A Spanish Girl and Her English Soldier – A Love Beyond Boundaries

Hasta Luego Madrid

Our return from Salamanca was soon to be followed by my return to Paris. I had sent a cable to the Lycée explaining that my car had broken down and that I was awaiting parts from England.  This allowed me two weeks rather than one in Madrid. The Lycée was not wildly amused and would have been less so had they known that, far from awaiting a spare part, the little Vitesse was having the time of its life hurtling around Madrid. But love is demanding and precocious and resisted the very idea of separating again. Back in Madrid with Ana’s parents, we spoke joyously of our trip and Salamanca, which in reality we had scarcely seen as we seized the opportunity to be free and alone, to chat and to dream, to explore our love.  During the chat I happened to notice a lovely picture of a beautiful Cathedral which Ana’s parents had in the drawing room. As I started to ask about it, a nervous nudge from Ana led me to understand that some quick thinking was needed. It was a picture of The Cathedral in Salamanca………. It’s just that I had not actually seen it. And that could have led to a minefield of false assumptions by her parents.

Ana had never cooked but, as I was about to leave Madrid, she handed me a package covered in foil – a tortilla patata and bread for the journey.  I loved her childlike pride and slight embarrassment, the hope that it would be ok as she had never made one before – it was all just so her, especially the caring thoughtfulness; and it was delicious.  It really was, but in reality had it been made of rubber, I would have loved it.  Leaving Madrid was a wrench. I left two loves behind: the girl who continued to dazzle me with her wonder and Madrid, a City that I had quickly come to love, helped by Ana’s own love and knowledge.  I would have adopted the City simply because it was her City, but I had learned to love it for itself. The Madrid clock suited me so well, late up in the morning and even later to bed; the throbbing vibrancy, almost a musical rhythm, the crazy driving and traffic light derbies (triumph for the Triumph versus the Seats), the night life, the food, the passion for living life.  I had thought my heart lay in France but now it happily embedded itself in Spain as well.

The Dali moment

The visit had cemented our love and shown me over and over that there was only one girl I could be happy with and my desire had also become a need: she was my oxygen, my water, my food, my shelter. I loved her deep interest in whatever was around her; her impetuous and mischievous sense of fun, her gentle warmth and her explosive passion.  Her love wrapped itself around me like a scented silk shawl, soft and enveloping while love’s orchestra bounced from the stamp of flamenco or the drama of Tango to moody smokey beats or classical melodies that would send shivers down my spine.  And what was extraordinary was how stunningly attractive she was. She could not walk into a bar or restaurant without heads turning.  Indeed, shortly before I met her, she had been walking home when an unknown man came up behind her, tapped her on the shoulder and handed her a carnation. He explained that he was the bodyguard of Salvador Dali, who had just walked past her and who had been so struck by her beauty that he had felt compelled to let her know, to compliment her and to offer his lapel carnation as a gesture of his appreciation. As she turned to look, Dali doffed his hat and smiled.  He was with his unique moustache an unmissable and unmistakable sight and, much to her embarrassment, all the traffic had stopped to observe this charming vignette.

My friends know me as a confident individual, but there are times when even a Grenadier can look at the odds and need a deep breath – it felt as though I would have to battle every male in Spain to win her. And I would have done so, to the death. But I would not have been alone, for she had chosen me and for 45 years I knew that she would always fight for me – and being Ana it would have been a full blooded fury that would have confronted anyone foolish enough to threaten me, or our daughters. She was fiercely protective of those she loved and in those moments, rather dangerously, she had no fear.

Hola Paris

Neither of us wanted to be separated and shortly afterwards she joined me in Paris again. I still cherish the simple telegram telling me of her arrival time at the Gare de Lyons. It was such a happy time. We were so free to choose what we wanted to do while all the time learning about each other in the City of love.  Of course, as we learned to live with each other there were always going to be moments of tension and they could be explosive but so too was the making up. We were learning how to live in love.  We saw a few friends but mostly this was our time, time to enjoy the little things, to learn about each other. It felt so natural and somehow it was.  But looking back, I realise that it was the most extraordinary situation. I was a young English Army officer doing a degree living in a Lycée where I did a (very little) bit of teaching. The army, when awarding my University Cadetship, had not realised that I had a year in Paris and, with no experience of such a situation, simply left me alone.  Ana, a Spaniard from a strong Catholic background and Convent schooling with protective parents, was sharing that life – I had managed to get her the room next to mine in the Lycée somehow. We were both in a city that, while not foreign to us, was a foreign city and in reality we were totally free.  It was almost surreal, a picture that Dali might have enjoyed painting. It was magical.  We were children and our romance had a childlike quality of innocence and simplicity, unencumbered by grown up things.  And neither of us ever really grew up.  I think that that helped the romance to be at the heart of our lives for 45 years. After any sort of separation, we both would find our hearts beating faster, our lips dry with the nervous but exciting anticipation of seeing each other again. We never drifted out of being in love and our love never lost its excitement, never became a routine.

Love is a huge thing but it is also a myriad of little things that were both endearing and, as it turned out, enduring.  In those few months I had found so many – her tiny delicate hands, the way she would cock her head a little to the right, how her hand would come out to share a cigarette, how she would ask if she was looking ok, her appreciation of the smallest of gestures, her tactile nature, her kindness and concern, both so genuine, and her laughter – how we laughed, how we made each other laugh.  And then there was the vulnerability despite her amazing strength of character.  There were moments where she seemed to be not really made for this planet, to have to deal with pettiness, jealousies, meanness.  Because she had not an ounce of any of that in her.  She would never talk badly of people behind their backs; she was generous with whatever she had and people would be surprised to find she had given them something of hers simply because they said they liked it. And the behaviour of other so called human beings can be very hurtful. I loved that vulnerability whose sole cause was her very own goodness and it made me want to do all that I could to protect her. If she were to have been put on this planet to somehow share that gentle goodness, then I feel I was put here to protect her and care for her. And if somehow I were to be offered a choice to have my life all over again, that is the only role that I would choose.  Guarding our nation’s Queen was my job; guarding Ana was my love, my passion and my life. But extraordinarily, that wonderful girl was also my guardian angel.