Thàinig an Armàda beag againn fhìn anns an t-Sultain aig an aon àm is a thàinig cuingealachaidhean Ìre a-Trì. Madainn ghrianach nochd bhan mòr geal air beulaibh an taighe le sgioba aighearach Spàinntich na broinn – Mateo is Julia à Barcelona is dithis luchd-obraich òga tapaidh à Ameireaga a Deas. Bha an uidheam aca anns a’ ghàrradh-cùl bhon là roimhe – spàidean is sluasaidean, picichean is pocannan mòra saimeant agus am measgaichear-saimeant fhathast na chadal gu sàmhach fo tarpaulin. Gun dàil, thòisich na fir uile ga chur air dòigh airson a’ chiad là den obair le cabadaich is gàireachdaich is fealla-dhà eatorra ann an Spàinntis.
Thàinig Julia don dhoras-cùl agus sheas i aig astar sòisealta ceart airson bruidhinn rinn mu ar planaichean airson a’ ghàrraidh. ’S i bha modhail is dùrachdach agus ged a bha coltas oirre mar deugaire beag caol bha sùilean biorach, geurchùiseach aice is deagh fhios againn gur i co-stiùiriche a’ chompanaidh-ghàrraidh is ise a’ cumail smachd air a h-uile rud a-thaobh rianachd is iomhais.
“A bheil sibh riaraichte gu leòr leis na planaichean?” dh’fhaighnich i. “Cuimhnichibh, ma tha dad sam bith nach eil a’ còrdadh ribh no ma tha sibh ag iarraidh atharrachadh sam bith, fiù ’s nuair a thòisicheas an obair, leig fìos dhòmhsa air am fòn-làimh! Ged a tha beagan Beurla aig Mateo, bidh e nas fhasa a’ dèiligeadh riumsa! Niste, bidh na leacan ùra airson an terras a’ ruighinn Dimàirt is am feansa ùr beagan às dèidh sin – ach cumaidh mi fìos dhuibh, ma tha dàil ann.”
Às dèidh sin chaidh ise ’s Mateo air falbh anns a’ bhan agus nuair a thìll esan as a h-aonais bha na fir òga trang ag obair mu-thràth ’s iad a’ cladhach suas na seann leacan.
Agus b’ e sin mar a bha e, fad dà mhìos. A h-uile là làn obair chorporra, chruaidh, na fìr a’ cladhach a-mach an t-seann talamh trom, ga chur ann am pocannan is an uair sin an toirt air falbh anns a’ bhan. Bhiodh am measgaichear-saimeant a’ tionndadh ’s a shrann gun stad, ’s na balaich a’ tilgeil sluaiseadan làn pùdar-saimeant is gainmheach na chraos acrach. Lìon an àdhair mun cuairt orra le sgòthan salach dust is stùr, a’ flòdraigeach air feadh a’ ghàrraidh agus feum againn na h-uinneagan uile aig cùl an taighe a chumail dùinte. Cha do chùm sin fuaim a’ chiùil aca a-mach, ge-tà, oir gu luath, nochd glaodhaire beag air mullach chruach bhriogaichean agus fhad ’s a dh’obraich iad uile gu dripeil bha iad air am bogadh le ceòl aotrom, aighearach àrd. Òrain Spàinnteach le ruitheam is builleadh beòthail a thug blasad bhlàths an Costa del Sol do ar baile beag ciùin ann an Siorrachd Rinfriù. Anns na làithean mi-chìnnteach sin, thug e togail do ar cridheachan a bhith a’ seasamh aig uinneag a’ chidsin ag èisteachd ris a’ cheòl is a’coimhead air sealladh a bha cho trang, cho adhartach is cho dòchasach.
Bha Mateo na dhuine beag fèitheach tapaidh is e a’ stiùireadh an obair le siogarait beag cam daonnan na bheul, tiona tombaca is pacaid phàipearan-siogarait faisg air làimh. Thuig sinn sa bhad gum b’ e clachair air leth sgileil a bh’ ann cuideachd – a’ tomhais ’s a’ còmharrachadh a-mach an terras is na frith-rathaidean ùra le sùil dhìreach is làmhan sgiobalta. Às dèidh seachdain, thòisich e air leacan an terras a chur sìos. Bhiodh e a’ taghadh leac gu faiceallach agus an uair sin, ag obair gu sgileil le a sgreadhail, bhiodh e a’ sgaoileadh còmhdach rèidh saimeant oirre. Chuireadh e sìos i na h-àite cheart, ga gnogadh gu socair le cas an sgreadhail is an uair sin ga tomhais a-rithist ’s e a’ dèanamh cinnteach gu robh i còmhnard mus do thòisich e air an ath tè. Às dèidh gach leac a chur sìos bhiodh e a’ stad, a’ gabhail ceum air-ais ’s a’ coimhead oirre gu geur, ’s e a’ gabhail ceò air a siogarait beag cam. Gu tric nuair a bha e sàsaichte leis na rinn e bhiodh e a dèanamh ceum-dannsa Spàinnteach no dhà, a’ bualadh a bhasan san àdhair mar dannsair Flamenco anns a bhriogais ghoirid is leine-t còmhdaichte le pùdar-saimeant – a’ sealltainn gu foilleasach dè cho toilichte ’s a bha e leis an obair-chuird aige-fhèin.
Abair gun do dh’obraich an sgioba Spàinnteach againn gu cruaidh fad dà mhìos – is Julia a’ nochdadh gu cunbhalach cuideachd airson sùil a chumail air an adhartas. Gu slaodach, mionaideach dh’èirich cumadh a’ ghàrraidh ùir le ballachan beaga mun cuairt an terras agus frith-rathaidean lùbte rèidh. Mu dheireadh thall cha robh ach na feansaichean ùra rin togail is am feur ùr ri chur sìos. B’ e deireadh na Dàmhair a bh’ ann a-nis is na làithean a’ fàs na b’ fhuaire is na bu ghiorra. Air an là mu dheireadh is feum aca air pròiseact mòra ann an sgìre eile a’ thòiseachadh an ath-là, thàinig an obair gu crìoch le a bhith a’ cur sìos am feur is a’ sgioblachadh suas anns an leth-dorchadas. B’ e am fuaim mu dheireadh a chuala sinn brùnsgal a’ mheasgaichear-saimeant ’s iad ga roiligeadh air falbh airson a chur anns a’ bhan mhòr gheal. Rinn iad dùdanach dhuinn ’s iad a’ draibheadh sìos an sràid dhorcha shàmhach, mar chomharra gu robh an Armàda fo siùil a-rithist, a’ dèanamh a cùrsa gu costaichean ùra.
Gu h-obann bha an gàrradh deiseil ach a’ laighe falamh is sàmhach, às aonais cabadaich beòthail is ceòl àrd Spàinnteach. Mhair an sgìre againne ann an Ìre a-Trì gus àm na Nollaig ’s an uair sin thàinig Ìre a-Ceithir agus, aig toiseach na Bliadhna Ùir, an dàrna Ghlasadh.
Anns a’ Ghearran thàinig an sneachd mar phlangaid tiugha geal a’ còmhdachadh a’ ghàrraidh slàn ach bha aiteamh ann aig a cheart àm a fhuair sinn ar ciad bhanachdaichean. Agus air madainn tràth san Earrach sheas sinn aig uinneag a’ chidsin a’ coimhead air lòn-dubh air mullach an fheansa ùir, sruth phongan ceòlmhor cridheil a’ dòrtadh às a ghob soilleir buidhe ’s e a’ dèanamh gàirdeachas ann an solas na grèine.
Armada
Our little Armada arrived in September, just as the Level 3 restrictions began. On a sunny morning a large white van drew up outside the house, carrying a lively crew of Spaniards – Mateo and Julia from Barcelona along with two sturdy young labourers from South America. Their equipment had been left in the back garden the previous day – spades, shovels and picks, big bags of cement and the cement-mixer, still peacefully asleep under its tarpaulin cover. The men immediately set to work, getting everything prepared for the first day’s work, chattering, laughing and joking in Spanish.
Julia came round to the back door to discuss our plans for the garden, standing at the regulation social distance. She was very serious and respectful and although she looked just like a slip of a girl her eyes were sharp and shrewd and we were already aware that she was the co-directer of the landscaping company, in charge of all the administration – and finance.
'Are you satisfied with the plans?' she asked. 'Remember, if there’s anything at all that you would like to change, even once the work gets underway, just give me a phone! Although Mateo speaks a little English it’ll be easier to deal with me. Now, the slabs for the terrace will be arriving on Monday and your new fence will come a little later – but I’ll let you know if there’s going to be any delay.'
After that, she and Mateo disappeared in the van and when he returned alone, the two young labourers had already begun to dig up the old paving-slabs.
And that’s how it was, for the next two months. Each day was filled with hard, physical labour as the men dug up all the old heavy soil then put it into bags for taking away in the van. The cement-mixer hummed and span incessantly as the two lads threw shovel-fulls of sand and powdered cement into its hungry maw. The air around them was hazy with gritty clouds of dust which floated across the whole garden, meaning that we had to keep all the windows at the back of the house tight shut. However, that didn’t stop the sound of their music, amplified by a little speaker balanced on a pile of bricks. While they toiled away, they were immersed in loud Spanish pop songs whose lively beat and rhythmn brought the warmth of the Costa del Sol to our sedate Renfrewshire village. In those uncertain days it lifted our hearts to stand at the kitchen window, listening to the music and looking at the busy, forward-looking, hopeful scene unfolding in front of us.
Mateo was a muscular, sturdy little man. He would direct operations with a squint little roll-up in the corner of his mouth, his tin of tobacco and packet of cigarette-papers always close at hand. We soon realised just what a skilled stone-mason he was, measuring and marking out the new paths and terrace with neat hands and keen eyes. After a week, he began to lay the new slabs for the terrace. He would choose a slab very carefully and then, skilfully wielding his trowel, would spread a smooth layer of cement on it. He would then position it accurately, tapping it gently with the handle of the trowel to make sure it was level, before starting on the next one. Before continuing, he would pause, take a step back and check his handiwork, puffing thoughtfully on his little roll-up. It was quite obvious how much enjoyment his craftsmanship gave him, for often after laying a slab he would perform a few Spanish dance-steps, clapping his hands in the air like a Flamenco dancer in his shorts and dusty t-shirt.
How hard our Spanish crew worked over those two months with regular visits from Julia too, to keep an eye on progress. Slowly and precisely,the shape of the new garden began to emerge, with little walls round the new terrace and smooth, curved paths. Finally, all that was left to do was erect the fence and lay fresh turf. By now it was late October and the days were getting colder and shorter. On the very last day, with the start-date for the next big project imminent, the work finally ended with the turf being laid and the big tidy-up being done in the half-darkness. The last sound we heard was the rumble of the cement-mixer as they rolled it away to be put in the van, then they tooted the horn as they drove off down the quiet, empty street – signalling that our Armada was under sail again, heading for other shores.
All of a sudden, our garden was finished but lying empty and silent with no lively chatter or loud Spanish music. Our area remained in Level 3 till Christmas time, followed by Level 4 and then the second Lockdown. In February, it snowed, covering the whole garden with a thick white blanket but the thaw came at exactly the same time as we received our first vaccinations.
And, one morning in early Spring, we stood at the kitchen window watching a blackbird on the new fence, rejoicing in the morning sun, a stream of heartfelt notes pouring from his bright yellow beak.