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

My Darling Girl,

There is an instant in what we call time where I first saw you. I have always been drawn first to a person’s eyes and yours were jaw droppingly beautiful, exotic, so dark, so big, so beautifully shaped and so soulful. They spoke of honesty and kindness; they declared profound intelligence and interest; they called out passion and excitement. They were and remained the most beautiful eyes that I have ever seen. They could melt hearts or quicken heartbeats. They could penetrate straight to one’s soul and they could stop any man in his tracks. I was smitten and I did not know your name. Today I know you are Ana and today I remain smitten. I fell in love with those eyes and every time I saw them, they surprised me with their beauty and their way of expressing your inner most feelings and thoughts.

And then there was that glorious thick silky hair that grew in abundance and whose darkness matched your eyes and framed the beauty of your face so strikingly. Your face was the work of an artist who has a deep understanding of proportion and harmony, who has mastered the subtleties of beauty, attraction and that magnetic appeal to create the perfect canvas. The small delicate nose, the soft full lips so delicate and promising, eyebrows that highlighted the depth and size of the eyes; cheekbones that were high and gave such beautiful form to your face and a chin that was firm, proud and spoke of strength and determination. And when the artist had finished, when he stood back to view his labour of love, he must have realised that he had created his life’s work, his masterpiece, that finally he could put down his brushes and his easel.  I think he would have been smitten by his creation as I was smitten – and now I know your name.  Waking up and seeing your face was like waking up to see the most beautiful sunrise set against a dazzling blue sky – it filled me with joy and wonderment every day.  I would never tire of your stunning shy and modest beauty and from that first moment, I could never really take my eyes off you whether I was with you or not, for your beauty was etched in my soul.  No wonder that I made straight for you through that crowd. There was not a second to spare.

So by now, about 15 seconds into our relationship, I could hardly expect more and yet there was more, so much more. Our initial misunderstanding about the cigarette and dance made us both laugh and for the first time I understood what musical laughter was: soft, delicate, feminine, seductive like the calling of a siren;  I loved the little smile with which you greeted me, but the one that accompanied your laughter knocked me backwards as your lips opened and showed those dazzling teeth, as the eyes twinkled and somehow grew even bigger and as your music reached me through the smoke and noise of that party. Your smile was dazzling. It lit up my soul; it lit up the room and it seemed to light up the whole of Paris. And I loved learning about what made you laugh – the dry, the subtle, the ironic and the absurd and I loved discovering how much you loved to laugh. I did not know your name and it did not matter. I was smitten and now I know you are Ana

And by the time you were in my arms and dancing, I was discovering so many more wonders that would continue to thrill and enthral me, the softness of your body as it moulded gently into mine, the lightness of foot, the simply amazing rhythm, your tiny gentle hands, the true silkiness of your hair and your seductive scent. Every bit of you was for me beyond perfection, beyond dreams, beyond even my imagination. There is nothing that I would have wanted to change. The artist who created you must have looked on and smiled knowing that his masterpiece, that his life’s work had had such a profound impact, that it had seized the heart of a young English soldier who wanted to guard and care for its delicate beauty for the rest of his life.

And so with scarcely a word spoken, you had my heart. It was yours. And what was truly amazing was how that beauty blossomed, how I never ceased to be amazed as I found you more beautiful every day. And how I loved that slight insecurity, that need to know that you looked ‘ok’ and how you appreciated those small words of encouragement, a soupçon of flattery, an approving look – but you always got so much more.

Then we spoke and of course your thoughts and words were as beautiful as you, they matched what I had seen and more. And throughout our life I delighted in the continuous discovery of your inner beauty, the sheer depth of your personality, intelligence and love of learning, your passion for fairness and justice, your caring, the real tears you shed for people you had never met whose suffering you felt as though it were your own. Your selflessness and generosity that never flinched even when confronted with the opposite. I loved your self effacing modesty and your pride. I admired your strength and your courage. I loved your fear of loneliness and was touched by your wish to be loved and appreciated. I felt your sensitivity towards negativity and nastiness, your distaste of people talking badly of others.

I loved your educated and cultured mind that was fascinated by so much, that never ceased to search and enquire, to learn and absorb be it art or literature, be it prose or poetry, languages or politics, history or cookery – and I loved your joy at sharing.  I loved your quiet revolutionary spirit which rejected bourgeois hypocrisy and religious dogma while constantly upholding the purest moral principles, that embraced femininity while championing the rights and the role of women. I loved your love of books and learning, your excitement when getting a new book. I loved how you loved to study new languages and how you could apply yourself to learning.

I loved your ability to see through the propaganda and spin. I loved how you put truth first.

And my journey of discovery in search of this Ana kept unearthing new wonders as you applied yourself to the art of homemaking or gardening, cooking or decorating, patchwork or cross stitch. I loved your determination to overcome obstacles.

I loved how you loved Olive your little girl Cairn Terrier, your best Christmas present ever, how she was humanised and took on a whole new character thanks to your brilliant imagination  that had already helped our three surprises become your three masterpieces with whom you shared so much of your own learning and values, whether taking them to museums and galleries, different countries or simply whisking them away on an imaginary magic carpet destined to discover the mysteries of this world.

I loved how you mastered the English language spoken and written, how people would share your thank you letters that were incomparable – and I loved it that with a vocabulary and grammar that frankly outshone most native speakers you never lost the Spanish accent or style – the way in which your English flowed was truly unique.

I was saddened and amazed at how you had become a pillar of strength and comfort in your family from such a young age, at how you had suffered worrying about the parental rows and financial strains. I still feel the outrage at you working for your father’s creditors for nothing in order to help him pay them back, but your generosity in doing that, in sacrificing some of your youth, your sheer goodness is for me truly wondrous.  And I know that that experience of family difficulties, of children left to perhaps fend for themselves made you determined not to repeat the same mistakes.  You devoted yourself to your children and you fought for them.  You protected them while helping them to fly free; you showed real concern and interest; you engaged with them; made them feel loved and important and special. And whatever sort of father I was, you helped me to be  a better one.

But parenthood for both of us had been a surprise.  We had talked of not bringing children into this cruel world; you had spoken of wanting a baby Diarmid but crucially we had both decided that we were children, simply not grown up enough, responsible enough to bring up little people.  And perhaps we were worried that they might impinge on our romance which we planned on running for our whole life. But as they arrived, we were happy and excited, nervous too.  And you were you, unchanged, and as a result we continued in our own Neverland, where we could cocoon ourselves away from some of the dull or destructive realities that lay outside. We could continue to live our own brand of magical love and simply include our new play mates within this world where romance lived its stormy turbulent exciting but always full-of-love life. And in that world there was not just room for a love life, there was a demand – it was integral; passion was a fundamental of that world, was a physical expression of the desire and the romance. And you never ceased to be the girl that I desired, indeed as with my love for you so my desire for you grew ever stronger.

I loved your courage and sense of adventure whether choosing to elope with me, sailing home from Italy in our tiny ship with an eight month old and eight year old daughter, driving the length and breadth of Europe, confronting intruders or taking on armed IRA terrorists in defence of your daughters.

I loved your strength and your sensitivity and vulnerability. Because I always felt that in our relationship, I was the lucky one, because my only fear was losing you, I had forgotten, until I reread your letters to me, that you had the same fear and that ironically (and oh so wrongly) you felt that you were the lucky one, the one who did not deserve me. You talk of things you said and did that you regret; you explain how they were so often caused by that sense of not deserving me and of course I understand that they flowed from your depression too.  But not once did they stop my love, did they in any way diminish the wonder I saw in you. I loved you totally and unconditionally and however many rows we had, however many hurtful things may have been said, in the end they could be nothing when set against the love that we had for each other – a love that not only endured for 45 years but one that never ceased to grow. And perhaps those bad times, be they rows or separations when the Army called, actually helped strengthen the love, prove its enduring and irresistible force.

I loved how you thought about me, about those little touches and surprises, whether your first ever tortilla given to me for my journey back to Paris or the Dupont lighter you knew I had craved for many years.  How you would share with me titbits of news, funny stories or jokes, such a touching way of giving a little every day so that I would know that you had thought about me and that you loved me.

And how you made me feel so great, so appreciated, how you were able to pick out what made me different and special for you and tell me so clearly.  I loved it that you saw me as different, that you loved it because you thought that I was good both with you and with others.You made me want to protect you and when you told me about that night in Paris, it was so wonderful. We had had a row. You stormed off into a dark wet night in a rather bleak forbidding area demanding to be left alone.  But I followed you at a discreet distance, but close enough to protect you.  You ignored me, pretended that you did not know that I was there. And then when you were back in Madrid you wrote to me and told me how grateful you were that I had done that because you had been so frightened.  You always told me that I made you feel protected and I can’t think of anything I would have wanted more, other than your love which you gave me in bucketfuls and which you would tell me about so beautifully in your letters and which you showed over and again in making those brave and difficult choices that were to shape your whole life.  Our elopement, choosing me as your lover for life, leaving your country, family and language for me and the unknown life of an impecunious English soldier were the most tangible way in which you could have proven that your words really were the purest truth and that your love too was given unconditionally.

I loved how you made love, sometimes softly and gently, sometimes passionately and noisily.  Your rhythm from the dance floor transformed into a rhythm of love; your imagination and ability to feel what I felt led me through an exquisite journey and I will never forget how your eyes would darken and penetrate right through me in those moments of utter joy.

And I thank you for seeing in me what you did, for recognising that I was different, for believing in me and for your amazing loyalty, for enjoying my crazy sense of humour and for loving my mind, for appreciating my annoying self confidence and hopeless romanticism and optimism. Thank you for seeing the good in me that you did and for understanding my kindness. Thank you for loving my brand of Englishness.

My love for you has been total and unconditional. I am certain beyond all doubt that no one could have or would have loved you as I did.  And I am not sure that there is anyone who could have understood or appreciated you as I did.  You had to have someone who could live with the hard times, the depressions, the storms and the hurtfulness that could emanate from that, someone who knew that that hurtfulness came from the past, from hurt, from fear and above all that it was not meant; someone who when you then said sorry would hug you and love you even more.  I hope and believe that I did. Because in the end there was absolutely nothing that you could do that would have stopped me loving you, would have somehow made me fall out of love with you.  I have no understanding of how fate works, of how certain things just seem to be destined, but everything about our romance had a feel of “this is meant to be” and although we had to fight hard to get it, it all felt so right. Two people, one born in Chile, one born several thousand miles away in Africa met in Paris at a party that neither had planned or particularly wanted to go to; I arrived quite literally minutes before you would have been whipped home to Madrid by an angry father and we eloped. You were so brave.  And then I saved your life and surely at that point no one could argue that this was anything other than “this is meant to be”.

I know I could have done better. There are a host of things where I failed to fully appreciate something that was perhaps important to you. I know that I am not very brilliant when it comes to the house and things like tidiness; I have frequently messed up financially and caused you undue distress and I should have paid more attention to helping you do things that you wanted to do like going to the Opera. I know that my irrepressible optimism could well be irritating as could my obsessive determination once on a mission. I am sure there are many other things that I could dig out.

But in the end, and however sorry I now am, that seems to somehow become utterly irrelevant when set against the life of love that we had.  We fell in love with each other over and over again; we related to each other that we would not change anything, that we would choose each other if starting all over again, that we would marry each other again and again. Not only did we love each other for all of our life together, we were in love for every second of it and now beyond mortality.

And as you lay in a coma and I stroked your forehead I was whispering words of total committed love into your ear, you squeezed my finger and as you did so, you wrote me your last love letter, the best one ever.  It just said, “It’s ok; I have to go now but I am in love with you and I know that you are in love with me. Thank you for our life of love; thank you for the love that you have given me and know that I have been in love with you since we first met.”

And I was the luckiest man on earth to feel your love that was so total, so all encompassing coming from a heart that could not have been bigger. I miss you so much. You often spoke of how you would find life without me unbearable, that it would be as though a part of you had been removed and that is how I now feel. We were one, we are one.  You gave me so much, so so much and without you the future appears meaningless, life feels so desperately empty.  But those 45 years will always be ours.  They were magical. They feel like a dream but they were real. I remain in love with a girl I met 45 years ago in Paris. I know her name. She is called Ana.