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Ellie and Hub lived in Lagoa 10
years ago, while in their early 40's, they had a carpentry business near
Algoz.
You can reach Ellie at: Gantree1@aol.com |
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The goatherd I was sitting in Lagoa park one sunny
afternoon on my recent holiday and I got to reminiscing of how it
was some 10 or more years ago. There was no pedestrian's area then
but a busy main road going through the town, always lively, always
something going on! I don't know why but I suddenly thought of the
goatherd that often stopped the traffic as he drove his flock
through Lagoa and out into fields on the way to Carvoeiro. One
thought led to another and I recalled our move to the villa near
Porches and a much closer contact with another goatherd.
We had lived in Lagoa for almost two years, we loved it and the
people but the offer to live in a beautiful villa as 'caretakers'
was one too good to refuse. It had a lovely garden and swimming
pool, there was plenty of room with a large kitchen we could eat in
but there was a 'bonus' in it for me. The villa also contained an
electric piano, one which I would have full use of by kind
permission of the owners! Hub knew that would have the biggest
'sway' with me, for although I had a small portable keyboard it had
been a few years since I had played the 'full size' keyboard of a
'proper' piano! Within the month we were packing up our belongings
and making the move to our new home.
Carlos and Maria helped with the move and very soon we were settled
in; it was a cosy, homely place with comfortable sofas and armchairs
and bright cheerful rugs covering the tiled floors. It was
springtime but at the merest excuse, a small drop in night
temperatures and we revelled in the comfort of a real log fire! The
sitting room doors opened onto a patio where we could eat breakfast
in the early morning sunshine and the raised rockery garden beyond
the pool was bright with spring-flowering bulbs and low growing,
sun-loving shrubs. Altogether a very beautiful home.
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After
such a long time it was wonderful to have a piano at my disposal
once more and I started to re-organise my working week. As usual I
went to my garden job each day but I worked a little bit harder on
two mornings so that I could spend those afternoons playing and
practising.
It was during one of these leisurely afternoon sessions that I first
heard the goatman, in fact I was so lost in the tune I played, that
his harsh cry quite startled me. The piano stood alongside the patio
doors of the sitting room; the weather was so mild that I had pushed
them open a little, so his voice seemed very close by. I jumped up
and hurrying outside I was brought to a complete standstill. The
goats were everywhere! My immediate thought was for the flowers,
these creatures eat anything and everything. Flowering shrubs and
oleanders grew close to the wrought iron gates and already two billy
goats were up on hind legs and starting to make a feast of them!
The goatherd stood outside the gates yelling and whistling through
the gaps in his blackened teeth. But all in vain. The creatures
continued to roam freely nibbling at every growing thing in sight
and as a couple headed round the side towards the back garden, I
panicked at the thought of them attacking the precious herb garden.
Bad enough if it was my own but it wasn't. I was guardian of this
place and they had to be stopped!
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I
beckoned frantically to the goat man to come in; he hesitated
seeming afraid to enter. But I was insistent, left for very much
longer I was terrified I wouldn't have any garden left to protect!
I called out to him "Its okay.. no problem" and again beckoned him
to come in; he finally entered and with much shouting and use of
stick he managed to round up his flock and soon all were heading out
the gate and continuing along the lane.
But now this had happened I knew we would have to be more careful in
future, making sure the gates were kept closed especially when we
were out, as we had no wish to return to a half-eaten garden! Bad
enough if it were our own property but worse still for one
supposedly under our care.
One extra warm sunny evening I had gone up onto the villa's flat
roof terrace. I wanted to breathe in some cooler air and catch the
last rays of sunshine, when once again I heard the cry of the
goatherd. My eyes flew to the gates and saw with relief we had
remembered to close them. But my attention was drawn to the goat man
once more as his cries were now loud and angry! He was coming along
from my left, shouting at the top of his voice, his long stick
waving before him in great wide sweeping arcs as if signalling to
someone or something. But there was no one; this time he was alone,
not a goat to be seen. He started to run along the lane shouting,
yelling and all the while his stick jabbing the air as he sped past
our gates.
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By this time Hub and Jamie were outside in the garden wondering what
all the commotion was about. I ran down to join them and we watched,
as the goatherd, now really frantic, approached a wild piece of
scrubland about 30 metres from our villa. As we moved closer we saw
the goats. They were literally all over the place. Some were on the
scrub, others in the roadway and more than a few were nibbling away
at the flowering hedges of a nearby villa. Then we heard a shrieking
noise followed by a high pitched cackling that then turned into
hysterical laughter. In alarm we looked in the direction of these
maniacal sounds. There in the midst of the scruffy piece of
wilderness was a shabbily dressed woman, a dirty tatty scarf
covering her head, as she sat amongst the tangled grass and weeds,
rocking back and forth, the half crazed laughter emitting from her
lips as she slapped her legs, seemingly caught up in some mad secret
joke known only to herself.
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By now we stood very close to this scene of pandemonium wondering
what on earth was going on! The goat man was striding towards the
woman, who continued to mock him with hysterical laughter. He
erupted with rage, shaking his stick furiously at her and
gesticulating at his marauding goats, who by now were completely
out of control and taking not the slightest notice of his loud
commands, as they continued to roam at will.
Watching all this we felt worried but also rather helpless. The
goatherd was in such a violent temper Hub thought any minute he
would attack his wife, so he approached him rather tentatively and
in hesitant Portuguese asked if he could help? The man was so
surprised at Hub's presence he stood quite still and silent for a
moment, then suddenly started up again, shouting and pointing the
stick at his wife, who still sat chuckling and swaying in the long
grass, totally in a world of her own!
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We made out some of the words that flew
from his gap--toothed mouth: 'Mulher' (wife). 'Louco' 'Doido'
(Crazy); other words followed. What we understood was, his wife was
mentally unbalanced and whilst he'd sat eating his supper that
evening she had driven the goats from their home, letting them run
wild. The goats were his living but he also had a demented wife to
care for; we felt such pity for this tormented man and the deranged
woman who was still seated amongst weed and wildflower, now singing
and laughing, completely oblivious of the chaos she caused.
Our presence seemed to calm things a little and as the goat man bent
to help his wife to her feet in an unexpected gentle manner, we
tried to help by 'shooing' the goats towards him ,doing the best we
could to herd them all into one place. Within about 15 minutes there
was some semblance of order; the goatherd, with one hand gripping
his wife's arm, the other waving his long stick he began to drive
his flock before him and shaking his head apologetically he finally
made his way back along the lane.
We followed behind, wandering slowly back to the calm of our pretty
villa and serene gardens and as I walked into our tiny paradise I
reflected on the wretched life of that poor couple. Their life held
no luxuries, mostly it was one of hard labour and not a little
torment and I realised how lucky we were to have a clean,
comfortable home, warmth and good food, but above all we had good
health, both mental and physical. I went to bed that night counting
my blessings.
The goatherd became a familiar sight along our lane and we often
exchanged a few words of greetings. On the odd occasions his wife
would appear with the goats scattered all around her and soon
afterwards her beleaguered husband could be heard and seen giving
chase along the lane after her and more than once we were around to
lend him a helping hand!
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