Barcelona Sunset by Jeremy D. Rowe

Author:Jeremy D. Rowe
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781786233479
Publisher: Grosvenor House Publishing
Published: 2018-08-30T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

During that long hot summer of 1923, Jordi and Ferrer became friendly with Steven Hannay and his wife, and were regular faces at the Friday meetings of the communists, in the Begemot Bar. Knowing the influence Jordi’s writing could have if it was published, the regular group in the bar persuaded Jordi to open a bank account, and Ferrer assisted him with the process at the Savings Bank of Barcelona. Steven’s English began to return with greater fluency, so that he could efficiently translate letters from London.

As the heat of the summer began to cool, Steven suggested to Jordi that he could start to teach him English. They began with some painstaking translations of Jordi’s reports for the Daily Chronicle, and started to send the reports to London in English.

It was late afternoon at the beginning of September, when, to everyone’s amazement, there was a shrill and prolonged ringing of the little-used telephone at Begemot. Everyone turned to the barman in anticipation at such an unusual occurrence, and the barman, who was always nervous of answering it, picked it up. He frowned, muttered, and then looked around the curious faces in the silent bar. “Comrade Hannay,” he said, “I think this man is speaking in English. Can you come to the telephone?”

Steven walked round the bar and held the telephone to his ear. After a pause, he answered in English, and the hushed audience listened. Suddenly, he put his hand over the mouthpiece, and asked the barman for paper and pencil. They watched with growing fascination as he wrote on the scrap of paper; then they heard him agree to pass a message to Jordi. A few moments more, and he put the telephone back in its cradle. Turning to his comrades who were still listening intently, Steven said, “That was the Daily Chronicle, in London. I’m not used to using a telephone, and I’ve never talked to anyone in London. I think I need a drink.”

With wry smile, the barman poured him a brandy, which he swallowed quickly, then spoke again. “Jordi, there’s a rumour gone around that a military coup is about to happen here, in Spain. Your editor wants a first-hand account of what’s going on. You’re to go at once to Placa de Sant Jaume. Apparently the Generalitat will issue a statement. You are to try to get an interview with Captain General de Rivera, or at least write a report about what’s going on. And you are to telephone it in English to London before nightfall.”

“Merda!” exclaimed Jordi. “What shall I do?”

“Get on with it,” said Ferrer.

“Yes,” said Steven. “You have no time to lose.”

“I need one of those,” said Jordi, pointing to Steven’s empty brandy glass.

The barman quickly poured a measure for Jordi, who gulped it, and looked round the room.

“Here you go,” said Ferrer, “your notebook and pencil. Run! We’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”

Thus it was that the London Daily Chronicle was the first British paper to publish

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