Lucia was a bastard ! Who would be shocked by this revelation these days ? No one except perhaps those of a religious inclination.

I had only known this beautiful Spanish girl a few weeks when on a day out in the Yorkshire countryside and seated next to me in my car with her face turned away from me she confessed what appeared to be a burden for her to keep silent about. Her words touched me deeply..

Until this revelation I had found her pleasant company on her rare days off as an au pair with a Leeds family but her words now touched me deeply. I am a caring person - then as now and felt protective towards her from that moment. Perhaps my image as a teacher In a local school gave her confidence that I would retain the secret of her background.
I was in my late twenties then and she was a few years younger.
Her English was passable for a foreigner who had only been in England a few months but she learned quickly from the cultured family she was staying with and from me.
I had hoped but never really expected that we would become lovers.
She had spent many years in a Spanish convent and her first reaction when I first put my hand on her arm was to stub her cigarette on my exposed flesh. Not an auspicious beginning on that side of things but I think she appreciated my gentle English coaching when I felt inclined and I found her errors in English at times amusing. The Spanish beginner at English can easily confuse our M and N and at a reception at the home of her host family, she entered the lounge crowded with guests including myself; looked at her blouse and announced to all and sundry, "I have lost my bottom".

Though on the physical side she might have been described as something of a cold fish, we seemed to understand each other well. I could see problems looming ahead and received dire warnings from good friends as to future clashes stemming from her Catholic upbringing and my albeit Jewish background. We both had many friends though and went with the social flow as an accepted couple.
Among the couples we knew, one pair consisted of a Jewish fiancé and a Protestant partner though oddly enough she looked Jewish and he didn't. Still she was learning about his religion to assist their future. Lucia was curious about this and seemed to be thinking along similar lines though on the rare occasions when the subject of marriage came up I implied that a "registry office would do nicely and there was no need for a fuss. Each could keep to their own beliefs and any offspring could decide for themselves ultimately." This seemed fair and democratic.
After about a year she felt it was time to visit her mother in Madrid.
We had decided I would accompany her en route to Madrid by train as far as Paris as I had only a few days free from work obligations. I booked into a small hotel in the Pigalle district. It was dingy and we both were feeling low, as the time for her train to Madrid was drawing near.
We cuddled on the bed in the dull light of a Christmas Eve, the rain spattering on the window and drumming a warning. She wanted me to make love to her but I refused. Cuddles were O.K. but that's it and I angrily protested : "I can't have you going around Europe pregnant!". A nightmare scenario occurred to me recalling her past history. Paris was where her mother had surrendered to her diplomat lover and was left to give birth to a daughter still haunted by the past. I couldn't face the risk of a repeat of that situation. There was only a slim chance that I could follow her on to Madrid. I had to return to England due to my work and I was also low on cash. In the late 50's it was difficult and very slow to transfer money.
We parted late that night. I wrapped myself with a cold switched-off emotional self-defence. Seeing the depressing empty streets of Paris the next day however, I decided to try to hitchhike to Spain and to hell with the work schedule for a while.
I made it to the Franco-Spanish border albeit with a badly sprained ankle from a fall on the slippery wet surface dodging the incessant rain. I sent Lucia a telegram from the train station at the border town of Irun signing it "Ducky" - a pet word we both used. I was immediately arrested by the Fascist secret police and held and questioned incessantly for 24 hours until they were finally satisfied that the pet word was not secret code. (I discovered later that the Chief of Police of the town had just been assassinated by Basque rebels and they were rounding up suspects indiscriminately - though in my case the obvious limp and the suspect telegram had got them overexcited.)
I was excited myself with Madrid - seeing Lucia again-with all the sights and sounds and odours (mostly fried calamares ! )

While Lucia spent time with her mother - I wandered the streets and was taken aback by the multitude of beggars - especially gypsies with "borrowed" babies squatting in the sunny lanes as the populace celebrated their festival of the Three Kings in early January. I entered a church and was likewise shocked by the plethora of what seemed to me to be idols - their vast range of saints and attendants.
Back at Lucia's mother's flat all was pleasant enough - though the big meal an hour before midnight took a bit of getting used to. There was no obvious tension between Lucia's mother and myself.
I was enjoying the winter sun on the terrace when Lucia popped the question to me. "Will you marry me in the cathedral ?" The picture of the rows of "idols" seemed to be uppermost in my mind and my reply was abrupt if honest - "Don't be a comedian !" She had never protested in England at the idea of a civil wedding, after all. So why should I change the compromise, I thought at the time.
Clearly this was her mother's influence.
It was only on my return to England that I realised that Lucia was seeking "legitimacy" - in the eyes of her mother. In the mother's view and now Lucia's. "All could be made clean and good again" with the church's acceptance of a child born out of wedlock with a consenting man able and willing to go along with Catholic perspective - which at that time would include all children being brought up as Catholics.
By this means her mother's guilt could be assuaged. Lucia would no longer see herself as a "bastard". I had lost control of the situation and after a few polite letters I got the news that she had married an American soldier - presumably in the cathedral!
I have often wondered since - what a different ending there might have been had I taken that chance in the dingy room in Pigalle with winter rain drumming on the window!


Ends
The Price of Guilt.

(Further information from Laurie Arnold on E-mail:- probeonmedia@aol.com)