Barcelona Sunset Page 9

  “How terrible,” said Mam. “It makes me shudder.”

  “But what’s strange, is that we’re sending uniforms for all the countries: armies on both sides,” said Jordi. “These are uniforms for men who are going to kill one another, men who are going to die.”

  “They’re all going to be wearing the same uniforms, or lots of them will be.” said Carla.

  “We’re going to be making hundreds of uniforms,” said Dolors. “Hundreds and thousands of uniforms for men to die in.”

  “Pa,” said Jordi, “it will make a lot of money for Barcelona, won’t it?”

  “Yes, it will,” replied Pa, “but we will not see the money going into the pockets of the workers.”

  “You could be making guns,” said Mam. “I get the gossip at the baker’s and round the fountain. That car factory in Sants … makes, what d’you call them … Hispano cars … they’re talking about changing some of the production, and in one part of the factory, they’re getting ready to make something else. It’s all gossip and rumour, but they say it’s going to be a gun factory.”

  “Keep listening to the gossip in the baker’s shop,” said her husband. “Let us know what rumours are going round.”

  Grandmother Tomas had been listening all the while to the conversation, and at last made a pronouncement. “It’s evil. One day it must be stopped. You youngsters might be getting a tiny bit more in your wage packets, but it’s blood money, and anyway, a tiny rise is not enough to keep up with prices in the shops. Things get more expensive, and tiny pay rises don’t match. No good will come of any of it, except for the fat factory owners. Mark my words, we’ll see bigger, grander houses being built for the bastards. They’ll enjoy the fruits of your labour, they’ll enjoy spending their blood-soaked riches. If I was young again, I’d be out to get them, blow them up, just like…” she stopped abruptly, then went on. “Your workers’ confederation, Vilaro, will be even more important now.”

  “It’s our confederation, grandmother,” said Pa. “We’re all in this together.”

  As predicted, war broke out in the autumn, and the demand for uniforms escalated. A huge extension was built onto the factory, and more and more workers engaged. It was clear that someone was making a fortune from the war, but it was not the workers, who were under constant pressure to work harder and faster, and whose pay remained always the same.

  Jordi and the others in the despatch department were kept constantly busy, and the work became a kind of bizarre geography lesson for them all. They learned of places in England which seemed very exotic, like Tidworth, Woolwich and Aldershot; they realised Munster in Germany was a very big training camp, as so many crates of uniforms were sent there; they despatched crates to Belgium, Turkey, Italy, Austria and other countries they’d never heard of, without any idea which side any of these countries was fighting on; and they lost count of how many uniforms they sent north, except they knew the number was enormous.

  “At this rate,” said Jordi, “Every man in Europe will have a uniform and be a soldier. There won’t be any men left in Germany, or Britain, or anywhere else.” Alvar gave his usual grunt, and this, Jordi had learned, meant that he agreed.

  The war didn’t finish by Christmas, much to the satisfaction of the factory owners, who were indeed making a fortune. Barcelona was a boom town, with shops full of luxury goods, and shopkeepers making good money from the rich. Benet, in his sweet shop, was busy with the mothers, their maids and the children of the Eixample, and Jaume was always in a rush supplying good Cuban cigars to the wealthy. Jaume got to know many of the staff of the big houses, who had been sent out to buy tobacco and expensive Meerschaum pipes for their masters. Both boys worked long hours for their respective shop owners, and saved hard.

  They shared a basement in the Eixample, and both were indeed sleeping in feather beds. Carla and Dolors were living with them fulltime in the relative luxury of their home, and in the spring the boys had enough money to plan for each to have their own basement flat. They resolved to ask the girls to marry them in a double wedding, and Carla and Dolors excitedly agreed. Benet, with his stammer, and used only to dealing with lady’s maids and children, was frightened of the idea of asking Vilaro for his daughter’s hand in marriage, but Jaume, with his experience of the blustering of all the men, butlers and grooms, who patronised his shop, was bolder.

  On a Sunday, just before Easter 1915, Carla and Dolors walked up to the little shack on the hillside to check that their father would receive the boys. Benet and Jaume arrived later. After the usual small talk about the weather and the state of the European War, Jaume could wait no longer.

  “Senor Vilaro, I’ve come to ask for the hand of your daughter Dolors in marriage,” he blurted out. “I love her very much, and she loves me. Please say yes!”

  Nervously, Benet followed, “And I’ve c-c-come to ask for C-C-Carla, to marry her, if you will allow m-m-me.”

  “Gentlemen,” said Vilaro slowly, “We have been expecting such requests for a while now, and we are relieved that you will make our daughters respectable. I must tell you, however, that I have some reservations. You will know that I am very committed and involved in the workers’ struggles in this city. I was banned from working in the city some time ago, and have spent much of my time working with others to set up the National Confederation of Labour, known as the NCL. It is very hard for me to see my daughters married into the middle classes: married, as it were, to the managers and bosses who keep our workforce in poverty. It’s good to know my daughters will have comfortable homes: heaven knows, they had enough years in slums and shanties, but it’s very hard for me to see them joining the ranks of my enemies.”

  “We’re workers like you and your family,” replied Jaume, with Benet nodding vigorously behind him. “We’re lucky we don’t get so exhausted, and our employers have helped us get good rooms for our future. We may live in the Eixample, but our hearts remain with the workers of the city.”

  “Our f-f-fathers were ordinary workers,” said Benet. “My papa was a s-s-stevedore in the docks.”

  “And my father was a knife grinder, pushed his handcart up and down the Ramblas for years.” said Jaume. “Used to come home at night to a shack down by Sant Antoni’s well, not far from here. I started out as the boy in the tabac where I work – wasn’t more than six years old, but my father sent me there to better myself. Slept on the shop floor every night, only went home to my mother on Sundays.”

  “Can you read?” asked Vilaro.

  “N-N-Neither of us,” said Benet.

  “But we’d like to,” added Jaume.

  “All that is all very well,” said Vilaro. “but come the revolution, where will you be? Protecting your fine feather beds, or joining the workers? Where will your hearts be then?”

  “Pa!” exclaimed Dolors, “Jaume is a good man. I trust him, and you must trust him too.”

  “And my lovely Benet is also a good man,” said Carla. “We love one another and he will look after me.”

  “Well, Mam, what do you think?” said Pa. “Are we to see both daughters married?”

  Jordi could not keep quiet any longer. “Of course we are! Just say ‘yes’ Pa, don’t make them wait any longer.”

  Pa smiled and took his time, before he spoke again. “You know we have very little, living in this shack on the hillside, and there’ll be no dowries. Indeed it will be hard to have any kind of wedding breakfast, but if you promise to learn to read, and are determined and sure … then I’ll agree.”

  “Hurray!” said Mam, and there was general hugging and kissing in the crowded hut, and Benet’s stammer became the worst he’d ever known, and he was unable to say anything clearly. To Tomas’s delight and Jordi’s horror, the sisters insisted on kissing everyone, from Grandmother to Jordi himself.

  When the rejoicing had died down, Mam asked them all to step outside. “Down there,” she said, pointing towards the sea, “beyond the smoke of all the fires, near the chimneys of your big factory,
girls, is a small chapel. It’s the chapel of Sant Pau. Your father and I were married there. It would be a good place to go to be wed and for a blessing.”

  “Yes,” agreed Pa. “It would be fitting to be married in the Raval, where we all have our roots amongst the humble working people of our city. It will be good there.”

  “I went there some times, when I was troubled,” said Grandmother Tomas. “It’s very tumbled down these days, but peaceful.”

  “I heard there’s a plan to rebuild the chapel,” said Tomas.

  “They’ll not do that before the weddings,” said Mam. Turning to the boys, she asked, “Do you have any family to come to the weddings?”

  “My parents are both gone,” said Jaume, “but Benet’s got his old mum still alive. Still living in the Raval slum, wouldn’t ever come to see us in the Eixample, even though she was proud of what Benet had made of himself.”

  “S-S-She’ll be pleased. I’ve t-t-told her about C-C-Carla.

  “And I’ve got a brother.” said Jaume. “He’s at sea. I could go down to the company office on Colom and find out if he’ll be in Barcelona. He works on a Spanish tramp steamer called the Valencia, which goes back and forth to Southampton – that’s in England. Probably carrying those crates from your factory, Jordi.”

  “No other brothers or sisters?” said Mam.

  “We used to be a big family, but you know how it is.”

  “Working in a factory in Barcelona?” said Pa. “We know how it is. If the factory doesn’t get you, the diseases in the slums will. That’s why we’re working so hard with the confederation of workers.”

  “Everyone needs better wages,” agreed Jaume.

  “It’s more than wages,” said Pa. “It’s the whole business, it’s all about who owns the means of production.”

  “W-W-What?” said Benet.

  “It’s a long story,” laughed Jordi. “You have to read some very hard books to start to understand the struggle of the workers. Tomas and I have worked hard to understand, haven’t we?”

  “We’ve worked and read a lot,” agreed Tomas, “and one day, we’ll exchange the books for guns. Our time will come.”

  The girls and their boyfriends finally left the Vilaro hut, and a quietness descended. Looking around the humble home, Mam spoke the thoughts that all of them were having: “Perhaps our fortunes are changing. We lost two good sons, Pa lost his job, and we lost our home. I’ll never forget that night when we slept on the ground, near your shack, Grandmother, and we knew we could not sink any lower. Now we’ve gained two handsome young sons-in-law, and our hut is our home, even if it’s small and has an earth floor. Yes … perhaps our fortunes are changing.”

  “You will be surprised,” said Pa, “to know that I am grateful to that toad Bertoli for sacking me from the factory. My life has changed, as you all have seen, and I have a purpose, something to work for. It’s not just our fortunes that are changing, it must be everyone’s – all workers deserve recognition of their toil, and I feel in my heart that the bloody revolution is coming.”

  Reaching under the makeshift bed, Mam pulled out the tiny wooden jewel box she had protected through all their troubles. Pulling a thin chain from around her neck, she revealed a small key hanging alongside the cross on the chain. The family was quiet as she opened the box to reveal two small necklaces. “These came from my two grandmothers,” she said. I’ve cared for them in this little box for many, many years, and now I know their destiny. I shall give one each to Carla and Dolors, to wear for their wedding. There’s no money for special clothes, or any kind of finery, but at least they shall have something from the family to wear on the day, and as a remembrance of their heritage.”

  Pa was pleased. “I’ve often thought about those jewels; they are just right for the girls.”

  Mam smiled. “They’re hardly jewels, don’t have any value other than sentimental, but the girls will be pleased.”

  Jaume went to the shipping office and was pleased to learn that his brother’s ship was scheduled to be in Barcelona port in a few days’ time, so he could introduce him to his new extended family, and bring him to the wedding.

  A few days later, the family gathered at the tiny dilapidated chapel of Sant Pau. To Mam and Pa’s surprise, the elderly priest remembered them, although it had been many years since he had married them. The Vilaro family were pleased to meet Benet’s mother, who lived quite near the chapel, and surprised to welcome Senor Bonaventura who was carrying a large parcel. Of Juame’s brother, however to there was no sign. The simple ceremony was soon over, but as they were leaving the chapel, a messenger was waiting for them.

  The boy with the message looked at the two bridegrooms. “Is one of you Jaume Martell?” he asked.

  “I am,” replied Jaume. “This is my wedding day. This is my new bride, Dolors.”

  “This note is for you,” said the boy.

  “I can’t read,” said Jaume.”

  Jordi came forward. “I’ll read it for you.” Jordi took the note and opened it. A frown came over his face. “It’s not good,” he said.

  “Tell me,” said Jaume.

  “It’s your brother. It says …” Jordi gulped. “It’s says … he’s been drowned. The steam ship Valencia was sunk by a German U-boat. All hands … lost.”

  Vilaro handed the messenger a small coin, and thanked him, whilst Dolors clung to her shocked husband.

  “I don’t understand,” said Jordi. “We’re not at war. How … why did the Hun sink a Spanish ship?”

  “I heard rumours of this,” said Bonaventura. “I didn’t believe it, but it seems it’s true. If they think a ship has a cargo for Britain, the Germans are sinking it, even if it belongs to a neutral nation.”

  “He escaped the dangers of working in a factory, he avoided the diseases of the slum, and now this,” said Jaume.

  “In the m-m-midst of life, is d-d-death,” said Benet, hugging his friend. “Come, we must give our w-w-wives a good day, even with this s-s-shadow hanging over us.”

  Mam smiled a wistful smile. “Benet’s right,” she said. “We shall raise a glass to your brother, Jaume, even as we toast our newly-weds. I told my boss, the baker, that you were getting married, girls, and he has arranged a little wedding breakfast at the bakery. It will be modest, but he’s been pleased with my work, especially starting so early every morning, and he’s promised a special baking for us.”

  There were crusty rolls with Manchego cheese, and sweet little cakes. Senor Bonaventura revealed that the parcel he had carried all through the ceremony was a bottle of sweet wine, and the baker provided an assortment of cups for a wedding toast. The wedding party solemnly remembered Jaume’s drowned brother.

  Grandmother spoke for them all when she said, “In the midst of life is death. But we live with this every day. Deaths in the factories, deaths from diseases, even deaths on our own Ramblas, with Spanish soldiers shooting workers. We believe in better, but we must be ready to inflict pain and sorrow on the bosses and factory owners.”

  “Death to the bosses,” said Tomas.

  Grandmother continued, “Workers rarely have cause for celebration, like a double wedding. Jaume, I’ll not diminish your loss, or the memory of your brother, but you are still here, you and your lovely wife. You newly-weds hold the future for us, so for a while, hold your heads up and be happy.”

  “All of you be happy,” said Mam.

  “Yes,” murmured Pa grimly. “You hold the future, and that will mean holding a gun.”

  Jaume and Benet shook hands, and turned to their wives and kissed them. As they left, they made everyone promise to visit them in their Eixample basements as soon as possible, and finally rushed off with their brides as if they had not been bedding them nightly for the last year.

  Jordi and Tomas went down to the beach to share a paper twist of chipirones, and Pa and Mam walked slowly with Grandmother, up the hill to the little shack, Pa leaning on his stick, Grandmother breathless from the climb, and Mam, walki
ng between them, keeping them both steady.

  “You said you thought our fortunes had changed,” said Pa. “I didn’t expect that news of Jaume’s brother. Our fortunes haven’t changed much.”

  Reaching the hut, Grandmother turned at looked at the view of Barcelona. “What a city!” she said. “May our Virgin smile on all our young people, and make them brave and bold enough for the future.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Following the short interlude of the double wedding, it was back to the daily grind and exhausting work which filled their lives. Carla and Dolors, of course, as married ladies, were forced to leave the seamstress work at the factory, and were reliant on their husband’s wages thereafter, although they were both well placed to take in sewing jobs from neighbours. Their husbands promised to buy them each a new-fangled Singer sewing machine when they had saved enough.

  Jordi became very efficient in the despatch department at the uniform factory, and the frightening Senora Soler seemed to mellow a little with the increasing efficiency of the department.

  Tomas continued to work at the mill, still subject to the polluted air, the noise of the machines, and the harassment of the manager. Everywhere workers continued to be exploited, and membership of the NCL mushroomed during the years of the Great War. By 1918 membership had reached half a million. Comrades Vilaro and Bonaventura worked tirelessly to improve workers’ conditions, but the industrialists formed their own anti-worker federation so that they could work together to resist the workers’ unrest.

  The boom in production during the war resulted in unbelievable profits for the owners of the mills and factories, and they built themselves evermore elaborate mansions. Barcelona experienced a boom in building, with new barrios springing up daily. Tenement houses started to appear on the lower slopes of Montjuic, and gradually the old slum shacks were replaced with new high-rise slum buildings. It seemed that the city was one vast building site, and the Vilaro shack was rapidly becoming one of very few left.

  Senor Vilaro believed that living in such squalor enhanced his standing in the NCL, but his family began to feel that enough sacrifice was enough. With Jordi and Tomas bringing home slightly better wages, they could afford a small rent, and Mam urged her husband to begin to look for somewhere better to live. The solution to the problem came in a most unexpected way.