FRANCESCA DE AVALON - Chapter 14

May 2007 - Sept 2007

The atmosphere within our apartment became unbearable. I caught the punk girl attempting to kick Pearlie and I totally lost it. She actually looked very scared of me, whether she understood me or not was irrelevant. She got the message, in full British expletives delivered at ear-splitting volume, an inch from her ugly pierced face.

She ran into Pablo’s bedroom and stayed there. I became very dubious about leaving Pearlie alone while I was working and decided to take her back to the fruit farm and leave her there with a window open just enough for her to gain access to the house during rough weather. I knew Pearlie was more than capable of feeding herself for the last few weeks of school term time. It was a smaller risk than leaving her subject to the overt hatred of this nasty young woman.

Amid all this domestic tension I suddenly had a phone call from my son. He had bad news. My mother had died in a terrible fire. She had been transferred into a nursing home and was using an oxygen tank to assist her breathing. Emphysema was waking her up breathless in the night and she would have to use the oxygen. Unfortunately, she was still smoking and, as far as anyone could tell, had attempted to light a cigarette while using the oxygen in the very early hours of that morning.

Dan attended the funeral on my behalf and kept me informed about all the arrangements. I was wracked with guilt about being unable to attend. It was awful, I admit but I could not leave my students to cope with exam weeks without my coaching and encouragement.

When that school year came to an end I decided not to sign teaching contracts for the following year. I did not want to stay in Leganes any longer than I had to. I spoke to Pablo’s mother to tell her that I was returning to my fruit farm but I did not explain what was happening with Pablo. I was hoping that he would stop taking the heroin…. I know…. naïve of me really.

With a little help from my friends, I packed up and moved back to Madrigal de la Vera and Pearlie was absolutely thrilled to greet us. She breeped and purred, rubbing herself up the dogs legs. She looked as if she had gained some weight so, obviously, had been able to find plenty of hunt victims while she lived there alone. There was evidence that she had been sleeping on my bed and using the bath as a toilet. She was always highly resourceful and intelligent.

Within a few weeks of being home, restoring some inner peace after a tumultuous period, I received a surprise letter from my mother’s solicitor. I had inherited about £10,000. That was a major buffer between me and impending poverty, so I splashed out and arranged for a telephone line to be installed permitting me internet access at home. I had become accustomed to using the internet at school and had some vague ideas about finding a new way to make a living.

When the small team of telephone engineers arrived to install poles all the way up my lane, they turned out to be a bunch of Peruvian engineers who were sharing a large flat in Plasencia. They worked very quickly and soon had my telephone line activated. The team foreman was a young man called Pedro and he enjoyed an opportunity to practice speaking English with me. Whenever he was nearby thereafter, he would pop in to see me and we became good friends.

Pedro took me to buy a laptop and helped me select one that would suit my purposes. He then set it up for me. He also mentioned that he had installed a phone line to a British couple who had bought a house in Losar de la Vera which was about 20 miles away from my home. He said he would arrange an introduction if I was interested.

I could not legally use my van any more. The forged paperwork had expired and enquiries had proven that I could not register it in Spain due to being driven from the wrong side of the vehicle. A mechanic in Candeleda called Dionysius offered to buy it from me for parts. He turned up to tow it away and we were both amazed when it fired up after sitting unused for almost a year. I cried when I watched it slowly depart. I had loved that van so much.

From that day onwards, I was down to a wheel-barrow for transport. It wasn’t too difficult really. I could load up my empty butane gas bottles and rubbish, walk to the village and spend one morning a week shopping in all the small local shops. At 2pm I would trundle home loaded up and ready for my siesta during the hottest part of the day.

Angel and his closest friend, Javier, came to visit but this time they arrived in the swankiest van I had ever seen. The exterior was chrome, silver and black but when they opened the doors the interior was spectacular! I burst out laughing and immediately named it The Shag Wagon. It had dark tinted windows and deep cushioned adjustable seating covered in luxurious fabrics. Most amusing of all was the sound system and drinks bar set into the back of the front seats. Angel explained that his elderly aunt had died and he had inherited a large family estate plus a small fortune. He had given up his job at the Italian Embassy and was working on restoring the house which nestled into the side of one of Spain’s many reservoirs. He said it was going to need a lot of work. He promised to take me there when he had made it presentable.

At the back of the van was a small pile of boxes with holes all over them. He gestured to them and announced that he was giving me his gaggle of chickens and their rooster husband. Rasta, Ben and Pearlie were already very familiar with these birds from when we had spent a lot of time at Angel’s village home near the gravel pit. I was delighted to provide them with a home. They would help me to keep the insect life down a bit.

We unboxed them and they went exploring my land immediately. They were all different in looks and personality. The cockerel was multi-coloured and very confident. His number one wife was blue-black and bossy. There was a tiny Bantam who was fast on her feet and two fat speckled hens.

We went into the village in the Shag Wagon and I was crying laughing at the gawping faces as we slowly passed by in this gawdy flash-mobile. Thankfully, the tinted windows prevented the villagers from seeing me!

As usual, when Angel came to visit, we partied for the whole weekend and Javier cooked us some lavish meals. It was great to catch up with them.

They were shocked to hear about the change in Pablo, confirmed by Fernando who arrived for a few days break from his bar. None of us knew what could be done. Pablo was not communicating with any of his old friends and everyone was hurt by that. We all hoped that the relationship with the punk girl would fizzle out.

As the August heat turned up a notch we spent a lot of time swimming in the river and every night was an excuse to socialise at the terraces outside village bars. The population of Madrigal would triple for that month and there were parties in the streets as soon as the sun went down.

I met a couple of guys who fitted solar panels and they checked over my system. To give me sufficient energy, they added a few more panels and replaced the batteries with new much bigger, more efficient versions.

The village Alcalde (Mayor) spoke to me about opening an evening academy teaching English when the children returned to school in September. He said to leave it with him. I was delighted to be asked. He explained that the Spanish government was encouraging everyone to learn to speak English at that time due to membership of the European Union.

Just a few weeks later he saw me walking my wheelbarrow home after shopping and he stopped his car to chat. He took me to the Police Station in the centre of the village and he unlocked a side door which led to a smart ground floor lobby with very clean modern toilet facilities. Upstairs from there were two large rooms and he showed me the larger of the two. It had tables, chairs and a blackboard. He gave me the keys and said, “It is all yours!”

All I had to do was advertise my class hours on the village notice board and buy a box of chalk! He assured me that there would be plenty of interest - he had already put the word about.

Sure enough, when the first week of September came around I opened my academy doors and I filled my schedule easily. I provided classes for the youngest pupils from 5pm to 6pm every week day. Then hourly for the older ones until the adults class which began at 8pm and finished at 9pm. The students could come as often as they liked or needed and each paid me a minimum of five euros a week.

I had no overheads and could survive easily on less than fifty euros a week at that time. I only needed ten students to make this little business feasible and from day one it far exceeded that number.

I worked out all sorts of learning plans and some children brought school books and homework with them. We had a lot of fun and games which I had devised during my two years of teaching in Madrid. One or two school teachers visited to brush up their pronunciation and to check out what I was doing to make the children so keen to learn English. They gave me flash cards and helpful text books to consult for more ideas. The walls were soon decorated with children’s artwork and their handmade “thank you” cards.

The adult classes were very popular for people planning to visit Britain or America on holidays. We tended to focus on general conversation and role play (which was often hilarious) and then adjourn to the local bar for a nightcap where we would order our drinks in English just to show off!

We named the school Francesca de Avalon Academia and the graffiti artists in the teenage group made a brightly coloured sign to put on the wall outside. Everyone totally loved that!

It was hectic, popular and a lot of fun! The time flew by each evening before I would walk the dark lane home by torchlight as the winter nights drew in.

THE END

The intention for this particular book was to document in greater detail my driving adventures culminating with becoming grounded, without a vehicle, at the Francesca de Avalon Academia in Spain.

The adventures did continue (of course!) and you can find them written up in full in my autobiography, from episode 39 onwards. Be warned…. it gets gnarly!

SUNDAY IN MEMORY LANE (Episode 39)

This is the fourth book published exclusively on Substack.

Previous chapters are accessible in the pinned comment here:

If you want to read previously written episodes from my extremely chaotic life you can find links to each chapter of my autobiography here:

My Autobiography

I have also written two fiction books:

THE NOBS

and

HOW HARD CAN IT BE?

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ONWARDS!
xx