take me all the way to Vigo 450 kilometres away.
style="font-size:130%;color:#990000;">The train journey was very exciting as I had only travelled short distances between Asturias and Leon. The world opened up in front of me and mile after mile I could see, houses, people and fields that went on and on...

As a young person one looks at ones surroundings with different sensations. The places that we could see from the train were poorly built and in a bad state of repair. The country side offered more of the same back home, agricultural workers striving to make a living, without effective tools, poor crops, bad seeds and not enough food for their families or animals.

The agricultural workers that one could see from the train window, wore poor clothing and one can only describe their situation as a miserable one. However, I remember being excited and full of new emotions and hope.

In Ourense, north of Spain, I remember we came off the train for a short period, and people were trying to sell different things to the train passengers, they spoke in Gallego and believe me,we were amazed as we could not understand anything they were saying. This was my first encounter with spoken language that I could not understand. And it was in our own country.

We arrived in Vigo and the first thing we did was to look for a cheap “pension”. The cheapest we could find was more expensive than we had anticipated. I am told, that I said to my brother in law, to take one room only, he was 28 years old, and recently married. Luck was on my side for he did not take my offer...

The next day we ventured out to find my ship and make enquiries. We were told it would leave in two days time. "Oh, well", nothing to do and lots of time in our hands. We decided to go to the beach. In Vigo the beach is not just up the road, although the city is by the sea,we actually had to take a boat to get to the it, all very exciting and new.

We had a swim and I decided to sit on the rocks to rest, while my brother in law, Isidro, continued swimming. The beaches were not supervised or controlled by the authorities in any way and we all took risks with our life everywhere we went.

I saw Isidro swimming among snakes that sprang their heads up as they went along in the water. When I saw this I thought I would die, for I am terrified of snakes. I screamed and begged him to come out of the infested water.

The people from this region are very secretive and introverted. They will not tell you where they are going or whether they are coming. And if you ask, are you coming?, they will answer no, I am going...

Any way, there were we sitting looking at all this strange sea in front of us, and we actually fell asleep, and we did not realize that the tide was coming in. Just before dozing off we noticed that people were looking at us in a strange manner, but as they did not speak we ignored them.
You will not believe this but it is true, we were left alone, on an island surrounded by water infected with snakes, and it was more than two meters deep by the time we woke up. I could not swim and my brother in law suggested he would go first with the cloths and then come back for me, I do not know why he did not suggest to take me first and then return for the cloths, but I would not hear of it, and I started screaming for help.
Fortunately a boat came to pick us up, and fully embarrassed we thanked them and removed ourselves as quickly as we could to change into civilian cloths among the corn leaves. We left the beach feeling desolate...( I also remember that we had no swimming costume and swam in some discreat underware)
Next day we decided no more swimming and we just walked the beach. We were hungry and on seeing small crabs running around our feet, we thought why not have a few for our lunch.

We managed to catch quite a few and we sat on some rocks ready to enjoy our rich pickings. We came from in-land, and sea creatures were unknown to us, we did not know they needed boiling and started separating their legs alive...

The poor crabs squeaked and fought us in spasms, our masochist intentions were the consequence of hunger and we were looking forward to eating crab. After pulling and stretching and removing a limb or two, the flesh was inedible, hard and tasteless for which most of them had a lucky scape and crawled back to their life in the sand and the sea...

Emigration ship to Tilbury England

My Sister and Husband Isidro and myself before emigrating in 1964

June 1964

Finally, I was taken to this big ship full of people. On deck there were hundreds of people with a bundle of cloths at their feet. I had a cabin that I shared with three other young women. Once we were all in the ship they removed the stairs that connected us to land and the horn of the ship starting hooting in a long poignant sound that penetrated the core of ones heart.

The dictatorship psychologists must have thought it was a good idea to play a sad song on loud speakers for the migrants leaving the shores of Spain. They chose nothing else but “Adios mi España Querida” ( Goodbye Spain of my love) from Juanito Valderrama. This is a melancholic song for Spaniards going abroad. You cannot imagine the effect that this had on everyone including those on land. Tears where flowing as rivers, and sad sounds were echoed where ever you looked. Everyone was waving to someone dear to them. The occasion was sombre, the future uncertain, and we did not need a lamentable song to depress us further.
(In 2010 I saw a video of emigrants that went to Argentina in 1950 , and they too spoke of the same sad song played to them 14 years earlier)

The captain of the ship took special care of me. I expect he knew some law regarding juniors travelling alone, and I did appear very vulnerable. I ate my meals at his table and he made sure that I did not run into any problems during the two days voyage from Vigo to England. The first night in my cabin,I was fortunately placed on the lower part of the four banquet beds in our cabin. I say fortunately, because I suffer from brittle bones, and as we were passing the cape Finisterre the ship tossed and shacked everything including the two girls that were trying to forget the rough seas in their upper positions and landed on the floor with a loud scream and a big bang.
I cannot imagine how the passenger on deck fared that night, a few might have gone overboard and they are still searching for them...

During the voyage I was in my element. -Can you imagine such a large house floating in this immense pool of water. I found it unbelievable and kept looking at the waves hitting the bulk of the ship. I investigated everything; there were boats hanging on the sides of the ship, their purpose amazed me, for there were only three on each side, and the ship was carrying hundreds of passengers. The stairs run up and down into different floors than change in exuberance according to how deep or high they were. It thought me something for my cabin was two floors below. There was a large swimming pool, and a smaller one. I never saw anyone using it although it was June and the weather was hot, perhaps the migrants forgot to include swimming gear into those bundles that they used as pillows on deck at night, the luxury of swimming suits was not included in their list of priorities, nor was mine. Perhaps this ship carried different class of passengers at some point of its life. There were very luxurious rooms with glass chandeliers, mirrors and tapestry, beautiful mahogany cabinets and chairs, carpets on the floor and expensive looking ornaments. We all saw them but dared not enter.

When we arrived at Tilbury passengers started picking up their bundles and placing them on their shoulders, removing themselves from the deck where they had spent two nights and one day. I had prepared my small carton -suitcase with my voyage cloths and had change into my only extra set of cloths to receive my sister , that was all I had inside, but at least I had a suitcase... I often wonder how did my mother think of a buying me a suitcase, and of how many tears she had shed the day she packed my modest possessions.

I placed myself on line in order to descend the stairs and look at this new country that I knew nothing about. The Captain's eyes soon spotted me and removed me from the queue to await for some relative to take care of me. He did not let me go until my sister came on board and formally signed for my departure. I never thanked him properly for his kindness and care. He must forgive me for I did not know any better. I am sure my sister thanked him, but she did not know then, how kind he had been to me. This sort of kindness I was to receive many times over the years. This country received me with open hands and offered me opportunity and gave me a chance, something my own country had denied me.

Au-pair experience

Myself in Esher Au-pair´s house in 1965

Tina had looked with a thin comb for a decent family for me and found a family from Argentina Mr and Mrs Stamford. They lived in Claygate in another beautiful house called the Windmill."The Windmill", house is in Claygate near Esher. This family who naturally spoke Spanish was my first contact with other people in a home environment. They were very advanced by my standards. They had two girls of 10 and 11 and a new 8 months baby(another girl).

Here I saw people eating at the table in a different style,(we always ate at a table with good manners, my mother saw to that) children being read stories at bed time, by their father, children being driven and picked from school, children being taken for horse riding lesson and swimming, children deciding what cloths they wanted to buy and wear, children that did not eat apples that had fallen from the trees in our own garden, because they had not come from the supermarket shelf...

I was a child myself and just observed and learned in total amazement. The husband a tall handsome and kind man was an executive in a cigarette company in London. He left early in the morning dressed in a pinned stripped suit and a boiler hat, never forgetting his umbrella. He left early and returned at around 7.00 p.m. By then the children had done a million things with the help of their mother who was totally dedicated to their busy lives.

My duty was to take the baby out for walks, very long walks for I could not come back for at least two hours. So I walked this baby, and saw other people doing the same thing, probably Au pairs from other countries. Some even walked the dog at the same time. Fortunately for me the family had no dog or cat.

(I am not used to having animals at home)

I also attended a school of English three times week, and I had to take the train to Finchillywood at 3.00 p.m. "Can you imagine, me asking for a train ticket to Finchellywood"? I was very lucky because the family really treated me well and did not use me as a domestic ever. I was paid as an Au pair girl, which meant, board and lodging, family integration and three pounds a week.

-Do you know? in this agency my sister took me to, we were given a list of dos and don't s. I suppose some families tried to use the Au -pair girl as a domestic and this agency made sure that that was not my case. I only performed light duties with the baby and the washing up at lunch time, for the house wife, the baby and me. In the evening when I came back from school I found the dishes done drying on the sink.

I was told the father had actually washed the dishes after supper.

-What about that !

I had never seen any man back home doing domestic work, never mind washing the dishes... After my supper I would go upstairs to say good night to the two girls, the baby would be asleep. More often than not the father was reading the bed side story to the two girls. I was shy and had not much to say, so I had never dared to look at him straight, but when I did, I saw him winking. I immediately looked else where wondering why?

-Was it going to be one of those situations like the one Paqui and I has experienced?

I wondered for a while avoiding him as much as possible, until one day I went to use the bathroom and found a glass eye in a glass!!!! -

Well, what is that I thought!!! Then the penny dropped, and I realised he had an eye glass and was not winking at me at all.

-What a relieve, boy, boy!!. I could perhaps relax now. He was very kind and helpful, and at weekends when we all had lunch and dinner together, he made a special effort to teach me some basic words and include me in the family reunions never making me feel an outsider. I am grateful to him too.

The months went by and my sister took me to the dentist to have a dental plate made. If you remember I was walking about with four front teeth missing. The dentist Mr Doelly was very kind. He checked and repaired everything wrong with my teeth and he made me a plate that lasted 35 years. I was also his patients for 30 years until he retired. His ambition as that of many parents was for his son to take over his practice, but his son's heart desire was not dentistry. He became a rock musician.

I was very pleased with my new dental appearance and I suppose I displayed my new smile to the baby. The baby notice something different and place her little finger in my mouth trying to touch the difference. Accidentally I miscalculated and I bit her finger more than I intended. The poor thing cried very loudly, I am sure the mother is still wondering why the baby was suddenly so distraught....

-I could not tell her could I?

I often walked with this baby to see the trains go by. There is a foot bridge in Claygate that leads to the fields over the railway line. I spend hours there seeing this trains coming and going somewhere, currying my thoughts to my mother. Moving trains are nostalgic, for they are going from one place to another while one is static. From there I could see fields and cows grazing. My mother's picture presented it self to me very often. But alas, she was far away and having a worse time than I was caring for that baby.

The thought of political parties, presidents, dictators, kings, and queens and any other powerful person that makes people's life a misery will never cease to irritate me. Working so hard, living so simply, measuring all your needs and balancing every effort did not bring you out of the next day's needs. Human necessities are very basic ; but providing for those very basic necessities can be an excruciating effort that in this wealthy world no one should be put to the test.

I wrote very long letters to my mother and father, my eldest sister was also eager to hear about our survival, and they all cried when reading our news. They never failed to respond asking for our well-being never wanting any thing from either of us. Always offering to us more that they could afford. A year later Tina decided to train as a cook in St Thomas hospital. Her vacancy at the house in Esher become vacant and with much regret I took her position for I was paid more and could attend school for longer hours

The Beast and the Beautiful beast

1965 A year later Tina decided to train as a cook in St Thomas hospital. Her vacancy at the house in Esher would become vacant and with much regret I took her position for I was paid more and could attend school for longer hours.

The adultery issue I was telling you about earlier, led to separation, and a new home was rented for this beautiful woman and a man twice her age. She was from Germany, 28 years old and had a long blond pony tail plus a sensual body that she displayed generously to all and merry. She met him working as a nurse in a hospital in Kingston, he was one of the patient suffering from psoriasis.He was being treated by her and one thing led to another until she convinced him to leave his wife, who was suffering from cancer.

This couple had no children. She was a real bitch, at the time it was fashionable to walk the house nude, and she drove him mad. She would not sleep with him unless he found £50. He was a rich man. His family had started an innovative system to pack potatoes in plastic bags. He also owed a club in Hampton Court by the river and he was doing very well. Still £ 50 in 1965 was a lot of money.

This man was infatuated by her beauty. Many a time after she had gone to work, he would go to her room and take one of her shoes and come to show me how delicate, pointed and colourful they were, or he would smell her dresses, or he would take the car and drive all the way to Southampton hoping to see her during her break. More often than not he would come back disappointed not having seeing her.

I expect she gave instructions in order not to be found, she had move that far in order to see less of him. At one point he came back saying that she was having an affair with a young doctor. Well, she probably was, any way they would have a holy row and I would always be the beneficiary of the aftermath result. They would make up and take me for very nice treats. To see the airport in her sports car, and for a meal in best pubs, to the theatre, for a meal at the club, or to the best restaurants. I remember once I had the audacity to ask for turtle soup, and I enjoyed it.

I was a fast learner! I, represented normality to their abnormal relationship.At that time I was naive and actually attended mass ever Sunday. On one occasion, it was raining and she offered to take me in her new bright red sports car he had recently bought for her. I wasn't to sure of her motives, but at the church´s door I actually asked her to come in with me. She looked at me in total disbelieve and said that no church on earth could forgive her sins. Had it been today I would have understood her comment. There are bigger sins in this world than seducing silly old men.

I some times think Tina's recommendation for me to live with this family must have appeared somewhat questionable, but her assessment was correct. He was nothing but kind, respectful and always demonstrated a high regard for both Tina and for me.

Tina and I continued going to school and meeting mostly at week ends for long chats and meals. Tina was trainee cook in one of St Thomas' nursing homes, Chetney House in Chetney Walk by the embankment. It was all very English and proper. The midwife's and nurses were well provided for. All services were available for their comfort.Tina worked in this beautiful well equipped kitchen and had free hand to feed me as she pleased. I enjoyed great meals cooked by her there.

We also had some sort of telepathy going on, I expect it was our youth showing through, but for some years we had nothing but laughter. Tina had a especial talent for languages and she picked expressions and phrases very well and she used to say in a very English way " honestly" this for some reason I found very funny, and would start laughing uncontrollably, until Tina started giggling in her particular way that was very contagious and we would fall over each other in complete happiness. Our only nostalgic moments were our thoughts of every one back home.

The saga between these two people continued and I attended my lessons and improved my vocabulary and communication skills. She, Carol, continued withdrawing money from him, for different reasons. When she had a reasonable bank account in Germany, she decided to go back for good. This poor man was distraught as one can understand. His wife had passed away and he was an old man. He had regrets, we all do, and to kill his time he used to drive all the way to Germany to see her. His visits were short. He never said much, but I could tell that she continued demanding money and he complied to keep the lines of communication opened. At the end he had not much to sell, he finally sold the washing machine to purchase a tape-recorder to sent her tapes full of loving words, memories and lost love. I too deserted him as with her gone my services were not needed.

St Thomas Hospital (employment)

St Thomas Hospital 1965

Through Tina I got a job in St Thomas Hospital. Years later I visited Mr Wright, he was seventy years old. He still managed to keep a flat in the outskirts of Esher and had services provided by the lodge. He was OK. He had had a full life and memories to keep his mind occupied. I was pleased to see him in a good state of health and well cared for. He promised to include me in his will, but it never materialised. I expect she, Carol, needed it more than I did.

St Thomas' Hospital 1965, I was offered a nice room in a residential house at the hospital named Riddle House. It had every amenity needed. We had a room with a bed, table, wardrobe and side table. lamp and all included. We also had a sitting room and a television. It was centrally heated, hot and cold water, and we were offered meals and accommodation all in one. We were given one sheet per week to change the bed, the custom was to change the bottom sheet and replace it with the top sheet and then put the new one on top. Board and lodging it was called.

At the dining room where meals were served, we had separate tables according to rank.The Sisters and senior nurses had their own separate dining room. The Consultants and junior doctors were separate too, and in the main hall of the large dining room, rank was also recognised by the administration table. Set aside by the windows with cutlery laid down and water jugs.

We the domestic and catering staff had made our own, the right side of the dining room. But we all ate the same food, and had the same portions, plates and cutlery. Food was available at all times in large quantities. We were also provided with beautiful uniforms in those days. Green dress adorned by an impeccable white starched apron, a green belt and a white cap for our head. The cooks wore the same style but in electric blue, or brown if they were training, the domestics no apron, the nurses like us but different colours and belts according to their qualifications. Kitchen Porters wore a white kimono. Dining room porters a brown overall, chefs uniforms have not changed much with time.

I remember the kitchen porter's hands were always red, poor things, there were huge sinks in the kitchen. One would be filled with water and soda, to wash the large containers, pots, large bowls, frying pans and cutlery that the chefs used uncontrollably and placed with a big bang on tables as they shouted “ very hot”. Other sinks were filed with clean hot water for rinsing. Gloves were not available then, and their hands were boiled by this harsh environment.

At 1.30 pm. The chefs and their assistants were served meals in the mess room above the kitchen area. It was our task to clean all the working tables for the chefs, thoroughly, and the slicing machines. The porters' duty was to clean all the ovens and floors. Well, there was an army of people attacking the various duties that needed doing. But we were all happy. The kitchen superintendent (Mr Marsillac) was a kind man, and had never restricted food for his staff. So although we had all had our meals in the dining room at 11.30 am.by two o'clock in the afternoon we were ready for some more treats. Left over food from all the dining rooms came back to the kitchen at this time and we had our feast, specially in the pastry room. I remember taking a pie dish full of cream caramel, adding some peaches and cream and eating it all. Or apple crumble, I am partial to apple crumble....

We were well treated and with respect, after all we were six young women surrounded by 15 chefs and 12 porters, and many more that came to the kitchen with different deliveries. Mostly the girls were Italians and Spanish in 1965. The porters too were from Italy and Spain. We are similar people in customs and language and in general got on very well with each other.

There was this handsome Italian porter, Mario, who was besotted with me and would sing me amorous songs all day long, in a good tenor voice. I hated him, for he did not recognise discretion, he wanted the whole world to know his love for me. And he used to say that hate is love and the more I hated him the stronger my love for him became. It did not materialised. If the kitchen had not been demolish his love songs would still be heard on its walls today....

The Management of the hospital as I said treated the staff very well and foreigners in particular.Being from Spain and Italy, they knew we were catholics and our soul was cared for too. A priest would be available every Sunday at 6.00 am. To conduct mass for those people who were on duty at 6.30 am. The Muslims traditions were also respected and were allowed time for prayers according to their custom. This way we all kept our individuality and felt no resentment against our employer.

Another effort made by the Hospital administration was to rearrange rosters to fit in with our English classes. I had lessons on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. My schedule was always early on those three days. Others had different times and days and like me I never missed a class because of our working hours.

The managers of different departments were also observant and recognised potential, and were conscious of our personal development. Job opportunities and training were there for those who demonstrated an interest or aptitude for personal advancement. Today immigrants are considered a pest, and are treated with contempt, but I am sure mostly they work hard to improve their lives and that of their families by doing legitimate work and contributing to society.

I am a recipient of good practice and in return I have worked hard for forty five years, paid taxes, responded to a just society in an honest way,recognising the civility that was offered me and I hope I have contributed by returning and not just receiving.

Many nations included my own should follow England's example with immigrants and would benefit from their investment.

I was 18 years old and in the kitchen a young trainee chef was always asking me out. He would wait for me in the corridor of the hospital holding his bicycle and a parcel with some treat for me to have. I sometimes wonder what he must have thought when he offered me a banana, which I ate in front of him. Well, I did not want to offend him, after all he was nice. We went to the cinema several times and he was determined to speak to Tina about our possible relationship. Tina was not happy, and told him so. She told him that I was too young and time would tell.

My sister Tina in Regents Park

Years later we would meet again, when I did not need permission for our interrupted relationship. A friend of mine from Palencia, Luisita, worked at the hospital with me and we got on very well. She was much more adventurous than I, and she planned a tour holiday to Italy for a whole fortnight. Tina would not let me go, and I had to ask my parents' consent from Spain. I did not get it, but I went just the same. Teenagers will always revel and disobey orders, we were no angels.