A los Toros

My photo-blog of yesterday sent me back in time to 1952'ish. I was stationed in Gibraltar. The town just across the Spanish border was La Linea which offered everything a young male might desire. Also on offer - desired or not - was bullfighting where the season ran from Easter to early September. There was then no resistance to the idea of what amounted to torturing dumb animals. I had no great desire to see a bull fight as such but it was obviously something that drew huge crowds and I wanted to see why.
The fights are held on Sunday afternoons. The large circular bull ring dominates the town and on fight days there is a great excitement as the spectators stream in. Most are dressed en-fete; all go - grandma, grandad, little kids - everyone. As La Linea was at the extreme south end of Spain there were not many tourists. As one nears the stadium the sound of a rackety old brass band is heard playing what one imagines as typical Spanish music. The sound of this band is heard all afternoon as it is used to signal the changes in the various parts of the fight.

The photo above illustrates another aspect. One buys entry to three areas; sol (sunny), sombre (shady) or sol e sombre (yes, that's right, sun and shade because the sun moves during the afternoon) The lady supporters spread their lace shawls over the barrier in front of them and get ready to applaud their favourites. There will be three fighters and each will kill three bulls if all goes well. The music changes and the grand parade opens. All of the bullfight personnel passage from one side of the ring to the other starting with the most-basic job guys and ending with the major performers. As the front of the review gets to the far side of the ring, they break formation and just wander around. The matadors will search the shawl of their favourites and stroll over to them. I say 'stroll' but that is the wrong word - these guys are proud as pish personified and have all the swagger one can imagine. Their costumes - their 'suit of lights' are splendid with vivid colours, sparkly bits and cords all skin tight on good male figures - doubtless with the addition of a pair of spare socks down the front of the tight tights.

Another change of music and the ring clears. Lesser decorated figures come in and the first bull is released. It comes out of a dark tunnel into the bright light and it's manner of entry signifies what sort of bull it will be in the contest ahead. Some run out at high speed and attack everything in sight. Others walk slowly into the ring - heads high and smelling the new atmosphere. They will not have had this experience before. Their pedigree will have been tested from their mothers who will have shown what they can do in a ring on the breeders' farm. The peons have large capes and attract the attention of the bull. This is to allow us and the matador to see what the bull will do. Does he hook to the left, to the right or upwards? Does he stand and then bolt forward or run from a way back?

Another change of music in response to the signals from the President for the day - a local worthy. Now enter the picadors. They have long lances and are mounted on horses which have considerable padding on one side and under their belly. They get the bull to charge them and place their lances into the upper neck muscle of the bull. This is to weaken it and lower the head. There will be three lancings before another change in the music.
Now come the bandilleros. They have short canes with a barbed point. They challenge the bull and run directly at it - placing their spears into the neck muscle. Again, three darts are planted. The idea is that the darts will swing and stir the bull into charging the next human that he sees in front of him.
The music that is played this time is traditional and always the same with off-key trumpets in the main part. Now enters the star of the show - the matador. He has a smaller cape and uses this to attract the attention of the bull. As the bull goes past like an express train, he demonstrates various classical movements. The objective is closeness of the bull and the fluency from one move into another. This gradually leads to his dominating the bull.

On my first visit, it was about this time that I was getting ready to depart after the bull was killed. The spectacle was worth seeing but I did not see it really as any sort of fight. I knew there was one more music change - again traditionally the signal for the bull to be killed. Here the matador takes a much smaller cape and executes smaller and tighter turns and passes until he decides the animal is ready for a full frontal approach where the human will force a sword into the neck and down into the heart of the animal.
This stage came. The very first cape movement went somehow wrong. The bull caught the man full on the crown between his horns and sent him six or seven feet into the air. It stopped and looked up like a footballer getting ready to volley the ball into the net. As the man came down, the bull caught him in the chest with one horn and then shook him off like a loose sock. The guy was dead as he hit the ground.

There was all sorts of kerfuffle then. The band played on. Peons distracted the bull. The body was removed. Another bull-fighter was called to the ring and, after a few passes, despatched the animal cleanly and efficiently. This is what has to happen. The bull cannot live to fight another day. He knows what humans do and would be too dangerous. A team of oxen come and drag the dead bull out, blood-stains are sawdusted over and the music starts all over again. By this time, I was as hooked as the dead man had been. The idea that it was a foregone conclusion was obviously wrong. The posing and prancing of everyone seemed more daring when one saw what the bull could do if things went wrong. A whole new dimension came into play. I think that, had I not seen the death in this very first visit, I would not have gone again.

As it was, I went every time possible and even went to the stadium a little way inland at San Roque where the ring was the smallest in Spain and even more heart-in-the-mouth inducing. I had a young lady who did my washing sort of thing and we had glorious afternoons with wine and doorstep sandwiches whilst watching Hemingway's Death in The Afternoon brought to life. I saw quite a few serious injuries but not another human death - the threat was always there though.

After I left, things went downhill. The bulls were smaller, the horns were shaved to make them sensitive, the animals were kept without water - what we would today consider as nobbled. I was recently e-talking with an old friend who lives in La Linea. The bullfights continue but mainly for tourists. The Spanish now look to football for excitement. I don't think I'd go back. Maybe I'm frightened I'd see a very old laundry woman sitting in the sol e sombre somewhere.