Chapter 5: The Day of the Carnaval

Rehearsals as complete as can be, the Buddy Holly group of friends get ready for a day of singing their song while trying to evade the Guardia Civil set on enforcing the rule of law and disrupt any public gatherings. 

With many groups expected to take to the streets and with only four Guardia Civil officers in the village, a relatively easy day is to be expected. This hilltop village is after all situated in the backwaters and not considered overtly political. All everyone wants is to get on with life, have a good time and the chance to down a few glasses of wine in the sunshine. 

The concept of a legal drinking age is not as standardized or strictly enforced as it is in many other European countries. It is common for younger individuals, even children, to consume alcoholic beverages, particularly in social and family settings. There are no strict rules regarding drinking age in Spain during the Franco regime. It is also quite rare to see people drinking in excess and become violent. Drinking is done as a part of a social inclusive framework and not as a means to forget and escape.

The morning is cold but the sun is shining on most of the upper square. Breakfast is being served both inside and out on the limited pavement space. Large plates of Churros and glasses of steaming instant chocolate are carried to tables occupied by old ladies in headscarves chatting away loudly. Their husbands are standing at the bar drinking coffee supplemented with glasses of either anise or brandy. The noise is incredible as everyone tries to be heard over everyone else and the sound reverberates of the high ceiling and the tiled floor littered with used paper serviettes. Cigarette smoke hangs in the air, the lazy ceiling fans having a hard time shifting it. The noisy atmosphere is amplified by the hissing steam from the coffee machine where milk is heated. Banging of the used coffee container being emptied into the large metal bin between brews only add to the total.

Nobody pays when ordering. Either a tally is kept written with chalk on the bar top in front of the gentleman standing there or as far as the tables are concerned, nothing is written down. The waiters keep a tally in their head and very rarely do they get it wrong. Sometimes they may ask a table what they have had and their answer is accepted without any query. Trust among village people is very high and cultivated. Having said that, if anyone is caught cheating, then word gets around to the other bar owners and that person is either banned or made to pay cash on delivery. No mercy.

As the town hall clock strikes midday, Luis and his group know they still have time to get ready before the twelve o'clock start. They are assembled at the mouth of the downward sloping street, catching the sun on their back. The south side of the square is still in the shade due to the tall buildings and the low sun in its orbit at this time of the year. They keep a sharp eye out for other more daring groups and of course for the officers of the Guardia Civil in their green uniforms and funny black patent leather tricorne or three-cornered hat with a raised back plate. This headgear is not something especially associated with the Franco regime, but dates back to the founding of this discipline in the late 1880's.

"Here we go." says Luis and the group enters the upper square feeling a bit silly in their getup but nothing ventured, nothing gained. They are after all after first prize and a hard day’s work lies ahead.

They line up in front of the biggest bar and start to sing and perform their act. The older generation look at them, frown, shake heads and carry on chatting. This is not working. Not traditional enough. They decide to go indoors, stand just inside and try again. Same result. First prize is slipping away.

Looking downcast and down hearted, they quickly retreat into the sunshine. "Let’s try by the fountain." suggests Luis. Off they trundle, hardly lifting their feet as they walk off, feeling totally defeated.

The younger generation have by now woken up and are slowly making their way towards the village centre.

As Luis's group gather their courage and start on their song for the third time, they look on in surprise as the young boys and girls in front of them start to gyrate and dance to this new rhythm. Encouraged by this, the wooden guitars are given an extra beating; Filipe plays for his life, with Luis and Daniel on either side blowing their reed whistles sing their heart out with the rest of the group while Ángel twirls his rattle keeping an eye out for the law.