domingo, 29 de noviembre de 2009

Memories of Alcalá 20: Smuggling

Spanish original

Alcalá, located halfway between Gibraltar and Jerez, was a strategic point on the contraband route. Its geographical situation ensured it was fully implicated in the smuggling phenomenon, although the mountainous area around Ronda was the best route to escape the watchful eye of the Guardia Civil. La Línea became the gateway from the Rock of Gibraltar, through which passed the contraband goods that seduced the Andalucians. Products like tobacco, cigarettes, coffee, saccharine, cheese, butter, canned meat, condensed milk, alcoholic liquors …  And other things like linen, wool, the first electrical goods, expresso coffee machines, petrol and tinder lighters, fountain pens, the first ballpoint pens, English bicycles, cameras, typewriters, and thousands more objects which pre-empted the consumer society.

Smuggling was nothing new. It was a very common activity in Alcalá and the whole of Cádiz Province. From the early 19th century, It had become for many families the only way of making a living. It occurred because of the high prices resulting from heavy import taxes imposed by the State. Gibraltar, moreover, was the channel through which British goods could enter through the back door. Thousands of workers on bicycles, and matuteras1 on foot, went from La Línea into Gibraltar every morning. In the evening they came back loaded with smuggled goods. The British officials took no notice because this was good business for them, and the Spanish ones could be bribed to look the other way.



The smugglers were very well organised. Some used expert pack-dogs, which swam out of Gibraltar with packages strapped to them, to be deposited in hidden places along the coast of the Bay of Algeciras. There the smugglers waited with strings of trained mules, the goods were loaded into large baskets and they disappeared into the Sierra Carbonera so as not to be spotted by the Guardia Civil. The mules could spot their tricorn hats and uniforms from a mile off, because sometimes the Guardia Civil killed them on the run. The booty was formidable; one mule laden with contraband was worth a fortune.



All this smuggling eventually caused such a drain on the economy that in April 1891 the tobacco importing company was obliged to erect a metal fence one metre high the whole width of the neutral ground ((where Gibraltar airport is today) from the East wall to the West. Two weeks later a Decree determined the Fiscal Zone of La Línea, and a month after that, the General Order for the whole of the Campo de Gibraltar. But the smugglers would not be defeated. Half of Spain carried on smoking packaged tobacco, and the Gibraltarians took advantage of the situation by supplying poor-quality cut tobacco.

The smugglers had to devise new routes and strategies, and they would fish lorries to transport the packages of tobacco to Seville and Madrid. One of those lorries tipped over on the Los Barrios road, leading to the discovery of an impressive cargo of packaged tobacco and cartons of English cigarettes. It was a major scandal, but after a few days everything was back to normal. It was said that Father Lara went to Gibraltar every month and came back laden with contraband hidden under his cassock. But it was also said that he gave a lot of handouts to the poor.

For the children, the contraband route through La Línea, Puerto Gális, Alcalá and Jerez was full of adventure and romance. It could be said that many of them would have been happy to become smugglers themselves, because Alcalá was always smuggling country.

JUAN LEIVA
Translated by Claire Lloyd

NOTES
1. Matuteras were small-scale smugglers, usually women – often widows or spinsters who had no other means of support. They were highly regarded by the population they served, because of the risks they took and because they brought in supplies of scarce goods like coffee, tobacco and penicillin.

martes, 24 de noviembre de 2009

COPLILLAS DEL CARNAVAL DE ALCALÁ DE LOS GAZULES

Qué verdad es que la tierra tira. Donde uno nace, se hace. Aunque hayas salido de ella hace muchos años. Dar una vuelta por tu pueblo, enterarte de primera mano como van las cosas, es algo biológico.
Tengo la suerte de tener a mi padre, con 87 años, con una memoria prodigiosa, que a través de las letrillas de carnaval de sus años mozos, me acerca a los acontecimientos sucedidos en el pueblo, allá por los años treinta, cantadas por sus gentes con mucho ingenio.
Estas letrillas son como una biografía del pueblo:
Que equivocación tuvieron los hijos de ésta ciudad con el retrete que pusieron enfrente de lo de Bernal, como público que era no costaba salario, pero el muchachito se le ocurrió entrar a hacer su necesidad, y el fontanero que allí lo esperaba le pidió tres perras gordas por la cagada.
Algunos mayores se acordarán del impacto que produjo en el pueblo la salida de las monjas clarisas, obligadas a ir a votar, al parecer, en las elecciones generales de Abril de 1936.
En el colegio primero, según nos hemos enterado, los que ocupaban la mesa se quedaron asombrados,al descubrirse la cara les llamó la atención eran seis monjas encantandas más viejas que San Antón, hay que darse cuenta lo que han echo las derechas por ganar, darle permiso a las monjas para ir a votar, luego se mueren sus padres, familias y parientes, no la dejan salir la ley no se lo consiente.
La criada eficiente que sabía lo que les gustaba a su señora…
Mi prima Enriqueta cuando regresaba, con la compra hecha, su ama le regañaba: dime donde has estado que siempre vienes tarde con los mandados, he estado mirando allí en la plaza un lindo nabo que en venta está y se lo traigo a usted, que barbaridad, con dos cuartas y media de largo y dos kilos, debe pesar.
O la muerte de unos trabajadores en la construcción de un puente en La Golondrina:
En 1930 lo tendremos muy presente a las siete de la mañana, en las Golondrinas, se hundió un puente por no gastar jornal y por su mala obra echa no debieran volver al pueblo jamas…
Cómo cambia el mundo Facundo…
Le tengo que decir a las niñas cuando vayan de paseo no le den bromas a los hombres, como el día de jubileo, porque resulta muy feo y lo critican la gente; y lo primero que dicen esas niñas están caliente.
Cuando yo era pequeñita me ponían muchos bombones y ahora que soy mayorcita veremos lo que me ponen, una le dice a la otra que gracia tiene tu Pepa, sin duda que te pondrán un niño pidiendo teta
Aquello era trabajar, vamos de castigo divino…
Están en la carretera, trabajando sin cesar, los encargados de ella nos miran sin caridad, pero si tu te das cuenta, ahora que estás jubilao, que este no es el camino que cogimo pa el prao.
A esta murga le pareció un buen alcalde
Se está poniendo Alcalá a estilo de capital desde que a entrado a esta Alcaldía se ve que hay mejoría. Desde que ha entrado Juan Simón se acaba de perder en nuestro pueblo la ambición; le pedimos al público que nos quiera escuchar, que por su adelanto esta causando espanto, sus concejales son aquí los principales….
Estoy seguro que hay en mi pueblo mayores que deben conocer estas coplillas y algunas más, sin duda. A ver si somos capaces de terminar algunas que la memoria de mi padre no consigue acabarla.


Juan Romero Huerta
Alcalaíno en Cádiz

lunes, 23 de noviembre de 2009

Memories of Alcalá 19 – Bread, chacina and cheese

Spanish original

There are three things that people from Alcalá will never forget about their homeland; the bread, the chacina1 and the cheese. The bread from Alcalá was famous throughout the region. It was sent to Cádiz, Jerez, Algeciras …. There was a flour-mill in the Prado and all the bakers in town went there for their flour. The miller was Julio Romero, and it was located a little beyond the bottom of the hill of La Salada, on the left hand side. Julio Romero was a friend of my father, who had been godfather at the baptism of Salvador, the smallest of the eleven children they had at that time. Later there were thirteen. Thanks to that, we never lacked bread or flour for the poleás2.

I think that mill was turned by the water in the River Barbate. There was another mill, which can still be seen from San Antonio, situated on a hill and whose sails were turned by the wind which blew continuously in that spot. It was a beautiful view which I always enjoyed seeing when entering Alcalá via San Antonio. But I can't remember whether it produced flour or oil. It can still be seen, erect and graceful, as if it were a work of the Romans or the Moors.

There were various bakeries where delicious bread was made in wood-burning ovens. One was in the Alameda and belonged to Pileta, the local policeman. When he took the loaves from the oven you could smell the bread all over the Alameda. Another one belonged to Agustin Pérez, and was on the left of the hill which went from the Calle Real down to the Playa. Another was in the Callejón de Bernadino, the Horno de Luna, which is still going in the same place. Whenever I go to Alcalá I go up the Calle Real and into the alley to by bread, olive-oil cakes and soft rolls there.



Another traditional product of Alcalá was chacina. Before Christmas there was slaughtering of the pig, and it was a real ritual. The butcher was an expert, who turned the job into a spectacular event. But the whole family was involved in the task of making the sausages, black puddings and crackling. Right from the start, there was flagon of wine for the slaughtermen. The killing took place in the courtyard of the house, at an early hour, so there would be enough time to work on all the meat, the fatty bacon and the various sausages. At midday, a seductive smell wafted down the whole street. People caught a whiff and said “There's a slaughtering going on”. They were Iberian pigs raised on the acorns of the Alcornocales, but these days it is hard to know what food they give to the pigs.

Very close to my house in the Calle la Amiga, Manuel Romero, “Trinidad's Manuel”, had a shop next to Vicente's bar where he always sold his own meat products. Manuel was a good friend of my father's and the two of them would sit drinking coffee in Vicente Jimenez's bar, at the end of the Calle la Amiga. The smell of the meats being cooked with the spices would reach as far as the Playa. When we came out of Don Manuel's school in the afternoon, we would grab a chunk of warm bread with manteca colorá3 and a slice of cured loin or chorizo. With those calories inside us we could carry on playing until suppertime. But the one thing that couldn't be beat, which nobody could copy, was the Alcalá chicharrones [pork crackling] and asadura [chitterlings]. The blood sausage, black pudding, chorizo and crackling were flavours that would endure forever. Nobody talked about cholesterol in Alcalá, because the animals were healthy and the produce was made by people who knew what they were doing. The children were strong but not overweight, because it was an ideal food for children and adolescents.

When we moved to Jerez and, shortly afterwards, Manuel and Trinidad arrived with the children, we all met up for Christmas, bought several kilos of meat and Manual made chacina in the Alcalá style. It was absolutely delicious, but Manuel himself told us that it wouldn't be the same as it was in Alcalá because the raw material of the pork was different. There was a big difference between the Alcornocales pigs of Alcalá and those which were sold in the butchers' shops of Jerez.

The third product made locally was cheese. This demanded a special manufacturing process and not everyone knew how to do it. But there were families who had the tradition and preserved the style from one generation to the next. Opposite Antonio Mansilla's tannery in the Calle Real was a little old lady called Vicenta. She had a little shop where she sold queso emborrado4, a special cured cheese with a strong smell and and a flavour that went perfectly with the Alcalá bread. In the summertime and autumn, the children had bread and cheese as an afternoon snack. We children used to say “Pan y queso saben a beso” [Bread and cheese taste like a kiss], and “Pan, queso y uva, saben a beso de cura” [Bread, cheese and grapes taste like a priest's kiss]. I don't know where these sayings originated from.

Cheese is still made today in Alcalá and many people go there to buy it. I don't know if it's the same cheese as I ate when I was a child, for the childhood memories of colour, smell and taste can't be fooled. But we buy it because Alcalá lives on its revenue and because of that saying “El que tuvo, retuvo” [What you had once, you will always have].

JUAN LEIVA
Translated by Claire Lloyd


Notes
1. This term covers a whole range of edible products made from the pig.
2. Baked dough made from flour, water and oil, sometimes sweetened and used in hard times as a “filler” for an empty stomach.
3. Pork dripping or lard flavoured with spices that give it an reddish-orange colour.
4. Goats' cheese marinated in olive oil and turned regularly so it becomes coated in the sediment of the oil.

domingo, 22 de noviembre de 2009

EVOCACIONES ALCALAÍNAS

20.- El contrabando

Alcalá, a mitad de camino entre Gibraltar y Jerez, era un punto estratégico en la ruta del contrabando. Eso hizo que su situación geográfica la implicara de lleno en el fenómeno contrabandístico. Por otra parte, la serranía de Ronda era el camino más apropiado para escapar de la vigilancia indiscreta de la guardia civil. La Línea se convirtió en el postigo del Peñón para el paso de un contrabando que seducía a los andaluces. Productos como el tabaco, los cigarrillos rubios, el café, la sacarina, el queso, la mantequilla, el chocolate, la carne enlatada, la leche condensada, los licores...Y otros artículos como el lino, la lana, los primeros electrodomésticos, las cafeteras de vapor, los mecheros de yesca y de gasolina, las plumas estilográficas, los primeros bolígrafos, la bicicleta inglesa, la máquina de foto, la máquina de escribir y otros mil objetos que barruntaban ya el consumismo.

El contrabando no era nuevo. Fue una actividad muy común en Alcalá y en toda la provincia de Cádiz. Desde principios del siglo XIX, se había convertido para muchas familias en la única forma de subsistencia. La causa era el elevado precio que el Estado imponía al gravoso sistema aduanero. Gibraltar, además, fue el cauce de Gran Bretaña para introducir sus productos a través de la verja. Miles de trabajadores linenses en bicicleta y matuteras a pie, pasaban cada mañana a trabajar a Gibraltar. Por la tarde, volvían cargados de productos de contrabando. La vigilancia británica no existía porque era su gran negocio. Y la española se dejaba untar y hacía la vista gorda.

Los contrabandistas estaban muy bien organizados. Unos expertos perros mochileros, a nado, sacaban la mercancía de Gibraltar por mar y las depositaban en lugares escondidos de la costa de la bahía de Algeciras. Allí esperaban los contrabandistas con reatas de mulos amaestrados que cargaban en grandes serones y desaparecían por sierra Carbonera para no ser sorprendidos por la guardia civil. Los mulos descubrían los tricornios y el uniforme a legua, porque la guardia civil a veces los mataban en plena huida. El botín era formidable: un mulo cargado de contrabando valía un capital.

A tal extremo llegó la situación de la sangría, que suponía el contrabando, que la Compañía Arrendataria de Tabaco, en abril de 1891, se vio obligada a colocar una red metálica de un metro de altura a todo lo ancho del Campo Neutral (hoy aeropuerto gibraltareño), en la banqueta de Levante y de Poniente. Quince días más tarde salió el Decreto determinando la Zona Fiscal de La Línea. Y, un mes más tarde, La Orden General para todo el Campo de Gibraltar. Pero los contrabandistas no se dieron por vencidos. Media España seguía fumando tabaco de cuarterón y los llanitos se aprovecharon para meter picadura falseada y mala.

Lo cierto es que la estrategia de los contrabandistas encontró nuevas rutas y utilizaba los camiones de pescado para transportar los cuarterones de tabaco a Sevilla y a Madrid. Uno de aquellos camiones volcó en la carretera de Los Barrios y dejó al descubierto una formidable carga de cuarterones y cajetillas de cigarrillos ingleses. El escándalo fue mayúsculo. A los pocos días, todo seguía igual. Se decía entre los chavales que el padre Lara iba todos los meses a Gibraltar y volvía cargado de contrabando escondido debajo de la sotana. Pero también se decía que daba muchas limosnas a los pobres.

Para los chavales, aquella ruta de La Línea, Puerto Gális, Alcalá y Jerez estaba llena de aventuras y romanticismos. Se diría que el oficio de contrabandista lo hubieran asumido con gusto muchos de ellos. Porque Alcalá también era tierra de contrabando.


Juan Leiva

Jornadas de Homenaje al Maletilla

Hemos recibido una nota de agradecimiento del coordinador de las jornadas y un vídeo sobre el acto de la presentación de estas jornadas que yo os dejo aquí para que lo veáis.

Una vez finalizadas la jornadas del evento "Homenaje Nacional a los Maletillas", celebradas del 30 de octubre al 1 de noviembre con gran éxito, queremos expresarles nuestro agradecimiento por el tratamiento que le han dispensado a todos los actos del Homenaje en el magnífico Blog de Mi Alcalá.
Saludos cordiales.
Rafael Crespo Camacho, Presidente" Peña Amigos del Camino"
Juan M. Rodríguez González (Juan Ulloa)Coordinador "Homenaje a los Maletillas"




Este otro vídeo con fotografías de las jornadas me lo he encontrado por ahí. Gracias a Pedro Gutiérrez por subirlo.

El tiempo en Alcalá

A partir de ahora ya no te hará falta cargarte las noticias de la tele para enterarte del tiempo que hace y que hará en nuestro pueblo. Nosotros te daremos los datos en el Blog. Solo tienes que mirar en la parte de abajo de la página y verás algo así como esto:


El tiempo de hoy y de los días siguiente. Ya sé que el de hoy no te hace falta que te lo diga nadie, con levantar la vista y mirar el cielo es suficiente, pero como hace bonito...

Ya sabes, en la parte de abajo de la página... información actualizada todos los días (aunque si no acierta, no me eches las culpas a mí, yo solo lo he puesto)

sábado, 21 de noviembre de 2009

Memories of Alcalá 13: The Black Market

Spanish original


The shortages of the postwar era couldn't have hit Alcalá at a worse time: the fields had been abandoned; the able-bodied workforce had been recruited intoto the Civil War - many young men were recruited twice over; essential goods were scarce; certain measures were imposed by Franco's regime to relieve the famine; and many other misfortunes all landed on a large part of the population. Not only was there unemployment and a shortage of work, but basic foodstuffs were in short supply. As a consequence, many people turned to the "black market".

The word for black market, estraperlo, had its origin in a game of foreign invention, a type of roulette, which permitted the banker to manipulate the game [by pressing a secret button] in order to win. It was invented in the 1930s by a Dutch Jew (Strauss) and his colleague (Perlo), and from a combination of their abbreviated names came the word "Straperlo". In Spain, in 1934, some public personalities wanted to introduce it into the Casino of San Sebastian, although the police closed it after a few hours because the game was prohibited. Subsequently the name was used metaphorically to describe the black economy and clandestine trading of essential goods for financial gain.

Food producers and sharp-witted businessmen made a killing on the black market in the postwar period. This was a hard, cruel era of Spanish history. According to some historians it lasted ten years, from 1940 to 1950; according to others, fifteen years from 1940 to 1955, and yet others claimed twenty years, up to 1960, although in a more moderate form. In Alcalá it was as bad as everywhere else. Franco's regime wanted to control the situation with three measures: an autarchic political economy, ration cards, and foreign aid from friendly countries.

The first measure was to demand from millers the maquila, that is, the portion of grain, flour or oil which they got in exchange for the milling. This failed to be applied to all the wheat, oil and cereals harvested during the year, because an unspecified part was hidden and sold on the black market. The ration cards also ended up on the black market, because many people sold them to the highest bidder. And the goods sent by friendly countries hardly ever reached their destination, because certain bureaucrats and distributors offered them to the black marketeers.

Within this world of famine and the black market, nobody could control the fraud and trickery. Everybody knew full well where they could get their basic goods, but it must be noted too that Alcalá was on the contraband route between Gibraltar and Jerez. It was like a gateway, through which the finest foodstuffs passed on their way from the countryside and the mountains. That world belonged to a more ancient practice, of which we will speak on another occasion – smuggling.

I remember, in this respect, that there was a food made from flour, water, oil and sugar which relieved much hunger. It was called poleadas or gachas, but we children called it espoleá [from the verb espolear, to spur on]. We hated it desperately, but it quelled a lot of hunger in Alcalá. One day I went with Father Manuel to visit a sick old woman. When we arrived at the house, we found a pathetic scene. The old woman and her son were embroiled in a violent argument, the two of them fighting over who was eating more spoonfuls. Father Manuel restored order, making them each eat a spoonful in turn instead of two at a time. These scenes were repeated frequently, provoked by the hysteria of starvation. It wasn't unusual to see children in the streets with their bellies swollen with malnutrition. There were cases of children who died of hunger.

JUAN LEIVA
Translated by Claire Lloyd

jueves, 19 de noviembre de 2009

EVOCACIONES ALCALAÍNAS

19.- Pan, chacina y queso

Hay tres cosas que un alcalaíno nunca olvidará fuera de su tierra: el pan, la chacina y el queso. El pan de Alcalá tenía fama en toda la comarca. Lo llevaban a Cádiz, a Jerez, a Algeciras...Había un molino de trigo en el “Prao” y allí iban a adquirir la harina todas las tahonas del pueblo. El molino era de Julio Romero y estaba poco después de finalizar la bajada de la cuesta de “La Salá”, a mano izquierda. Julio Romero era compadre de su padre, porque había sido padrino en el bautizo de Salvador, el más pequeño de los 11 hijos por aquellas fechas. Después fueron trece.

Gracias a ese detalle, a ellos no les faltaba el pan ni la harina para las “poleás”. Y cree que aquel molino se movía con el agua del río Barbate. Había otro molino que se ve todavía desde San Antonio, situado sobre un cerro y que sus aspas se movían con el viento que continuamente soplaba en el lugar. Era una estampa muy bonita que gustaba ver cuando se entraba en Alcalá por San Antonio. Lo que no recuerda es si era de harina o de aceite. Todavía se ve entero y airoso como si fuera obra de romanos o de moros.

Había varias tahonas donde se hacía un pan exquisito en hornos de leña. Una estaba en la Alameda y era de Pileta el municipal. Cuando sacaba las teleras del horno, olía a pan y a roscas benditas por toda la Alameda. Otra era la de Agustín Pérez, que estaba a mano izquierda de la cuesta que baja desde la calle Real hasta la Playa. Y la otra estaba en el callejón de Bernardino, el horno de Luna, todavía en activo en el mismo lugar. Cuando va a Alcalá sube por la calle Real y se mete por el callejón de Luna para comprar pan, tortas de aceite y molletes.

La otra elaboración artesana de Alcalá era la chacina. Antes de Navidad se hacía “la matanza” y era un auténtico rito. El matarife era un hombre experto que le daba espectáculo y ambiente a la faena. Pero toda la familia se veía involucrada en las tareas de la elaboración de las morcillas, chorizos y chicharrones. Desde el principio, había una garrafa de media arroba para los hombres de la matanza. La matanza se hacía en el patio de la casa, a hora temprana, para que diera tiempo de recoger toda la carne, el tocino y los embutidos. A mediodía, un olor seductor se extendía por toda la calle. La gente lo captaba al vuelo y decía: “Ahí están de matanza”. Eran cerdos ibéricos criados con bellotas de los Alcornocales, pero hoy es difícil saber con qué piensos se crían los cerdos.

Muy cerca de su casa de la calle la Amiga, Manuel Romero, “el de Trinidad”, tenía una tienda, junto al bar de Vicente, donde vendía habitualmente chacina hecha por él. Manuel era muy amigo de su padre y se sentaban los dos a tomar café en el bar de Vicente Jiménez, al comenzar la calle la Amiga. Los aromas de los adobos cocidos con la carne llegaban hasta la Playa. Cuando volvían de la Escuela de don Manuel, por la tarde, cogían una rebanada de pan caliente con manteca “colorá” y un trozo de lomo o chorizo enmantecado. Con aquellas calorías aguantaban jugando hasta la hora de la cena. Pero el producto insuperable, que nadie podía plagiar, eran los chicharrones y la asadura de Alcalá. El morcón, la morcilla, el chorizo y los chicharrones eran también sabores imperecederos. Nunca se habló del colesterol en Alcalá, porque los animales eran sanos y sus productos hechos por gente sabia.

Cuando se fueron a Jerez y, poco después, llegaron Manuel y Trinidad con los hijos, se reunían por Navidad, compraban unos kilos de carne y Manuel hacía la chacina al estilo de Alcalá. Era riquísima, pero el mismo Manuel nos decía que no podía ser como las de Alcalá, porque la materia prima de los cerdos era distinta. Había mucha distancia entre los cerdos de los Alcornocales de Alcalá y los que se vendían en las carnicerías de Jerez. Los chavales estaban fuertes, pero no espelotados, porque era un alimento ideal para los niños, adolescentes y jóvenes..

El otro producto artesano era el queso. Éste exigía una elaboración especial y no todo el mundo lo sabía hacer. Pero había familias que lo hacían por tradición y conservaba su estilo de generación en generación. Frente a la cutiduría de Antonio Mansilla, en la calle Real, había una viejecita que se llamaba Vicenta. Tenían una tiendecita donde vendía queso emborrado. Era un queso especial, curado en borra, de fuerte olor y un sabor exquisito para comerlo con pan de Alcalá. En las épocas de verano y otoño, los chavales merendaban pan con queso. Los chavales ya decíamos: “Pan y queso saben a beso”; y “Pan, queso y uva, saben a beso de cura.” Yo no sé de dónde salían esos apotegmas.

Ahora sigue habiendo queso en Alcalá y muchas personas van a comprarlo allí. Yo no sé si es aquel queso que se comía de niño, porque las evocaciones infantiles del color, olor y sabor no engañan. Pero lo compran porque Alcalá vive de sus rentas y de aquel dicho que dice: “El que tuvo, retuvo”.



JUAN LEIVA

miércoles, 18 de noviembre de 2009

Memories of Alcalá 18: The Levante

Spanish original

Every year without fail the Levante would make an appearance. It came out of nowhere, with no warning, but people said it wouldn't stop until after a certain number of days – always an odd number, one, three, five … I didn't know of anything to support this theory, but it never failed. It was one of those things the older people said.

The Levante is the wind which blows from the East, from the Mediterranean, from where the sun rises each morning. It would come tearing through the ravines and river valleys until it crashed into the mountains with their high peaks. From there it reached at full blast the bastions of Alcalá and Medina. For the older people it was a nuisance, disorientating, a real pain. For the children it was a party, liberating, a game with the forces of nature.

At school, when we heard the roaring of the air in the windows, we knew the Levante had arrived. After school we went up through the steep winding streets to play in the archway on the Plaza Alta. We dumped our satchels, unbuttoned our school overalls and opened our arms in the form of a cross. The wind raged round the entrance to the old Town Hall and we made bets as to how long we could stand there without moving, challenging the Levante. The Levante always won in the end, dragging us over to the wall opposite.

Another game was to play football against the Levante. We kicked the ball with as much force as we could, but the Levante always returned it with still greater force. Each time the Levante got the ball into the doorway, it was a goal. Sometimes the ball took off at top speed down the street until it almost reached the Alameda.

Since then I have only once seen a force more powerful than the Levante; that of the sea at the Atunara de La Linea. The waves reached seven or eight metres high and dragged the fishing boats from their moorings. Big ships were wrecked beyond repair.

Another game was to shout and shout until we couldn't hear the roar of the wind. It was impossible, and though we yelled ourselves hoarse we couldn't get on the same sonic wavelength. We went home exhausted and weak, with no voice left, and starving hungry. Our parents knew what we had been up to and said nothing, as if remembering the happier days of their own childhood. When the Levante lasted more than three days, people despaired because it would drive them crazy. But there was always some child playing ball in the street.

They say the Levante originates from a depression over the Mediterranean. Then, a mass of warm, moist air swirls up from the sea and produces black clouds, which end up depositing heavy rainfall when they hit the mountains. The environment which this creates is not good either for mankind or for the crops, because it encourages pests in the countryside, like the aphids which eat the leaves and tender parts of the plants.

One night, the Levante became even fiercer than usual. It started off as a high-pitched wail and ended up a menacing roar. The windows could barely withstand the battering and the windowpanes shook. We children hid under the blankets to escape the roaring of the wind, and managed to get to sleep. But the grown-ups got up to fasten the doors and the shutters because they were so worried by the strength of the wind. The next morning, it was said that the Levante had blown down trees and destroyed the crops, and the weather-vane on La Victoria had been shattered. On the third day, it stopped. What a force!

JUAN LEIVA
Translated by Claire Lloyd


jueves, 12 de noviembre de 2009

REGRESO DE UN ALCALAÍNO


Ha pasado mucho tiempo. Por circunstancias de la vida, nuestro amigo y antiguo alumno de la Sa.Fa. de Alcalá de los Gazules, Manuel Gómez Romero, ha vuelto después de 53 años. Se marchó con 10 años pero siempre tuvo en su mente y en su corazón el regreso a su tierra, a la que tanto deseaba volver. Cuando se creó la Asociación de Antiguos Alumnos de la Sa.Fa. lo buscamos mucho, pues creimos que debía pertenecer a la Asociación. Una vez localizado en tierras catalanas, hablamos con él y se unió a nosotros. Lo curioso de esta historia es que cuando se abrió el "Convento", Escuelas Profesionales de la Sagrada Familia, el primer niño que se apuntó era él, el primero que consta en el libro de registro del colegio.
Fuimos recibidos por la Directora del Centro Isabel Mansilla Romero y la Jefa de Estudios María del Rosario Puerto Nieto, que obsequieron al visitante con un detalle.
Coincidió con su antiguo maestro, Juan Coca Visglerio, en la puerta de la Farmacia de Galán y ahí queda esta foto para el recuerdo.

En su visita a las Escuelas Profesionales de la Sagrada Familia, quiso hacerse esta fotografía en su antigua clase.

Don Ángel, profesor de la Sa.Fa. le estuvo enseñando el colegio, las clases de arriba, el patio de recreo, el principal y el del magnolio y donde estamos ahora, la antigua capilla, habilitada como lugar de juego para los más pequeños cuando está el tiempo lluvioso.

miércoles, 11 de noviembre de 2009

Memories of Alcalá 16: Stallions in San Antonio

Spanish original

In San Antonio, one of the old roads leading into Alcalá, there was a big courtyard and a stable. Once a year, stud-horses were brought from the Cartuja de Jerez to cover the mares of the town. This event had two announcements: one official, for the breeders who had stables and wanted to get pure-bred foals; the other clandestine, for the children, communicated via their friends, to go and watch the spectacle of the covering of the mares.

Four soldiers from the cavalry breeding stables brought them from Jerez in a lorry the day before, and put them in the stable to rest and get a good feed. It was a mystery how the kids found out about the arrival of the stallions, but however it happened the word soon got round, and the next day after school a little group of us went through the Plazuela and down the hill to San Antonio without telling anyone where we were going.

As if up to no good, we silently approached the half-open gate to the yard where the stud-horses were. In the middle of the yard were two formidable equine examples; alert, well-endowed, skittish, ready to accomplish the mission that had been entrusted to them. The owners of the mares waited in the entrance. The mares were cleaned, bare-backed, and held only by the bridle. The stallions appeared to be conscious of what they had to do, but the mares were distracted, haughty, looking out of the corner of their eye as if suspicious of the encounter.

A soldier ordered the men to bring in the mares. They told us children we could not come in but they left the door ajar so as not to deprive us of the spectacle. The mares were led to one corner to await their turn. We did not miss a single detail. They brought out a sorrel, the colour of cinnamon, well-groomed, handsome and raring to go, as if it were his wedding night. They gave the signal for a mare to be brought over. The soldier started to tease the stallion's organ to bring it to a state of readiness. The stallion gave a snort and started to tremble.

When he saw the mare, his erection grew enormous, he raised his front legs violently and placed himself on top of her. After a few seconds, he suddenly thrust his penis into the mare's vulva and flooded it with semen, doing honour to his name [stallion in Spanish is semental]. You could have heard a pin drop; it was like a sacred ritual. The spectacle lasted several minutes. The horse withdrew, satisfied, and we children watched every move. The soldiers closed the gate and off we went, going over the details of everything we had seen. It was a masterly lesson, honest and educational, which we would never forget.

We went back through the Calle Centeno, the Callejón del Gato and the Calle las Brozas to the Calle Real. We were pleased with ourselves, we had learned a good lesson, much better than those conversations we'd had so many times and which never left you any the wiser. From then on, we would feel ourselves one grade up from our companions who hadn't been there.

And now, when we see fine horses going through the streets of Alcalá or on the Romeria to Los Santos, we say to each other: “That's the son of a stud-horse”. In those days there were indeed some fine equine specimens in Alcalá, and good riders. I recall that during the 1940s in Alcalá there were only three or four cars, a couple of lorries, and the buses that passed through on the way to Cádiz and Algeciras. Horses, carriages and carts were the norm.

Every morning the men rode off on a horse, a mule or a donkey and came back at dusk. The animals were left tied to rings at the entrances to the bars while the men drank a few glasses of wine. Some, having drunk more than they could pay for, would appeal to friendship and exchange their packets of tobacco, their flint lighters or even their donkeys. But that night, the children dreamed of the wonders of nature and the stallions.

JUAN LEIVA
Translated by Claire Lloyd

martes, 10 de noviembre de 2009

Memories of Alcalá 15: Edible Wild Plants

Spanish original

In Alcalá there existed a rich variety of edible wild plants. They were eaten as wild vegetable produce or as seasonal fruit, much appreciated especially by the children. Nobody cultivated them and they appeared punctually each year on the commons and wasteland. The children knew them all, and on Thursday afternoons, when there was no school, we would go out into the countryside in search of its fruits. They were the plants which God gave to the poor and to the children, without anyone having planted them. In the postwar era there were many families who made a living from wild asparagus and edible thistles.


The most popular wild plant was always the asparagus [Asparagus acutifolius]. The asparagus plants of Alcalá were so famous that people came from far and wide to search for them or to eat them in the local restaurants. It has still not lost its prestigious reputation. It is a plant from the lily family, very common in the whole province, but the best plants were found in the interior triangle between Medina, Alcalá and Paterna. They called it espárrago triguero [wheat asparagus] because it was said that the best plants grew alongside wheat-fields. The plants produced their stems with the first rains and the sunshine of our region. There was a place between Alcalá and Paterna known as “Mesa del Esparragal”, i.e. a place full of asparagus. It was used in many incomparable home-made dishes; in stews, fried, mixed with scrambled eggs, served with hot gazpacho, made into omelettes ...

Another plant of well-deserved fame was the tagarnina [Scolymus hispanicus - golden thistle or Spanish oyster thistle]. It was given its name by the Moors: “ta-karnin” or milky thistle. It is a species of edible thistle belonging to the family Compositae. The stems of its leaves, stripped of their spines when still tender, are much enjoyed sautéed with other components of the famous berza alcaláina [a type of stew]. But it was also used in combination with asparagus-based dishes. It couldn't be used on its own, because it was a tough, wild plant which grew in the most difficult places. It was the cookery of Alcalá which made the most use of the tagarnina. In other places they didn't know how to combine it with the other ingredients of the berza.


The cardo [artichoke thistle] is similar to the tagarnina, but with more diverse uses. It has spiny leaves and round blue heads. It is scraped to obtain the clean fleshy parts and the tender, edible part is cut into pieces. It too is exquisite in the berza, but the fleshy parts are also fried at Christmas. The smallest ones are called cardillos and are also much used in home-made stews. There are many other types of cardo: borriquero, with curly, spiny leaves and purple flowers; corredor, with thorns on the edge of its leaves and spiny fruit; estrellado, with hairy stems, leaves and flowers with white spines; lechar, with a woody stem covered in sticky fluid, and orange flowers; and santo, which has a furry quadrangular stem, veined leaves and yellow flowers, and is used as a medicinal plant.


The palmicha, or fruit of the palmito [European fan palm] was much enjoyed, a type of sour berry which became sweet when ripe. They started off green, turned yellow and ended up red. The stems and hearts of the same plant were delicious too; today they are cultivated and I have seen them used in restaurants in mixed salads. But the cultivated palms never have that pure, wild flavour of the palmitos of Alcalá. With their leaves, the country folk made tomizas, plaited threads used to make ropes to tie up sacks or animals, or slings to throw stones. This was taught to us by the Romans and the name tomiza is Latin. The Roman soldiers used the slingshots as arms against the enemy.

The mirto [myrtle], a type of shrub, looked very similar to brezos [heathers], agracejos [berberis] or lentiscos [mastic]. It produced a small, round fruit with an agreeable flavour; they were deep blue covered by a whitish bloom. We ate them by the handful and our mouths would be dyed blue.

The majoleta or majuela was the fruit of the white hawthorn, a plant from from the rose family with white thorns, wedge-shaped toothed leaves, white flowers and a very sweet fruit. They released a sweet juice which made your hands sticky. In some places they are called wild plums. They are generally associated with the worm of the olive tree. In some zones they are grafted with the nispero [medlar].

The zarzamora or zarza [bramble or blackberry] was abundant in the gulleys, riverbanks and other damp places. It is a thorny plant of the rose family. The children liked it because it provided two edible products: one was the tender stems, before they hardened and became spiny. When the skin was stripped off they provided a pleasant but indefinable mouthful. But more precious were the berries, known as moras, shaped like little pine-cones composed of clusters of tiny fruit, with a delicious flavour.

Among the most popular fruits were those of the madroño [arbutus or strawberry tree], an evergreen shrub belonging to the Ericaceae family. It was very common in the shady mountains around Alcalá. It was associated with espino [hawthorn], [wild laurel], agracejo [berberis], and lentisco [mastic]. It was also found on the riverbanks with the adelfas [oleanders] and ojaranzos [rhododendrons].

This is a topic which deserves much more space, but I want to limit myself to what I personally remember from my childhood in Alcalá. There is much more to the local flora than all this. Another day we will devote some space to the trees and shrubs of Alcalá.

JUAN LEIVA
Translated by Claire Lloyd

viernes, 6 de noviembre de 2009

EVOCACIONES ALCALAÍNAS

18.- El levante

Todos los años, invariablemente, hacía su aparición el levante. Llegaba de improviso, sin avisar, pero la gente decía que no se iba hasta después de varios días, siempre impar: uno, tres, cinco...No sabía en qué se apoyaba la teoría, pero no fallaba. Eran dichos de los mayores. El levante es el viento que sopla de Oriente, del Mediterráneo, por donde se levanta el sol cada mañana. Viene sorteando quebradas, valles, ríos, hasta chocar con los montes, con las altitudes y las cumbres. De ahí que llegaba enfurecido a los bastiones de Alcalá y Medina. Para las personas mayores era una lata, un desconcierto, un palizón. Para los chavales, una fiesta, una libertad, un juego con las fuerzas de la Naturaleza..

Cuando en la Escuela se oía el rugido del aire en las ventanas, sabían que ya estaba allí el levante. Al salir, se iban a través de los vericuetos empinados de las calles y se dirigían a jugar a la arcada de la plaza Alta. Dejaban los portalibros, se desabrochaban el babi y abrían los brazos en forma de cruz. El levante se ponía furioso en la bocana del Ayuntamiento viejo y se apostaban sin moverse retando al levante a ver quién podía más. Al final, siempre ganaba el levante arrastrándolos hasta la pared de enfrente..

Otro juego era el de la pelota contra el levante. Le daban patadas con toda la potencia, pero el levante las devolvía con más fuerza aún. Cada vez que el levante conseguía que la pelota atravesara la bocana, era un gol. A veces cogía la calle abajo a toda velocidad y llegaba casi hasta la Alameda. Sólo ha visto, después, una fuerza más poderosa que el levante, la del mar en el mar de la Atunara de La Línea. Se levantaban olas de siete y ocho metros de altura y arrastraban las naves amarradas de los pescadores. Grandes buques naufragaron allí sin remedio.

Otro juego era gritar y gritar para acallar el rugido del levante. Era imposible y quedaban afónicos sin haber conseguido que los sonidos fueran trasladados por las ondas hercianas. Volvían agotados, sin fuerzas, sin voz y muertos de hambre. Los padres ya sabían de dónde venían y no decían nada, como evocando tiempos mejores de la niñez. Cuando el levante duraba más de tres días, la gente se lamentaba porque la cabeza se ponía tarumba. Pero siempre había un niño jugando a la pelota con la calle.

Dicen que el levante está originado por una depresión que existe en el Mediterráneo. Entonces, las masas de aire húmedo y templadas alborotan el mar y provocan nubes negras que acaban en lluvias abundantes al chocar con las montañas. El ambiente que se crea es poco agradable para el hombre y para los sembrados, pues favorece plagas en el campo, como el pulgón, que se come las hojas y las partes tiernas de las plantas.

Una noche, el levante se puso más furioso que de costumbre. Era un sonido agudo en un principio, que terminaba en rugido amenazador. Las ventanas no resistían el embate y los cristales temblaban. Los niños se escondían bajo las mantas para no oír el rugido del aire y poder dormir. Pero los mayores se levantaban para asegurar las puertas y las maderas de las ventanas, porque sonaban inquietadas por la fuerza del aire. A la mañana siguiente, se comentaba que el levante había caído árboles, había arrasado los sembrados y la veleta de la Victoria se había derrumbado. A los tres días, se marchó. ¡Qué fuerza!



JUAN LEIVA

lunes, 2 de noviembre de 2009

Memories of Alcalá 9: The Virgin and the Sanctuary

Spanish original


"On Saturday morning we're going to Los Santos”, Father Manuel said to me, elated, “so you'll need to get your parents' permission. We'll leave early and come back in the evening." Father Manuel loved to visit the Sanctuary. It was an act of devotion which he held dear, as did all Alcaláinos and also others further afield. I went home brimming with excitement and announced the news. “Tomorrow we're going to Los Santos” - just as Father Manuel had said - “We're going to say a Mass that a family has asked for.” I said this with the conviction that my father would not oppose anything coming from the priest of La Victoria.

That news had filled me with joy. At nearly ten years old, I still hadn't been allowed to visit the Sanctuary. My father would only let the older children go on the Romería1; to the little ones he would say “you can go next year”. Those days there were very few cars but plenty of horses. The horsemen would go crazy, with the girls up behind them on the saddle, galloping through the lanes and the olive groves of the Virgin. Hardly a year went by without some sort of accident.

To go to the Sanctuary in the month of May, when the days were long and luminous, was a privilege not extended to the other children. In the Postwar era – 1941 or 1942 – there was very little to look forward to. But that night I could hardly sleep for the excitement. I got up at 7, had a wash and went whistling to La Victoria. The family was already there with the horses. There were about fifteen of them and there were two people on each horse, a man and a woman. Father Manuel had been allocated a splendid white horse; I had a little donkey with the equipment for the Mass, the vestments, wafers and communion wine.

From Alcalá to Los Santos, as everyone knew, was one league – five kilometres. There was only a cart-track, but the cars and lorries used it to get to the Sanctuary on the day of the Romería. Nothing united the people of Alcalá more than the Virgin and the Sanctuary. They symbolised the faith in the spirit over the trials of life, the enduring hope, the principles which the mothers inculcated in their children, and the love of the Mother of Jesus, which provided a model to follow in between life's joys and sorrows. Nobody challenged the symbolism, because their mothers had been the best teachers. The fathers kept a respectful silence and never discussed it either.

When we arrived at the crossroads of Los Santos and the Jerez-Algeciras road, I discovered the first cross of the humilladero indicating the way to the Sanctuary. Then after several bends in the road we came across the second, the one on the hill with views of the Sanctuary, and eventually, coming down the gentle slope which led to the holy place itself, the third, situated right in the entrance. The humilladeros were the crosses where the pilgrims stopped to pray and ask forgiveness for their sins, in order to approach the Virgin with a clear conscience.

The May sunshine was already making itself felt when the cavalcade went down to the Sanctuary gate. They tied the horses' bridles to the rail in the entrance, in the protective shade of a large tree. I didn't miss a single detail. The front courtyard looked like an Andalucian country house, surrounded by doors and rooms. I saw for real everything that the other children had fantasised about. Father Manuel told me that the church was very old, from the 17th century, but that previously there had been another one, of which only the front door remained, leading into the olive grove. On the stone steps of the entrance was the mark of a hand, which according to legend belonged to a thief who wanted to steal the Virgin's jewels in the small hours of 12 September, the eve of the festival of the Sweet Name of Mary, when the statue had already been bejewelled ready for the procession next day. When the thief slipped, he put his hand on the step and remained stuck to it, unable to free himself. The next morning they found him weeping and repenting. Naturally, this is just one of many legends attributed to the Virgin.

From the courtyard we went up some stone steps to the church. On entering, on the left hand side, I was caught unawares by the famous Andalucian shepherd boy, who they say had met with the Virgin, dressed like an altar-boy in preparation for Mass. At his feet was a large plate, for alms. As he turned towards the shrine of the Virgin of the Saints, a ray of light penetrated a window and illuminated his face. The image of that simple, friendly, beautiful face stayed with me for life. I would be able to recognise it amongst thousands of images. The walls on both sides of the church were hung with pictures and devotions dedicated to the Virgin by people asking for favours.

Father Manuel was very pious, and said Mass in a pure trance in front of the image of the Virgin. Forty years later, when I was a teacher in the Campo de Gibraltar, I met him one day in a popular restaurant in La Linea. It was owned by a woman from Alcalá called Dolores, and was situated opposite the market square. I went in to eat, and found Father Manuel there with Dolores. They told me that now and again the two of them would meet to talk about Alcalá and the Virgin. Dolores assured me that whenever Father Manuel spoke about the Virgin of the Saints, tears would fall from his eyes.

When the Mass at the Sanctuary was over, we sang the Salve and went to the olive grove to eat platefuls of splendid Alcalá food. Ever since then my favourite food has been fried asparagus. Afterwards the older ones sat round for an agreeable social gathering. The horses were relaxing by the fence, and a mischievous idea came to me. I untied the harness of the horse that Father Manuel had been riding, led it to a stone, and mounted it in one jump. I took hold of the bridle, shook it, gave the animal a kick in the sides and it shot off like a bullet. The horse went crazy, jumped for joy and headed for the gulley at the nearby cortijo. From there it returned to the Sanctuary. In the entrance everybody was waiting for us, afraid that there might had been an accident.

When we got back to the town, I was full of life and had the feeling that I had passed though the barrier of pre-adolescence. In La Victoria, Father Manuel scolded me for my naughtiness, but the men laughed, knowing that it was a good horse and wouldn't ever harm a child.

JUAN LEIVA
Translated by Claire Lloyd

Note
1. A religious procession, with a party atmosphere, that takes place each September from Alcalá de los Gazules to the Sanctuario de Nuestra Señora de los Santos, 5 km away.

El tiempo que hará...