Letter from Espargal: 15 August 2014

This blog begins last Friday evening when we travelled with our neighbours, Sarah and David, to the nearby town of Salir to watch their son-in-law, Rob, play football. He is the star player for the team fielded by the village of Cortelha, where he and wife Helen have a house. We were impressed by the facilities at Salir, especially the classy artificial turf on which the match was played. Although Rob was outstanding, as ever, his two goals were not enough to offset the four scored by his opponents.

The game was remarkable for the absence of fouls and the applause opponents afforded each other for outstanding play in a hard-fought match. Even more remarkable was the ref, whose authority was in no way diminished by the sandals in which he slopped his way around the field. Afterwards, the players headed off to a restaurant for a celebratory supper, an example we followed ourselves.

HELEN & FRIEND, LIZ, WITH DAVID right

Saturday evening: we joined neighbours for a very special meal prepared by Marie, who had invited Manuel and Graça from the Hamburgo restaurant as guests of honour. Graça cooks for a living and Manuel manages the tables which, for once, were turned, albeit most pleasantly. My literary skills do not run to either food or clothes but it's fair to say that Marie went to an enormous amount of trouble to serve up a memorable meal.

Sunday: Natasha, who came to work for a neighbour, brought with her Slavic and his brother, Roslan, newly arrived from Ukraine to seek a living in Portugal. The lads spent a couple of hours working for David and Sarah before coming over to us.

SLAVIC WORKS IN THE MIDDAY SUN WITHOUT A HAT!

The first task facing Roslan, who speaks only Russian and Ukrainian, is to learn sufficient Portuguese to get by - something for which his countrymen in these parts show a flair. Slavic speaks the language passably and Natasha excels. She also gets along in English when she has to although she's not comfortable in it.

After lunch I took the tractor down to Mr Palmeira's orchard where plums from several trees lie thick on the ground. I picked the best of the rest. The riper fruit has already gone into the pot, en route to the jam jar.

JONES WAS RELUCTANT TO TAKE THIS PICTURE GIVEN MY UNPREPOSSESSING STATE

BUT THE TRUTH MUST OUT

While Jones jam is delicious, it does rather tend to drip on the bed clothes if one is not very careful - which one sometimes is not, particularly when half asleep.

Monday: Jones busied herself in her garden. Delicate plants require daily attention.

As well as plumming and hanging pictures, I spent some time setting up Kaspersky's Password Manager. This endeavour was prompted by an email from my sister, describing her husband's efforts to protect his own cyber identity. While I ensure that my trusted Kaspersky security suite hovers mindfully over my computer, I haven't fully exploited its resources.

At Llewellyn's bidding, I also downloaded the Android OsmAnd app and several maps ("Openstreetmap.org") to my mobile phone. This is a most useful wiki that the public can modify with names and places of interest. Llewellyn and I have already inserted the names of surrounding hamlets and villages.

Monday evening we joined Celso and his two children for supper at the Hamburgo. We got to know Celso and Brigitte when they ran the snack bar in Benafim. Squeezed by the "crise", they moved back to France where Celso has been picking up work around Paris. He was delighted recently to secure a contract to drive one of those monster car-delivery trucks.

Joey 11, lives with mother Brigitte some distance away. Celso sees them when he can. Daughter, Elena 17, who stays with her grandmother in Benafim, is still at school here in Portugal. The situation is not ideal, as Celso ruefully concedes, but needs must and his relief at having secured steady employment was palpable.

Tuesday morning: we set about the overdue task of collecting our carobs. Some are ripe and clattering to the ground while others still cling to the branches as though for dear life.

Much whacking with a long stick is required to bring them down. This is my job.

Mainly I leave Jones to do the bending down. I am not a bender. When necessary, I go down on my knees or use barbecue pincers to retrieve those on the ground.

CASTING A SHADOW ON CAROBS LYING BENEATH A TREE

We managed to fill two large tubs. Just another 20 or 30 to go - to be passed along in due course to Mr Palmeira in thanks for all the fruit and veg we receive.

We'll try to put in an hour a day most days.

Tuesday afternoon: two tons of firewood arrived on a truck, along with two young men who spent 90 minutes offloading it on to my tractor and repacking it in the woodshed.

David, who had ordered a ton for himself, came across to lend a hand - much appreciated. It was hot, especially in the woodshed, where the workers dripped as they stacked the logs.

We are now well set for winter. As far as I'm concerned, it can't come soon enough.

Wednesday: May was in good form over lunch, reminiscing at length over one experience or another as she enjoyed her fried shrimps. Late in the day I fielded a call from a courier who had three Amazon parcels to deliver in Espargal.

He was tickled pink when I met him down at the old school and signed for our fellow expats as well as ourselves, before making the deliveries on his behalf. Amazon clearly does good business in these parts.

Our parcel contained two DVDs, Inside Llewyn Davis and The Dallas Buyers' Club - still to be viewed. I hope they live up to their billing.

While taking the dogs out for a final treat and pee, I sat on a chair that wasn't there. Oooh! Gravity is so unforgiving. The dogs rushed to lick me better.

Thursday: Slavic arrived to continue working on odd jobs around the property - paths, steps, walls and other minor improvements. I sent him into town to fetch some cement while we went walking. I can't say that I always set out on our morning walks with a cheery heart. But I am aware how important that hour of fairly vigorous exercise is to our overall health and fitness; and we always return feeling glad that we have made the effort. It settles the dogs down for the morning too, a big bonus!

Thursday evening: we supped on the patio, under the lights in the trees, and shed a tear or two for Mary, whose loss still lies heavy upon us.

Friday: the feast of the Assumption of Mary into heaven. It's still a public holiday in Portugal, all the more appreciated this year for falling on a Friday.

The feast was among the major celebrations in the liturgical calendar when I was a Marist Brother - a little brother of Mary - my "vocation" for a decade, in another life that I find difficult to relate to. So do some of my ex-colleagues with whom I still correspond.

Even more surprisingly, half a dozen of my fellow novices have remained faithful to their calling down the years and are now celebrating 50 years of monastic life. Sadly for them, they are now an order of old men. The average age is past retirement.

In 1950 Pope Pius XII proclaimed the Assumption an article of faith of the Roman Catholic church - a dogma that prompted doubts which were ultimately to lead me away from the faith. An assumption too far!