18
was God-fearing, superstitious, easily shocked, and ever scandalized by
Maruca’s shafts of wit.
Following the advice of the Observatory Chief, we kept a certain distance
from all of them to avoid taking sides and involving ourselves in their personal
problems. We kept ourselves to ourselves, which made us feel even more isolated in our enforced retreat, although we were always available, and they
knew it, to help out. My wife even set up a mini-school to provide a basic
education for the children on site. Since we spent various years among them
while living in Izaña, sharing in their joys and sorrows, and facing common
problems, we got to know them fairly well and grew fond of them. I think the
feeling was mutual.
I refrain from commenting further on the individuals of the Izaña tribe, or
from entering into detail with further anecdotes. It would certainly be an
entertaining description of local custom and anthropology, but would unduly
prolong the narrative, my aim here being merely to paint an impression of
Izaña as a backdrop against which the embryo of astrophysics in Spain began
to take shape.
I add only that these people had a keen nose for when our astronomical
project hit a bad patch; that is to say, when funding grew scarce and our
bosses’ abandonment and lack of interest manifested itself. Service to ‘the
astronomers’ would then drop off: no longer would they bring us wood for
the fireplace and stove, or water to the house, so there I would be, going to
fetch wood among the retamas and draw water from the well. After all, we
were on loan to the Observatory, and they were under no obligation to serve
us, whatever decisions might have been made in Madrid. How lonely and
marooned all this made us feel!
While we were attending to these chores at the surreal Teide Observatory,
at other—real—observatories in 1963 they were discovering quasars (quasistellar objects) by observing the optical counterparts of these mysterious radio
sources and galaxies in the remotest confines of the Universe. They were also
discovering giant comets, such as the distant Comet Humason (C/1961 R1).
Contrast that with me wrapping up warm after supper ready to go and
observe. Outside a wintry night would await me at several degrees below zero
with a wind ready to chill me to the bone. I would begin by putting on a longsleeved shirt, long johns, and thick woollen socks that I had bought in the
Plaza de Pontejos before leaving Madrid (I still keep them as a memento).
Over all this, layers and layers of protective clothing. I had to walk half a kilometre to reach the amateur telescope to observe diffraction rings in order to
assess the astronomical quality of the sky. I would walk out under a starstudded sky. As I carried on walking, the sky would fill with more and more
F. Sánchez
was God-fearing, superstitious, easily shocked, and ever scandalized by
Maruca’s shafts of wit.
Following the advice of the Observatory Chief, we kept a certain distance
from all of them to avoid taking sides and involving ourselves in their personal
problems. We kept ourselves to ourselves, which made us feel even more isolated in our enforced retreat, although we were always available, and they
knew it, to help out. My wife even set up a mini-school to provide a basic
education for the children on site. Since we spent various years among them
while living in Izaña, sharing in their joys and sorrows, and facing common
problems, we got to know them fairly well and grew fond of them. I think the
feeling was mutual.
I refrain from commenting further on the individuals of the Izaña tribe, or
from entering into detail with further anecdotes. It would certainly be an
entertaining description of local custom and anthropology, but would unduly
prolong the narrative, my aim here being merely to paint an impression of
Izaña as a backdrop against which the embryo of astrophysics in Spain began
to take shape.
I add only that these people had a keen nose for when our astronomical
project hit a bad patch; that is to say, when funding grew scarce and our
bosses’ abandonment and lack of interest manifested itself. Service to ‘the
astronomers’ would then drop off: no longer would they bring us wood for
the fireplace and stove, or water to the house, so there I would be, going to
fetch wood among the retamas and draw water from the well. After all, we
were on loan to the Observatory, and they were under no obligation to serve
us, whatever decisions might have been made in Madrid. How lonely and
marooned all this made us feel!
While we were attending to these chores at the surreal Teide Observatory,
at other—real—observatories in 1963 they were discovering quasars (quasistellar objects) by observing the optical counterparts of these mysterious radio
sources and galaxies in the remotest confines of the Universe. They were also
discovering giant comets, such as the distant Comet Humason (C/1961 R1).
Contrast that with me wrapping up warm after supper ready to go and
observe. Outside a wintry night would await me at several degrees below zero
with a wind ready to chill me to the bone. I would begin by putting on a longsleeved shirt, long johns, and thick woollen socks that I had bought in the
Plaza de Pontejos before leaving Madrid (I still keep them as a memento).
Over all this, layers and layers of protective clothing. I had to walk half a kilometre to reach the amateur telescope to observe diffraction rings in order to
assess the astronomical quality of the sky. I would walk out under a starstudded sky. As I carried on walking, the sky would fill with more and more
F. Sánchez