I switched on the television earlier this week to find the San Ferna festival being shown. A more familiar name is the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona made famous for the English by Hemmingway.
The format is simple, each morning the bulls are run from the outskirts of Pamplona through the streets to the Bull Ring in the centre of the town in preparation for the bull fights in the evening. I assume the organisers thought it best to bring them through the streets early in the morning when most self respecting Spaniards would be tucked up in bed after the festivities of the previous night.
However the Spaniards like to come out late and party to the early hours of the morning. It being no surprise therefore that when the bulls were first run through the streets there were numerous inebriated young men showing off to the fair young ladies. So a tradition began.
Years later and there are hundreds of inebriated young men who race through the streets showing off to their young ladies. There have been deaths a plenty a couple of years earlier to my participation, someone had fallen in the tunnel entering the bull ring, seven (7) people died. It is just as dangerous as it sounds.
Amongst the small group of twenty some things that set out upon the quest were Docs, the Mighty Finn and I. We travelled down in a coach full of antipodeans who had the beer flowing before we left Earls Court and were determined to prove that Pohms couldn’t drink. We were young and it seemed like a good challenge.
36hrs later saw us drinking in Pamplona square looking forward to the following morning. Another full night of drinking and the sun rose, we bleary eyed revellers were ready and waiting as the canon announced the bull were lose. The adrenaline in my body kicked in, I was no longer drunk but alert and running. Where were the bulls? I jogged slowly letting other runners team pass me. The crowds safely on the other side of the fences were roaring, but still no bulls.
Then I saw it ‘the tunnel.’ A double helping of adrenaline, and I ran if my life depended on it, which with the crowd roaring in my ears, I believed it did. Into the tunnel, no stopping now, every man for himself! I ran, Lyford Christy would have chassed my dust. Into the day light and the centre of the ring with hundreds of others, cheering with relief we had made it and were grateful to be alive.
When eventually the bulls arrived a good ten (10) minuets later, the roar from the stadium was deafening. A young man had been speared by a horn from a bull and was been dragged into the arena. A shake of his mighty head and the body of the young man was thrown clear like a doll thrown from a pram. The boy was picked up by the surrounding crowd and taken off to hospital. The bulls carried on straight through the ring and disappeared through a gate at the far side.
My blood was really pumping, I felt I had let the side down, I had not even seen a bull until they arrived in the ring.
The crowd inside the ring were moving towards the gate, I joined them. A chant began Torro, Torro, Torro, I joined in Torro, Torro, Torro. We were standing in front of the gate the bulls had disappeared into and were chanting.
The strangest thing you could ever imagine happened, the crowd sat down!
In front of the gates the bulls had disappeared into the crowd sat. Not wanting to look scared I too sat in front of those gates and chanted. Yelling for the bulls to come out!
Then they did! The gate was opened a bull charged into the seated crowd. Its horns were ploughing through the sand nose in the dirt of the bull ring and charging straight at me.
In the tunnel my imagination gave me tempo. But here in the ring, this was the real thing. That bull charging towards me gave me more adrenaline than I have ever had before or since kicking into my body. I rolled to my right and the bull continued, people behind me were thrown from its path as it charged through. On my feet I watched as the bull decimated the crowd behind me.
Then I was hit. I was somersaulting. I was in the air, I landed, the air knocked from my lungs. I was lying on the sand in a bull ring in Pamplona, at my feet were two big black eyes, two flaring nostrils, snorting and staring at me was an enormous bull. A second bull had been let into the ring!
I learnt later you should lie still and wait, the bull seeing you as no threat would leave you alone. As I said I learnt later. I did what any righteous Barrow boy would do. I kicked it as hard as I could in its big black face! In return it promptly gouged my legs. If the Spanish boys had not grabbed its tail and distracted that animal I would not be walking today. They drew its attention away from me, but not before I took some savage mauling my legs. Bloody was seeping everywhere fortunately they were just flesh wounds.
After thanking the boys I intended to get somewhere the imminent possibility of death was not so high on the agenda. I was hobbling to the edge of the ring with blood running down my legs when I spotted a youth in denims, ripped t-shirt and long hair looking seriously out of place.
The dress code for bull running is white trousers, white dress shirt with a red sash around your waist and a red neckerchief around your neck. With the odd accessory 95% of the crowd adhere to it. I watched this young man wonder around the ring’ looking with intent, until he caught the bull’s eye. The bull charged and man stood.
20yrds, 10yrds, 5yrds and still the youth in jeans the ripped t-shirt and the long hair stood. With the bull only 1yrd from him he jumped. With each hand he grabbed a horn of the bull and he balanced himself over the bulls head as the bull charged through the ring.
The bull was confused! The crowd were confused! I was confused!
After travelling the length of the bull ring balancing on the head of the bull he jumped off to the side. The silence was deafening. Had we all witnessed what we saw?
As one the crowd went into raptures, they cheered the boy. He waved, smiled and left.
Unbelievable! Yes I too had watched in amazement and wonder at what the boy had just completed. I had however failed to watch the bull which was still in the ring charging up behind me. Run? I had just seen a performance on how to handle a bull! I took one look at the bull and for the third time that day I ran as if my life depended on it, and the bull chased. The fence around the ring must be 8ft tall. I got to the top in a single bound and rolled into the arms of the crowd. I was shaking with fear but now I was safe.
That evening as I was having my cuts attended to, I watched myself somersaulting on Spanish national television. No sign of the long haired boy with the ripped t-shirt. I have no idea who he was but he has balls.
The festival lasts for seven (7) days so we returned the following day and the day after but never saw the youth again. When the week was over, awaiting the coach at Calais Docs, Finny and I were having a quite beer, at 8.30am. A couple of the antipodeans walked past looking dejected drinking coffee shaking their heads. We were young and had proven ourselves foolish but there’s nothing like a good challenge.
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