Well,
we cant say we weren’t warned. The weather forecast was something
along the lines of ‘and storms shall come upon the land from the
north, and there shall arise one who shall spread great rains, aye, even
floods upon the fields, hail shall pelt them even unto great vexation
and all shall cry out against the ending of time and of the coming of
the Angel of Death... Sunny spells later.
The annual transformation of the Derwent Valley Light
Railway from sleepy Yorkshire into Republican Spain seemed to heralded
bad weather, but we arrived in the sun. Saturday was a lazy day. The camp
was erected, the station transformed and a generally pleasant time was
had. The Young Guns were reunited, Charlotte bringing style and poise
to their gathering, which Fraz managed to counter by being possibly the
scruffiest soldier in the Popular Army. A family, wandering of the beaten
path, were given an impromptu course in basic riflemanship.
La Columna 'Young
Guns' (Left to Right) - Patrick, John, Charlotte, Craig and of
course 'We'll make a soldier of him yet' Fraz
|
Villacanas is on the main route from Valencia to Madrid.
Our version of it showed traffic had arrived from across all the parts
of Iberia. Mari-Ann’s Catalan flag replaced the usual Republican
tricolour and the evenings meal was Conejo con Ciruelas Pasas, a Basque
dish of rabbit with prunes. The younger members of the group were left
in awe and wonder at the passion at which the older [male] members of
the group played ‘guess the Airfix figure. Biscuit or bun having
been banned since the ‘its a slice - that’s not a biscuit
or bun’ incident.
Sergeant Palfrey drilling
the troops in front of Catalan flag
|
Digger admires his
birthday cake
|
Small celebrations were held. Digger had reached another
milestone but refused to let us cut off his legs and count the rings -
so his age is still a mystery. The cake with an image of the man himself
was a triumph of the confectionary arts. Matron was presented with a medical
gorro for services to mobile first aid units.
Sunday dawned with the sort of rain that dampens the
spirits and stopped all play at Headingly but was ignored. Fortified with
another communal breakfast [Villacanas apparently having a bakery which
produces Staffordshire oat cakes]. The day was spent issuing passes and
tickets to the brave souls who, showing a disregard to personal warmth,
were going out, whether they needed to or not.
Young visitors to
Murton dressed in red scarves and carrying drill rifles show off
their newly acquired CNT membership cards
|
After a lunch [or is it dinner, the debate still continues]
of Zarauela Catalana [Catalan fish stew] the railway was attacked and
defended with equal gallantry. The La Columna forces were kept to the
peak of efficiency by Craig, in his first outing as sarge, ably assisted
by his Cabos. The squad system worked well, with everyone kept busy, but
with enough breaks.
As the cold of the evening rain replaced the cool of
the afternoon rains, we settled down to Fabada Asturiana [Asturian bean
and meat stew] and retired to the station to continue the debate over
the nature of dialectic materialism in a post modern society and is your
midday meal lunch or dinner. The group divided roughly on regional and
class lines.
Monday started in the rain, but improved as the day
went on, allowing us to defend the train and England to beat the West
Indian touring party with a day to spare. Our newest recruit was young
Alex.
Our newest recruit
Alex
|
He came on Sunday expecting to help his dad with the
railway but was soon in uniform and guarding the platform with all the
dedication that Connor gives to interrogating passengers.
Monday’s cocido was warming. Bob’s experiments
with hot chocolate hold promise for a future which may include churros
y chocolate. As at Osterley, late afternoon weather seemed to be with
us as we packed away. Once more the forces of International Fascism and
the English weather had been withstood. Our thanks go to the splendid
people at the DVLR, who let us play. It is sad to relate they have been
the recent victims of mindless vandalism, which sets back all their public
spirited work.
Richard Thorpe
|
