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.
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.
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