But this wasn’t necessary, for my two brothers came down the aforementioned ‘steep’ staircase, the one in our house, and, like the strong, sturdy young men they were, they grabbed the bundle and carried it all the way upstairs. My mother watched them with pride; suddenly she paid no more attention to me, what could we do about it!: «The last shall be first, and the first shall be last» (Matthew 20:1–16).

“Be careful not to hurt yourselves, it’s very heavy!”

“Don’t worry, Mum, we’re grown, ups now; we can handle this and much more!”

The box, as in previous years, was placed in my parents’ bedroom, thus avoiding the temptation for us to snoop through its contents.

A few days later, and of course before the toys were handed out, my mother, as she did every year, would secretly check them, using as a guide a letter inside the box that Aunt Raquel had placed there. She assigned the toys to each of us according to who they were meant for; Aunt Raquel was very ‘crafty’ and, knowing our ages as she did, had already allocated the toys to us. My mum respected this arrangement, though not entirely; with some of them, she made changes to the recipients as she saw fit, ‘that’s why she gave birth to us!’, as she always argued. And no one was going to tell her what each of us was like.

"This one’s for Leo, who likes building things; I don’t know why Raquel’s given it to Damián!" she also had a habit, on occasion, of talking to herself; I’d heard her doing it more than once.

The sorting went on until she’d distributed them all; as most were missing their original packaging, she put them in boxes, writing the name of their future owner on each one. Many of them were shoe boxes, which she’d been saving up throughout the year for the occasion.

The idea was to give us a bit of excitement when we unwrapped the toy and to get us into the ‘Christmas spirit’.

…On Three Kings’ Day, first thing in the morning, near a nativity scene we’d set up in a corner of the dining room, we ‘unwrapped the presents’.

I was the first to search through the boxes for the ones with my name on them; my brothers let me do it, as they’d already stopped believing in the ‘Three Kings’.

A few minutes later, without waiting for me to finish ‘checking’ all the presents, my siblings took control and found their own presents.

"This one’s for me! It’s got my name on it," Leo claimed.

"And this one’s for me!" Damián didn’t want to be left out of the spoils.

Within minutes, the presents had been picked up and taken away by each of their recipients. And as if imitating dogs, all of us, although we were looking at our own presents, were more interested in each other’s. Dogs do the same with bones or food; what could we do? Deep down, we’re all animals…

The other toys, the ones from the Spanish Three Kings, were more ordinary and predictable; mine was a ball, which, given the material it was made of, wasn’t expected to last long. One of my brothers was given a ‘Geyper Game Set’; it really annoyed me as it was a toy I’d wanted.

These games, which first appeared in 1945, consisted of a large, beautifully designed box containing a huge variety of board games. They came in various sizes depending on the number of games they contained: 10, 15, 25, 35, 45, 50 or 55 games. There were the most popular ones, the ones we all knew, children and adults alike, such as Parcheesi, Goose, Checkers, Chess and even Roulette, complete with its mat and even its little ball, which was the first thing to go missing.

To these had been added all sorts of games; I’ll mention a few just to remind you that there are board games as well as ‘little consoles’: Jacks, Take and Put, Marbles, Indian Race, Wild, The Hunt, Ketekojo, Add and Multiply, Dernier, Take, Noughts and Crosses, Squares, Words, From Power to Power, Jaquet, Sempre Avanti,

Rush, Halma, In-Out, Speed Halma, 421, Gobang, Pyramid, Tippy, Assault Game, Pentaline, Chalma, Meta 24, Chinese Checkers, Marelle, Derby, Quinielas, Flea Game, Dice, Tira, Cheeky, Raffles, The Wheel, Sole Fishing, Lotto, Snakes and Ladders.

There was no shortage of different decks of cards for playing solitaire, poker, rummy, etc. etc… The company that made them was 'Industrias Geyper', owned by Antonio Pérez Sánchez.

When we showed off our toys the next day, it was a sort of competition to see which ones were the best.

We were the envy of the other children; ours were American, and nobody else had them. I was the first to have a sort of 'Madelman', a plastic cowboy and Indian about 30 centimetres tall, very well made, which were articulated and could strike “poses”; these figures were complemented by a range of accessories, such as a canteen, a bow and arrows, a pistol and a little bag that looked exactly like a purse down to the smallest detail.

“Come on, Billy, get your gun out!”

“Your cowboy’s much bigger than mine!”

“I know, ‘Michel’, this one’s made in America!”

“I’ll swap it for my ‘colouring box’!” that was what my friend treasured most, a huge box full of crayons in every colour.

“What the hell do you mean ‘crayons’? I wouldn’t swap this for anything!”

Another present I received that I continued to love for years, a rare thing for a child to like a present for more than just one Christmas, was like a Spanish ‘Exin Castillo’. I can’t quite remember its name; ‘Skyscraper Builders’ might fit the bill and give you an idea. It contained a whole variety of white plastic pieces, with which you could build a skyscraper, very American! It had windows, walls and even a tower spire with a long antenna. I reckon even today, I might still find a piece or two at my mum’s house...

He also used to send lots of ‘puzzles’, but as they didn’t come with their original boxes, to put them together you had to rely on a sort of template, made from the puzzle’s promotional leaflet, which my aunt had ‘sneaked’ into the parcel:

"‘Michel’, can you tell me where this piece goes?"

“Hold on, don’t throw me off now! I’m trying to fit this piece into mine.”

“Right, but yours goes in that corner…”

“Bloody hell, don’t tell me that! Can’t you see I already knew!”

That bloody 'Michel' didn’t like having things made easy for him, unlike me, who didn’t give the slightest thought to a welcome bit of help from others. Once his last piece was in place, my friend paid attention to me, and within seconds he’d already spotted its spot:

“Put it there!” the smart alec told me, guiding my hand to the spot.

“I’ve got just a few left now, one, two, three… and fifteen.”

“Do you want me to help you now that I’ve finished mine?” he offered, and I accepted his help. “Let me have a go. I can’t see it properly from here!”

In the end, it was he who finished putting it together. I don’t think I ever managed to put one of them together completely on my own; perhaps some of the pieces were missing, I suppose! It can’t be that that ‘know it all’ 'Michel' managed to do it and I, being smarter, didn’t.

I suppose that from her home in the United States, our aunt would be laughing her head off; for my mother was careful not to tell her about her Spanish nephews, reactions to her toys.

Raquel always looked out for her sister; after all, she was practically the one who had raised her. Our grandmother passed away shortly after the end of the war, and my mother took on that maternal role.

This tragedy was what led to all the sisters moving to Barcelona, where they lived with an aunt, my grandfather’s sister, who had died many years earlier, but who was, after all, ‘family’. And in those post-war years, all the relatives helped one another and ‘crowded together’ just to get by.

It was in Barcelona that my aunt met her future husband, Erwin; they met at a hospital where he was doing some sort of medical placement, and Raquel was studying nursing. It was love at first sight, and they got married before the end of the course. The newlyweds set off for the husband’s homeland, and it seems my aunt made a sort of vow as she left: «Even if I have to kill, cheat or steal, I swear to God I’ll never go hungry again!».

It was a phrase similar, with the necessary reservations and a focus on the present!, to the one uttered by the character ‘Scarlett O’Hara’, played by the actress ‘Vivian Leigh’, in the Oscar winning film ‘Gone with the Wind’:

«Though I have to kill, cheat or steal, I swear to God I’ll never go hungry again». And at least “Vivian Leigh” certainly didn’t have to go hungry; she was paid $25,000 for her role in the film, though she did work the 125 days the shoot lasted. Her co-star, “Clark Gable”, pocketed considerably more: $120,000 for just 75 days.

 These were substantial sums of money in 1939, the year this adaptation of Margaret Mitchell’s 1936 novel of the same name was released. Produced by David O. Selznick and directed by Victor Fleming.

Our Aunt Raquel did the same; she never returned to ‘Spain’, though her children did. Without any hesitation or ill will, she encouraged them to visit Spain and get to know their roots and their family.

And so, over the years, they all visited their mother’s homeland on numerous occasions.

I remember perfectly the visits from Willy, the eldest and a builder, who is my age; Ailen, the ‘filmmaker’ and an excellent producer and screenwriter; and Andrew, the youngest and a vet. I have maintained a relationship with all of them and still do so today.

The fact that Raquel didn’t return to her homeland didn’t mean she wasn’t keeping an eye on us or didn’t ‘lend a hand to her sister’, apart from the Three Kings’ gifts. For years, every now and then, we’d receive a letter with a surprise:

“Mum, the postman’s brought a letter from Aunt Raquel!” I shouted; he’d just handed it to me on the landing of our staircase.

“Take it upstairs, she’s been waiting for it!”

“Can I open it?” I always tried, despite the familiar warning and reminder: 'Curiosity killed the cat.'

“Not this one, don’t let it get torn and ruin it!”

“RASH, RASH!” She tore open the envelope deftly, using her beautiful, slender fingers.

“Here it is, let’s see!” he exclaimed, pulling a piece of paper from inside. “Blimey, he’s really outdone himself! It’ll come in handy…”

This meant the cheque I’d been waiting for was inside; it wasn’t much, but enough to plug more than one hole. The difference in currency was noticeable.

The next day, it was already clear where my mother would go: straight to the Banco Exterior to cash it! In those days, we didn’t have a current account at a bank or savings bank; the little money we had was kept at home, in some hiding place known only to my parents. I suppose it was in a hole in the wall, or under a brick, the old fashioned way.

We lived from hand to mouth, entirely on a subsistence economy. It would be many years yet before Spain opened up to the rest of the world; that would come later with the tourism boom.

MY MOTHER´S JOURNEYS

…Once we were older, and my mother was no longer tied down by looking after us, she was able to devote some time to herself.

We were all grown up and socially and financially independent.

Only my parents lived at home. And it was during these years that she became a modern-day female ‘Marco Polo’; she never stopped travelling to various places, not to holiday destinations advertised by travel agencies, but to reconnect with her sisters scattered across the Americas.

The first trip was to embrace the youngest, Aunt Raquel, in the North.

She crossed the Atlantic on several occasions to visit her. Almost every year she went to spend a month, or sometimes even three, with her. And she kept doing so right up until she was well into her later years!

When she returned, she came laden with gifts for everyone. The ritual of her return, which gradually became routine, went like this:

—Do you know what time Mum’s coming back?

“Yes, I do! It looks like the flight isn’t delayed, so she’s due to land tomorrow at around 6.40 pm Spanish time.” That’s how my brother Damián, who was in charge of it, would confirm the return flight to all of us.

And the next day, we’d arrive at least an hour early, children and other relatives included. Our ‘clique’ grew every year.

"Have you managed to park?"

"I got fed up driving round in circles, so I’ve parked in the ‘Parking’." We were referring to the airport’s public pay-and-display car park.

In the arrivals hall, the whole ‘troop’ ended up gathering; there were loads of us. We all wanted to welcome the matriarch.

Whilst we waited, we caught up on each other’s news:

“So, how’s your daughter’s job going?”

“Very well, she’s been made permanent!”

«DING DONG, ARRIVAL OF FLIGHT SO-AND-SO, FROM…» The long, awaited announcement over the loudspeakers of my mother’s flight landing and disembarking.

That day we were all waiting for her ‘figure’ to appear in the arrivals hall; the current security measures weren’t in place yet. And it wasn’t long before she appeared:

"Look, look, it’s Grandma!’ said one of her granddaughters" I can’t remember which one.

My mother, the traveller, had already ‘surprised’ us.

The first thing she did was wave to us in a gesture of joy.

Although the rule was, to prevent luggage theft, that you weren’t allowed to go in to welcome the people you were waiting for, some of us broke it and entered the area:

“Hey! Where are you going? You can’t go through there!”

“We’re going to help my mum with her luggage! She’s the one over there!” said one of us, pointing her out to the Civil Guard, who, upon seeing her, must have been reminded of his own mother.

“Right, go on in, but don’t get in the way, I’m putting my neck on the line here!”

“Thank you so much!” We, the “advance party”, went straight over to hug my mum.

As always, she expressed her joy at seeing us:

"What a joy! I’ve been so looking forward to seeing you all again! And so-and-so; and so-and-so…"

Once we’d collected the suitcases and left the arrivals hall, it was my father who then kissed her and hugged her:

"MUA, MUA!" “We’re all here now! The kids have missed you!” he omitted to add “missed” to his own words. But my mother already knew that the one who missed her most was him.

“Come on, Damián, I’m home now!” the traveller reassured him, though she could have reminded him of his many absences of yore, but she didn’t.

Afterwards, the whole ‘brood’ set off back to my parents house.

It was like a convoy of cars.

Owning a car was now commonplace; those journeys on our ‘Vespa’ or by bus were a thing of the past.

What followed, and was repeated on every return trip; was the eagerly awaited handing out of presents. My poor mum, still weary from the long hours of flying, pulled herself together once more and began handing out the gifts. She knew exactly who they were for, although as she handed them out she changed the recipient of some of them:

"This T-shirt is for you…! This other one’s for you!" First making the little ones happy, and like a magic trick, suddenly a pair of trousers emerged from a suitcase, and six watches came out of its pocket; they were ‘cheap’ but rarely seen round here.

Most of the gifts had been bought in American department stores.

Large retail outlets had already opened in our country, but they focused mainly on food, although they did stock other products.

They hadn’t yet reached the scale of those huge shopping centres in the US.

“This one’s for you, Antoñito!” I felt flattered, not by the rubbish watch, but by the thought behind it, which was what counted. “I know it’s not much, but I hope you like it!” Those words would break you down; he knew how to tug at your heartstrings: BUA! BUAAA! SNIF! I always have a moment to think of you! You were a model of self-sacrifice for the family and everyone else...!

Continuing with the welcome party for another year. Then we said our goodbyes, but it was always inevitable that the younger ones wouldn’t be entirely satisfied:

"Mum, I want a truck like ‘X’s’ too!"

"That’s enough, your present is the best!" said his mother to calm him down.

“If you say so…” It didn’t seem as though this grandson was entirely convinced.

Two days later, when she was feeling more rested, her children would visit her; most of the time we’d all be there at the same time.

And that was when she’d tell you about her adventure; to me, she reminded me of the Antoñita of yesteryear, when I used to accompany her to give injections:

“The waterfalls really make an impression on you!” she said, referring to 'Niagara Falls'. “We were on the American side and it was unforgettable; look, I took photos of everything!” she said, enjoying showing you the pictures. “This one was taken by my cousin ‘Ailen’" Raquel’s daughter. “Who accompanied us everywhere; and this is Victoria, a friend of my aunt’s who came along too; and this is So-and-so and Such-and-such…"

She loved reminiscing about what she’d experienced, just as we all do when we see a photograph that reminds us of something pleasant.

“And these are her dogs! Any dog she sees abandoned, she takes in! I reckon she must have over fifty…”

“Well, she must be spending a fortune on feeding them!” someone asked a leading question.

“The food is delivered by lorries! She feeds them dry food!” In Spain, we weren’t yet very used to feeding dogs dry food.

“And does she belong to some sort of animal welfare organisation?”

"How should I know! She pays for the food out of her own pocket! It takes her a huge amount of work to feed them every day, and she knows them all; she knows the name of every single dog. I was helping her, I wasn’t going to just sit there while she fed them! These others are the ones that live in her house." referring to another photograph.

“Well, there aren’t that many!” I pointed out upon seeing the photo. “There must be five or six at home.”

“She keeps the others in a sort of barn! She’s got loads of land; you can’t even imagine how big the place is!”

“It’s just that the land over there is different; it’s not like here, where there’s only so much land. In America, they’ve got land to spare!” I pointed out.

“Yes, everything’s on a massive scale! They don’t mind driving six hundred or a thousand kilometres in a day.” The comparison with journeys on the island was huge, though not so much with those on the mainland.

“And are you going back next year?” I asked her.

“I don’t know! I’m tired now; the journey’s very long and it takes ages to tell whether it’s day or night, it takes a while for your body to get used to it.”

The disruption to your routine is brutal on this sort of trip, but as the months went by and she got back into her usual routine, she was already looking forward to the next journey.