Why..
When Sylvia tentatively
made the suggestion to sell up and live in Spain, daughter Debbie and granddaughter Holly
were equally enthusiastic. At the time, the three
of them were living together in a large Edwardian house in Derby. Sylvia, a teacher, wanted to take early retirement. Debbie, who worked as a part-time hairdresser, felt she
had no particular ties that kept her in the UK, and Holly, aged 12, was simply very keen
on a very big adventure.
“I
didn’t originally intend to come to Spain because I thought it was a bit naff,
“says Sylvia, “but I realised it was the most affordable place, and then we
found this wonderful village. In England I worked constantly and my money all went on tax
and the upkeep of the house. It was time to move
on. We agreed that each of us should have equal
voting rights on where we went and what we did.”
Where..
 Spain was the agreed choice, and with the proceeds from the sale of the house in Derby, they bought a
3-bedroomed terraced house in a pretty Andalucian village. It had belonged to a Spanish widow
and her son but at his death she had moved to live nearer her daughter. They found it through a local estate agent and the sale
was completed within a couple of weeks because the owners were able to produce the escritora, showing the rights to the house, without
which no property purchase should be made in Spain.
How much?
It was a bargain at £67,000, but there was a reason,
says Sylvia. “The walls were yellow and the
woodwork dark green. There was no glass in my bedroom window. Hideous tiles disguised the
fact that some walls bulged badly and were about to fall down. The mule-stable under the
house was flooded and sewage had escaped into it. All of which meant we could afford to
buy the house outright”.
Who did the building work?
Sylvia made the
mistake of taking on a builder through a casual encounter with an English woman. And an English
builder, she thought, would be easier to deal with.
But he turned out to be something of a cowboy. Months of hard work followed, plus
some bruising experiences. Later, Sylvia
realised that she would have saved money and avoided
considerable frustration by taking
advice from others who had employed local workmen.
The damage was rectified by the village plumber,
who refused to accept payment for his services.
“All the villagers were so
kind,” says Sylvia. “They kept an eye on our progress and gave us fruit and
vegetables. The women told us that we were
using the wrong stuff to clean the tiles and
sent us up to the village shop to buy what they used. They
mixed the limewash for us and even helped us to whitewash the walls.”
Only days before their furniture
arrived from England (transported by Sylvia’s son in a hired van to save on the huge
costs) did they manage to jettison the old furniture, mule harnesses, goat skins, boots etc, which a local neighbour was happy to take in the
knowledge that he could make a few euros on it.
The main conversion 
They painted the whole house white, made the original
tiled floor shine like new and put in shelves to house Sylvia’s large book
collection. Sylvia used five bags of cement, delivered by mule, to convert the mule stable
into a computer room and den for Holly. Their small sitting-room leads straight off the
cobbled village street. The stairway rises from it to the three bedrooms and then up to
the plant-filled roof terrace with stunning views of the mountains and the
countryside.
Life so far
Their main source of income is Sylvia’s teaching
pension. She took early retirement from a lecturing post at Nottingham University
Hospital. Debbie works part-time as a hairdresser and she also does some cleaning. Holly
is happily settled in the village school and is the most fluent Spanish speaker of the
three. She has a large multi-national circle of friends and enjoys horse-riding in the
countryside. Sylvia reads voraciously, writes, visits the beach, explores the local area,
goes to pottery classes and cherishes her many plants.
“The best thing is the
gossip,” she says. “I love it. There are so many interesting people from
different countries. It’s fascinating talking to them and learning about their lives.
We enjoy the warm climate. There is a marvellous public swimming pool just five minutes
away. I miss my sons but they come over and visit us regularly. None of us wants to return
to England. We have no regrets. Before, we could never afford to eat out. Now we live within our means but we live well and we
don’t owe a peseta.
I can’t believe how lucky we are.”
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Brits in Spain
