Not quite bionic Margaret
I WAS in the company of Margaret, a delightful elderly lady who had befriended me despite advice to the contrary.
This was a few years ago, probably in the early nineties… She had just recovered from a hip replacement and was shortly to jet off to England for a similar operation on her kneecap.
However, this was not some frail old biddy looking for sympathy, oh dear me no! All she could think about was whether there was an active bloke around to dance with. Advertising experts could have learned a lot from ‘Maggie.’ “Don’t think about it, just DO IT!”
“I want to dance,” she said “God knows when or if ever I shall be able to do so again, so come on.” Accepting my ‘Snake Hips’ cum ‘Twinkle Toes’ role, I obliged.
She need not have worried. In no time at all she was doing a paso doble. Then, a few months later, after the knee surgery, she repeated the act with just as much flair. ‘It hurt’ she said, grimacing ‘but it works’.
Having performed to Mike Raine’s keyboard magic in Toni’s restaurant and reluctantly left the floor, we were sitting quietly sipping 'tinto' when she made this statement.
Her comment was encouraging enough for me to get her back on her pins again. In abandoned mood, I whirled her around to Victor Silvester ‘oldies’ in a mixture of polka and Viennese waltz time. Maggie was ecstatic; I was breathing stertorously as if I’d just done a couple of laps in the Grand National.
There was a round of spontaneous clapping from nearby diners. We were not sure whether the applause was for the organist or our strenuous cabaret act but we enjoyed it!
This may not be the most gracious way to describe Margaret Smith, who first arrived on the shores of the Costa Blanca some 35 years ago, but it does give an indication of her indomitable character.
In the late 60s, her husband Bill suffered a major heart attack so they decided to retire. Their company had been doing well producing demonstration ‘swatches’ for tailors, carpet manufacturers and curtain retailers, and one of their main customers were Sandersons, the wallpaper folk. They decided to settle for a quieter life and moved to the Costa Blanca where they knew they would be amongst friends.
Their new home was in the little-known Puerto Azul urbanisation between Alfaz del Pi and Altea. Although access was via a ‘campo’ track and there were few neighbours, it was near to Altea where they could be regularly in touch with old friends. These included Ken and Dorothy Witherington, Mike and Linda Shillito, Ken and Eileen Allcock and the ebullient ex-army colonel Alan Martin.
The Smith’s life together in Spain was a brief but happy one; they quickly became involved in the expat scene. Unfortunately, Bill was only to enjoy his retirement for a short time. He died a mere six years after moving to Spain.
I did not meet Maggie until several years later. Having been married for over 30 years it might have been expected that Maggie would pack up and head back to the UK but she decided against the move.
Her friends were close by, they rallied around, she stayed in Altea and intensified her community activities. She remained in the area until the Millennium before finally returning to England.
What follows is just a brief look at who she was, her earlier life how she spent her time. To begin with she always made people welcome to her home and this even included me.
She was a delightful lunch companion and a superb raconteur, particularly after the odd glass of tinto or a ‘Terry 103.’ That she virtually adopted me – probably because, like her son my name was also Malcolm Smith – goes without saying.
Even back in the forties, Margaret was a force to be reckoned with. Born in Kirkby Lonsdale near the Lake District, she was amongst the first to realise the role women could play in wartime.
In her early twenties she joined the WAAF and quickly became promoted to sergeant. Before long she was in charge of the ‘Mess,’ organising the comforts and entertainment for the sorely tried RAF fliers who were getting a hard time from the German Luftwaffe.
She spent five years in the air force and was actively involved at Lindholm and Biggin
Hill before moving to a twoyears posting in Germany in 1945. Maggie was adept at relating anecdotes about her wartime experiences.
Nose-wise, she had a definite Semite countenance and told me a hilarious story about being invited as a special guest to the British Jewish Officers’ Mess, then dropped a clanger by telling them she was not Jewish.
Returning to recent times, despite surgery she continued to lead an extremely active life but she did drop her amateur dramatics interest – apart from being in the audience – in her eighties. Right until she reluctantly left Spain she was constantly organising, playing Rummikub, creating exquisite needlework and socialising.
Quixotically she introduced her great friend Alan Martin to his wife Gwen, despite the fact that he had been ‘paying court’ to her for years.
This is the whirlwind that is Margaret Smith who, now at eighty-seven, is now organising folk in a retirement home in South Devon. A couple of years before she left she press-ganged me into throwing a party for another of her long-time friends.
This time it was Welshman Haydn Reynolds who was the recipient of her efforts. It was to celebrate his 84th birthday and we were instructed to sing ‘Twenty-one Today’ four consecutive times in his honour. To add a bit of colour, she had the octogenarian – trouser legs rolled up – paddling, surrounded by sheep, in the Jalón river near the Molino de Vino restaurant. Although this tireless lady had more knee surgery quite recently she was told that it would be six months before she would feel any benefit.
Champing at the bit, she was quick to employ a physiotherapist to accelerate her progress back to the freedom of movement she desired. She was itching to get back to tripping the light fantastic again and particularly the tango, paso doble and samba. However, wryly she admitted that she would be giving break dancing and limbo a miss!
Margaret Smith ‘Duchess of Altea’ whether in her early war years or later as a Costa Blanca character was very special. She had a unique driving force, sophistication, grace and a fantastic sense of humour. She is definitely one expat I SHALL NEVER FORGET.
It may seem that I have written a great deal about ‘characters’ but the Costa Blanca would not be the same without such folk. Needless to say, not all the characters I encountered were British expats or even retired people.
There was an odd, relatively young Scandinavian piano player who always dressed like a Wild West cowboy and claimed to be a journalist; another Norwegian who claimed to be a highly ranked ‘national’ tennis player, pestered me to play him whilst I was still learning the game. He was so ‘expert’ that I beat him in straight sets and he never challenged me again.
Juan ‘Loco’ was a larger than life Spanish wine agent but I never found out how he earned his ‘Loco’ appendage. He didn’t seem barmy to me! And then there was Julian...