A Son of Aran (16 page)

‘How are your Spanish lessons going?' Peadar asked Eileen after her stint in the Warwick ended on the first of September. The results of her Leaving Certificate and Matriculation exams had come to hand—she had excelled in both. If her results were sufficiently high there was a possibility she would qualify for a university scholarship. She had applied also for a place in the training college for teachers. Given a choice she hadn't made up her mind which one she would take. Funding might be a problem at the university—the grant covered only part of the cost and Peadar was not very well off. In a training college on the other hand tuition was free, but she would be required to pay back some of the cost by deduction from salary when she started to teach.

‘How would you like a trip to Spain while you are waiting for your future to clarify,' Peadar asked. ‘I would like quietly to check out this Carlos man and see what the scene is like at the Estat de Tirelle. I'm sure Ó Máille would take us with him on one of his runs to Bordeaux. From there the Spanish border is within reach; we could make our way to Salamanca on bicycles without too much trouble. We'll need to carry passports—maybe you would look after these. In the meantime I'll have a word with Ó Máille. Wouldn't it be an adventure for both of us!'

‘Seeing that it's early September and not a very busy time on the land, do you think I might invite Seosamh to accompany us?' Eileen asked. ‘Our relationship is not as romantic as it used to be but, having regard to what we were to one another in the past, we have reached an understanding. We will remain good friends despite any distractions that may cause us to drift from time to time. In the aftermath of his father's death, I think Seosamh deserves a break. It isn't often he gets a chance to see something of the outside world. If it's all right with you I will ask him.'

‘Of course, Eileen, feel free to bring him along. All it takes is another place on Ó Máille's boat. Seosamh and I will lend a hand on deck if circumstances demand. In that way Ó Máille will be the better for our company. I will ask Father Corley to give us a letter of introduction to his contact in Salamanca; a member of the community there might act as interpreter for us. Go for it, Eileen—this could turn out to be the trip of a lifetime.'

‘Several months have gone by and I have still received no response to my letter to Peadar O'Flaherty. What kind of people are those islanders? Here am I offering them part of my inheritance and they haven't the graciousness to acknowledge my letter. Are they so proud that they prefer to live in poverty rather than accept gratuitous assistance from a foreigner? I do not understand their mentality. I recall what the guide said to me that day in Aran last year when I debated with him on the same topic: ‘When God made Aran, He created a race of people, strong, and healthy— they don't expect too much from life and are happy to live as you now see them. They have great trust in God and they accept whatever happens to them as His will.'

‘I wish I could share their philosophy. Here I am in the midst of luxury and hedonistic practises that I should be able to enjoy to the full, yet I am not happy. Is there something in the human psyche that causes us to be fulfilled only when we wrestle with adversity? The English author, Shakespeare, voiced a similar theme. What was it he wrote?

‘Sweet are the uses of adversity which like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in its head.' I should have paid more heed to English literature when I was at college—I might have gained some insight into the way in which people who are close to nature philosophise. Is it now too late for me to pursue such studies?'

The sea trip to Bordeaux had been uneventful. Ó Máille steered a course well out to sea in order to escape the attention of customs patrols. Outward bound craft drew less attention that those on the home run—illicit transport of wines, spirits, and tobacco, were of greater concern to the Irish customs authorities. Seosamh, never before having been so far away from land, was agog at all the marine species that passed close to their boat.

‘Eileen, why don't you and I get a boat and go sea fishing?' he laughingly asked. ‘You could be Gráinne Mhaol, the fearless seafarer from Clare Island; I would be your first in command. We'd fly the Jolly Roger and consign to Davy's Locker every foreign ship that crossed our path. What do you think?'

Eileen was pleased to find Seosamh resuming his normal humorous demeanour; she duly reciprocated by contributing her own share of light banter to the conversation in order to promote his fantasy. In Boreaux, Peadar displayed his knowledge of the city and reiterated all that Máirtín and he had seen on their previous visit. He took them on a tour of the mile long Rue Sainte Catherine with its many shops, cafes, and stately buildings. He showed them the magnificent cathedral, and the site of the former Irish College where seminarians studied in exile during the era of the penal laws. He introduced them to cafes where he told them Máirtín and he had discovered excellent French wine which he intended to sample again. Seosamh and Eileen hadn't yet abandoned their pledge against alcoholic drink; they settled for tasty fruit juices that were available. Two days later, mounted on strong-framed bicycles, the trio headed south towards the Spanish border.

Bare boughs and falling needles heralded the onset of autumn among the trees in the forests of Landoc. Equipped with a camping tent and lightweight culinary items, the three set out on the journey from Bordeaux to Bayonne. For Eileen, the experience was ecstatic. Having read extensively from the works of Mauriac, she wanted to savour the atmosphere of his favourite haunts. Narrow gauge light railway lines laid down to facilitate removal of timber and extraction of valuable resins from standing trees, made for easy access to the forest where the author resided when he wrote the Brood of Vipers and other works. Four days later they reached Bayonne and Larressore where, in the foothills of the Pyrenees, they could see the Basque country they had heard so much about. Set against lofty mountains in the distance, the area was a mixture of hillsides, verdant valleys, and gorges, covered in abundant vegetation. Small dwellings facing mostly east, appeared here and there, their doors lying open as if in welcome. Men working in cultivated plots and orchards were clad in traditional short jackets, colourful belts and red berets. They were equipped with what appeared to the visitors like primitive hoes and spades. Though friendly and courteous, initially the natives were suspicious of strangers travelling in their territory. Eileen, through her knowledge of French was able to dialogue with them. Allaying their fears, she assured them that she and her companions were not spies; they had come from Ireland and were merely passing through on a journey to Spain.

‘
Ah, l' Irelande
,' one of them exclaimed, ‘
cest une autre région Celtique—Je vous solve.'
Gifts of goat's cheese and locally made cider, proffered by the people, were gladly accepted by our friends who, at this stage, were beginning to feel the tedium of riding hill and hollow on rough-surfaced roads.

‘A pity we can't stay here for a day or two,' Peadar said. ‘My bones are aching and my rear end is blistered. I'm not accustomed to cycling such long distances. Let us rest for an hour or two and savour some of the local fare that we have been generously offered.'

None of the others dissenting, they sat down to a picnic of sweet bread, jambon Bayonne, Idiazabal cheese, local cider, and fruit juices, and slept for two hours in the balmy air before resuming their journey. To the east the snow-clad peaks of the Pyrenees towering above them, gave a chilling sensation despite the warm sunshine. The lush green valleys of Baztan and Bidasoa spread out before them to the south, presenting a view of fertile land at its best.

‘What a place of contrasts!' Seosamh remarked. ‘We have nothing like this in Aran. If we had a snow line and rich farmlands like we see here, we could farm all summer and sleigh ride all winter—we'd never ask to leave.'

At St Jean Pied de Port they observed a road sign that read ‘Pamplona'.

‘Isn't that where they have bulls,' Peadar said. ‘What do you say we go that way? I'd like to watch a matador teasing a bull, and running like mad when the beast becomes enraged, especially when they let bulls run loose through the streets of the town terrorising everyone.' Consulting the map in his hip pocket he added, ‘It isn't the direct road to Salamanca but, what matter, we'll get there in our own time?'

In Pamplona they were fortunate to be present on the occasion of a fete. Wild bulls with bristling horns released from their pens, raced madly through the main street of the town. Pedestrians hastily sought refuge on adjacent walls and in shop premises, in an effort to get out of their way. Onlookers cheered and clapped when a bull's horn connected with some runner who was too slow in escaping. Peadar wasn't amused.

‘What a dreadful abuse of cattle!' he remarked. ‘Look at their gaunt skeleton-like bodies' They won't get juicy beefsteak from those animals when the time comes to slaughter them. I'd prefer a cut from one of our own Angus bullocks to their kind of beef.'

In their detour, the trio crossed the route of the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostello.

‘Why don't we follow it for a while and learn something about it from the pilgrims,' Eileen suggested. When we reach Burgos we can divert and take the direct road to Salamanca.'

‘I must read up the history of that pilgrimage when we get home,' Seosamh said eagerly. ‘I'd like to come back and follow the entire route all the way to Santiago. Will you come with me, Eileen?' he asked teasingly.

Four days later, tired and weary from dusty roads and unaccustomed high temperatures, they arrived in Salamanca, found the ancient seminary, and identified themselves to Father Benedictus to whom Peadar gave Father Corley's letter.

‘I think you people should have a wash, a rest, and a meal before we start to talk,' the priest remarked. ‘Looking at you, I reckon you are close to collapse. I can see you are not accustomed to our climate in this part of the world! Come with me and we'll see what the kitchen can turn up,' he said when they surfaced following a brief siesta.

‘Will you tell me what you have in mind in regard to Carlos de Montmorency?' he inquired, as they sat in his study later that evening.

‘Since I wrote to Father Corley, things at Estat de Tirelle have not been going very well for Carlos. A subversive group which champions the cause of small landholders in the region, has unilaterally taken over a large proportion of the estate and allocated it to individual families from outside its boundary. Although he has been permitted to retain his mansion and the remainder of his property, Carlos has, to a great extent, thrown in the sponge; he has allowed his groves and olive plantations to fall into disuse. He dismissed his old housekeeper and most of the estate workers who, he suspects, are secretly members of the Tenants Revolutionary League. His days are divided between moping alone in his vast residence, and sporadic visits to a hostelry in some local town where he drinks to excess and dialogues only with hangers-on who take advantage of his inebriation. I feel he will be unlikely to engage in serious conversation with you in his current depressed state.'

‘We are not unduly concerned about meeting Carlos just yet,' Peadar said. ‘If it is convenient for you to act as interpreter, we would like to visit some villages near his estate, talk with the smallholders, and see what kind of husbandry they pursue. In that way we will be able to get a bird's eye view of their circumstances and to discuss ongoing farming practises with them. In the process we'll get a glimpse of the estate and see for ourselves what degree of dereliction prevails. In Ireland, a century ago, we had a similar struggle between landlords and their tenants; there was a lot of bad blood between them. Tenants became organised and formed an association through which they refused to pay rent to the landlords until agreement for purchase of their holdings had been negotiated. As a result, the government of the time introduced measures whereby landlords were compensated for their estates, and tenants were able to purchase land on the basis of deferred repayments. In some respects we Irish have a common bond with the smallholders here.

Next morning, riding in a coach provided by the seminary, all four set out on a two hour journey that took them from the precincts of Salamanca into the countryside of Valladolid. Seosamh marvelled at the large areas of cultivated valley land interspersed with lofty rock outcrops and rough pasturage.

‘There's as much in one field here as in the whole of Inis Mór,' he exclaimed.

Wheat and barley had already been harvested and the ground was being prepared for a further crop. Ploughing on the larger areas was done by heavy tractors pulling ploughs that turned two furrows at a time. On small allotments, the biggest bullocks they had ever seen were used to draw farm implements. Peadar couldn't help noticing that, in contrast with the method of harnessing a team of horses back home, two bullocks, harnessed together, pulled a plough by means of a long swingle tree laced to their long horns.

‘Glór do Dhia
(Praise to God),' he exclaimed, ‘I never thought I'd see the like of that. Wait until I tell Máirtín and the people back in Aran; I'm thinking they won't believe me.'

Lines of olive trees, apple orchards, and vines to left and right, were weighed down under ripening fruits. Occasionally a stately house could be seen in the distance, partly hidden within a clump of chestnut or maple trees, and approached by a winding tree- lined avenue.

‘What a land of wonderful beauty and richness!' Peadar remarked.

Soon they reached the perimeter of the Estat de Tirelle. Boundary walls, breached here and there, gave a view of what lay within. The land was arid and bare. Apple, plum and olive trees, raised withering branches above the encroaching bramble, gorse and briars that invaded the ground between. Fruit remaining on the trees was blighted and shrivelled. They could see no evidence of workers anywhere among the plantations. On the small holdings which they visited, the scene was in sharp contrast. Men stripped to their waists, heads covered in broad straw hats, bent low as they grubbed and scuffled between lines of apple trees and vines, using primitive rakes and hoes. Close to their neat white cottages, women, clad in dark aprons, and white headscarves, propelled themselves on their knees between rows of onions, melons and cucumbers, tilling and weeding with dedication and care. Heads were raised at the approach of the visitors. Fr. Benedictus introduced the trio, explaining that they were rural people from Ireland on a fact-finding tour of the area. He mentioned their interest in the conditions under which Spanish smallholders lived, the crops they grew, and how they disposed of their produce. Problems regarding availability of sufficient land to make their holdings economic, were discussed over long cool drinks of cider and gifts of home baked wheaten bread. A spokesman for the group reiterated their struggle to obtain more land from the adjoining Estat de Tirelle where lack of husbandry and neglect were apparent. They had succeeded in taking possession of a considerable portion of the estate a year earlier, but the need for more land was crucial if their people were to eke out a reasonable standard of living for themselves and their dependants. Their leaders had remonstrated with Carlos de Montmorency but his reaction was hostile. His threats to invoke the law if further incursions were made, resulted in bands of masked men entering the estate at night, driving off his sheep and horses, and plundering what was left of his fruit. A veritable state of war existed, the outcome of which members of the community would only predict. An aged man welcomed the Irish interest in their plight. He recalled hearing about young Irishmen who came to Salamanca to study during his grandfather's time. During summer vacations some of them came to his place to help with the crops.