Sample

Chapter One

My Children
     La Buena Vida - More Letters from Spain

September 2007
In the course of this book, with the help of photographs, I will try to describe real people with real lives and not just those related to our family but also to the family of my wife Ana. I want to draw comparisons, from a personal viewpoint, between the two cultures of both Spain and England and at events which occurred at the same time in history and relate them to world happenings, which became part of all our lives.

But I will always be looking to the future and I have great reservations as to whether any of us can make a better job of life than those before us. But we can try!

We can all be forgiven for thinking sometimes that the world is largely populated by rogues and vagabonds at every level in society who are self-seeking and only considering material gain most of the time. Thankfully there are exceptions. Take for example, people like our recent guest, Marie-Louisa (our "Monjita the little nun" as Don Alfredo, our priest calls her) who have dedicated their lives to helping others with no personal reward of the earthly kind.
    
Without people like Marie-Louisa, I and many others might be tempted to give up on this world. There are times, though not many, when the "Black dog of depression" settles firmly on my shoulders. This is something I have in common with a very clever lady whom I knew in England some years ago and she said to me,
     "Tony, this is not a world I recognise or want to know.  It is not a world I want to continue living in."
     She died less than six months later, a broken lady, relatively young, in her early seventies. Sad but true.
     The lady was dear Helen Hazlewood, a graduate of Kew Gardens and a world authority on amphibians.  In academic circles, her knowledge of plant life also was immeasurable by any standards. Biology was her subject and the teaching of this subject was her life's work.  Helen's illustrations and writings were never published which was, I think, a sad loss to the world. Her water-colour paintings of plants and her favourite creatures, frogs were some of the best I ever seen and had been distributed throughout the world.
     Helen does not qualify to be a little-big person more simply a bigger person, an unknown giant in knowledge and intellect, who never received the accolades she so richly deserved. La Doña in any language.  
     Helen's children could see only a tyrant who dominated their lives as she, single-handedly, reared three sons and a daughter, and who neither asked for help from the State nor anyone else. Alf, her husband had tragically died from cancer whilst still quite young.
     Alf had been a Sea-Captain who commanded a destroyer during the Second World War and he survived the Arctic Run, only to be destroyed by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Alf had been near, or on, the Alloa Atoll, as an observer of atomic tests for the Atomic Bomb whilst still a serving officer with the Royal Navy in the Pacific in the 1950's
     Yet again, "The foolishness of God is as nothing compared with the foolishness of Man." And yet again, "We know not, what we do!"
     As far as I am aware the British Government never accepted liability for the affect it had on the people who were on the Atoll; they were there not by choice, largely, but were serving their country.
     In his last years, Alf was the Curator of the Bolton Museum, Lancashire, and did much good work, until he died. We owe so much to these unsung heroes of our time. Hopefully my poor words will re-dress the balance, a little.
     I conclude this brief summation of a lady I greatly liked and respected, but with whom I didn't always agree and outline the events that happened after she died.  After Helen's death, her children sold her treasure trove from all around the world, for what, I would imagine, would be a tidy sum without a thought of keeping and passing on "The Family Jewels". Amongst her many treasures, Helen possessed a truly remarkable figurine which was only 12 inches high, which had been sent to her from Egypt when Alf was serving in the forces. It was a beautifully crafted bronze figure of Cleopatra in a reclining mode. It is said to be a sin to covet someone else's possessions, but on this occasion I have to admit to being guilty as I have always adored beautiful women!  I find this to be a very sad but familiar story.
     We may think that world politics on a day-to-day basis have very little influence on our lives but what a difference there would have been on Helen's life, for instance, if the British Government had, in its wisdom, not experimented with the Atomic Bomb. These experiments have been proven by time to be a largely a useless exercise. Helen's books could have been written and published particularly as her husband Alf would have been there to help her to reach a much better conclusion to her life.  Helen would have not had the necessity of going back to teaching to support four children.

Alas my own Father, Arthur Beer, also falls into a tragic category, but not as illustriously as Helen.  I must admit I have a great reluctance to tell this story as it's a bit like pulling teeth, necessary but painful.  Several years ago, when my Father was the age I am now, he told me he had no desire to live any longer.
     "Why Dad?" I asked.
     "I cannot do what I have been used to doing, all my life," he said,
     Dad was referring to his love for wine, women and song. For the sake of the children I write it in this manner as his actual words are best left between father and son.  My Father was not allowed to drink alcohol or eat all the fatty food he so much enjoyed.  Neither was he allowed to gamble because on a basic English pension, much to his discomfort, for the first time in his life he was financially governed by my mother and there was not much room for him to ‘play'.  Also, of course, he was not allowed to smoke as he found it difficult to walk 500 yards without being out of breath.

The climate here allows me to act in a similar manner to my father and I am enjoying all the things the doctors say are bad for me, so far, without too many problems and I hope loss of years, so I cannot preach, condone or reproach him!
     To my great sadness, my Father, died two years after saying these words and, by the standards in Andalucia, he was a young but also a very unhappy man.  There is more I could say, but "Suficiente".
     My Father had seven children but he did not die as they say "surrounded by his wife and children". I was equally guilty of this neglect as we were all "too busy"; which is another disease of the English.  No more needs to be said. Of one thing I'm certain; this attitude towards our parents will never change.  I have nearly shared his fate and although it shouldn't be so, from my personal experience, that's the way, it is. It is especially true in most of Northern Europe as I'm told by countless people.  Reading in the British newspapers about the way O.A.P`s (Old Age Pensioners) are frequently treated makes me glad to live here in Southern Spain and to be considered a "Persona Mayor".
     Extremely unfortunate but sadly, true! 
     Why, I ask, is there a difference in attitude towards the "Family" between Southern and Northern Europe? Frankly, I do not know the answer to this question. Perhaps it has not always been the same. Thankfully, Ana's friend, Marie-Louisa, from San Sebastian, does not hold the same views or share the same lives, sadly previously described, and, at 75 years old, is as strong as ever. God bless her and all her kind.  Unfortunately we may never see her like again. This morning Ana and I took Marie-Louisa to Malaga airport to catch her flight to Madrid for a meeting of nuns from all over Spain who have 50 years service to the Church. She will spend three days there before returning to her job in San Sebastian where she takes care of "El Sagrado Corazon". "El Sagrado Corazon" is a church which was a fortress overlooking the Bay of Biscay: it is hundreds of years old and is built on top of a mountain.  Located above the church is a 40 metre statue of Christ giving his blessing to the world.

I have been fortunate to visit Marie- Louisa there several times and I affectionately call it the "top of the world".  Marie-Louisa climbs this mountain practically every day.
     Her vocation and devotion to her calling defies description and all I can say, quietly, as she would not wish it otherwise, is "God bless her".
     Five days ago Marie-Louisa flew from San Sebastian to stay with us in San Pedro.  She   proved to be a wonderful guest and companion both to Ana and myself and all the animals including Chico the dog, Coco the parrot, and Bill and Ben the turtles.
     When Marie-Louisa smiles it's like the sun coming out from a cloud as her face has an inner radiance that, to look upon, makes me feel good. Unfortunately I have not, in my life, met many like her and more's the pity.
     We miss her already, including our dog, Chico, who is at the moment lying at the bottom of her bed in the guest room looking, and feeling, I'm sure, sad and forlorn.  Chico hasn't moved for hours so soon I'll take him out and, hopefully, he will shake off his obvious depression.
     It is said that animals unlike man have no souls, but I'm not so sure.
     Fortunately, in common with man, after a few days, Chico will not forget, but will accept the inevitability that "parting is such sweet sorrow", as he done before with other friends who come and go, and carry on with his life in Guadalmina 5, with Ana and me and the rest.
     While Marie-Louisa was with us she was the only person, at that time, to stroke Coco without being bitten. Coco has the ability to crack even cherry nuts, so imagine what he can do to human fingers. His beak is truly fearsome and even Makdad - his keeper for many years - has suffered from quite severe breaking of the skin when bitten. To the parrot it may be a love bite, but it's bloody painful, of that I can confirm.
    

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