Asturian-American Migration Forum

Fai tiempu que nun veo al autor, pero si lu topo per Mieres del Camin, yá-y entrugaré.

Hace tiempo que no veo al autor, pero si lo encuentro por Mieres del Camín, ya le preguntaré.

Ayer por fin topé al autor de los artículos periodísticos (foi na
manifestación pola República), y comente-y lo d'esta páxina y dixome que nun tenía torga nenguna a que se tornaren les sos andeches con La Nueva España.

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Ayer por fin encontré al autor de los artículos periodísticos (fue en la manifestación por la República), y y le comenté lo de esta página y me dijo que no tenía ningún inconveniente en que se tradujeran sus colaboraciones con La Nueva España

Ssstupeeendo! Voy a buscar la parte que ya tenía traducida y a ver si lo puedo acabar hoy. A mí me gustó mucho este artículo. Dai les gracies al autor de mi parte, Argayu.

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Great! I'm going to look for the part I had already translated and see if I can finish it today. I enjoyed this article a lot. Thank the author on my behalf, Argayu.

Translation of the article "Los fantasmas de la mina".

The ghosts of the coal mines.

I once knew a ghost retired from his job, whose name was Vitalón, and who aimlessly roamed the streets as if he were lost ever since the day he was injured while on his spectral duty. We were children in the Mieres of the 1960’s, and despite the years gone by, I still remember Vitalón clad in his trench-coat of undefined colour and walking aimlessly around town, speaking to no one.

His face has been erased from my memory, but I still see his wool gloves; the fingers of one hand exposed, his other hand fisted and hidden from sight whenever possible.

It was said that in his youth Vitalón held the strange job of frightening people. It was during the post-war years, when the monks apparently paid him to chase away those that would hang about the empty grounds around the old convent after dark, because, as it is well known, darkness is the perfect cloak under which most transgressions are concealed.

Vitalón came out of the dark to cut vice short by his unexpected appearance, waving his arms while shouting out a terrifying: “Walk in the daytime, mine is the night-time!” Sometimes it was done to put out the fire of young couples who had come seeking the shelter of those fields, and to chase away the lonely voyeurs spying on their courtship, at other times it was to convince drunkards to go home...until one day somebody got tired of his haunting and rendered his hand useless with a well-aimed shot from a pellet gun.

After that, the ghost continued roaming the streets of the city day and night in his own way, but his voice calling to order never again disturbed the peace of the sinners.
And that’s because in those years the spectral apparitions were more abundant than now. Their activity increased with industrialization – the more population, the more ghosts – and nowadays it’s dwindling again due to the crisis, which looks like it is also affecting the world of the spirits.

The coal mines have always been a privileged place for these stories born from our other side; the depth of the galleries, the silence, the absolute absence of light, the coal’s own, almost magic nature, which at times reveals fantastic fossils, are the ideal setting to let your imagination run wild.

Many of these tales were quite famous in their day, but most have been lost with the death of the generation who had lived through them. They are also difficult to find in the mining literature.

The fortunate exception is César Rubín who has compiled a fairly good collection of these apparitions in his book “El castillete de plata” (The Silver Winding Tower). This veteran writer brings to life some of the spectres the old miners knew well and which throughout this century and a half of coal mining, which is now drawing to a close, have accompanied many hours of talks in the “chigres” (taverns) and on the way to work: the ghosts of the slag heaps, of the shaft elevators and the winding towers, of the lonely country lanes, and most of all, of the galleries.

The mines have created a mythology of their own, which includes fantastic species of blind and white animals, that live in the darkness, mules that can count, places where a person should not remain alone and even a parody of the ventures of classical heroes in the job of faceworkers of the past, gifted with superhuman strength and work capacity, which continue to grow in the legend with the passing of time.

Among them, of course, there are beings from beyond; the ghosts of coal miners, who have specific characteristics, different from those of the outside world.

It is well known that the spectres who haunt village or city houses, or are doomed to haunt graveyards, come from the world of the dead to resolve unsettled matters with the living, and they do so by making noise, breaking things, dragging chains or moaning loudly.

Quite on the contrary, those who haunt the dark galleries of the mines are shrouded in silence and barely speak, and when they do it’s always to warn the men of impending danger.

How are they, you will ask... Those who encountered them describe them in a thousand different ways. During the hunger years they usually appeared dressed in blue Nanking work clothes like any other workmate, almost always in a distant twilight and swinging a miner’s safety lamp; everyone knew then that that spot had to be avoided.

Then they had to adjust to progress and at times they became really unappreciated, like the one who showed himself several times at dawn at one end of the conveyor belt that crosses the expressway to Castille in the area of El Batán, and who decided to return to the depths after a security guard confronted him wielding his gun and shouting: “Get out of here, you ghost, there’s already me here to defend HUNOSA!”

Some of the luckier ones even appeared in the papers, and decided to show up in clean clothes. On June 10th, 1988 Amadeo Gancedo published a column in this newspaper about the unstoppable rumour that swept the Turón valley about a paranormal event that took place in the pit Santa Bárbara, better known as “La Rabaldana”.

It is said that when a foreman and several pitmen were heading for the work front they were surprised by a figure who was waiting for them at the end of the gallery; it was a long-haired man wearing a suit, with his head detached from the body, who warned them with words not to enter the workshop, because they would die. As can be expected, the miners ran out to catch the shaft elevator and refused to return to that place until the matter had been explained.

A strange apparition. The detached head can pass, it is a classic which is being repeated at least since the Middle Ages, when it was quite frequent to lose one’s head in combat or an execution. Besides, some Christian saints are represented on altars and are revered in that guise, like Saint Lambert, who after he was beheaded continued to preach carrying his head in his hand.

The long hair might have something to do with the time when it happened, a modern ghost, very much of its time; but the suit – no way – I find no explanation for that, even though a spectre doesn’t have to please anyone and can dress any way he wants.

Well, we know that things are not the same for everyone, but only a few tried to find a connection between that phenomenon and the unfortunate accident that a week later was to take the life of a worker in that very pit. In fact almost nobody paid any attention to that regrettable coincidence, because in the end reality exceeds fantasy by far and we all know that the mine never gives warning; we wished it were that easy, and then the least important part would be the ghost’s suit.
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trans. Terechu

Thanks for translating, Terechu. That made the second half much easier.

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Gracias para traducirlo, Terechu. Ahora entiendo la segunda mitad mucho mejor.

Bueno, voi cuntavos una hestoria que nun se si ye en sí de pantasmes pero asocedió realmente lo cual la fai, al mio entender, perinteresante.
Asocedió nel mio Conceyu, n'Ayer, na fastera centro-meridional d'Asturies. Cuentovosla como me la cuntaron.
" Fai treinta y picu años, volvíen los mios tíos d'una romería nel puiblu de Casomera, ya yera nuiche avanzao, cásique l'albanciar. Volvíen en coche.
Teo que dicir que la zona de la que toi falando ye una zona rural, de montaña, arrodiá de montañes con unes biesques inmenses, podía ser l'esceneriu d'una Hestoria de H.P. Lovecraft, imaxinai un llugar asomeyéu a esos escenarios bisiegos y mieosos del Estéu de Maine que tanto-y presten al autor.
L'hábitat nesa zona del Conceyu ta mui espardío, asina que hai kilómetros de carretera solitaria ente aldegues o pueblos, dacuandu una casa sola.
La carretera va paralela al Ríu Ayer, y trescurre ente biesques de Ribera y castañeros. Ye una carretera mui entrencha yá que fura pente les montañes, como dixi, a la vera'l río. Anque s'abre de xemes en cuandu, aú suelen tar los Pueblos. Tien estayes mui abesees, au árboles espurríos torguen el pasu del Sol.
Pues bien. Volvíen como digo mio tíu y mio tía d'una romería, frayaos, con ganes d'aportar a casa y echase na camina. Cuandu, de secute, nuna d'eses zones solitaries ente pueblos, el mio tíu tien qu'echar la galga y pegar un frenazu bruscu. Delantre del coche apaicíase un neñu que punxo les manes enriba'l capó. El ninu
(neñu) averóse a la ventaniella que tinía baxá'l mio tíu porque yera una nuiche d'Agostu mui calurosa, y suelta-y al mio tíu: -¡ A que t'echo la zancadiel.la!"- El mio tíu entamó a pegar gargayaes y adicó pa la mio tía que tamién se taba escoyonando de la risa. Debieron tar asina unos segundos, y cuando'l mio tíu se volvió pa charrar col guah.e y pueque da-y una mampurrina. Ya nun hebía nengún ninu (neñu). Desapaiciere.
Hai que dicir que los mios tíos quedaron un plizquín asustaos. Con llercia, baxó'l mio tíu del coche y echo una güeyá alredior. Nin un ánima.
Teo que dicir tamién que mio tíu me dixo que yera una nuiche mui escura y que la zona yera en sí abesea abondo. Sicasí estraño-y muncho l'aneúdota. ¿Qué facía isi neñu a deshora aende nun l.lugar tan solu?
¿Qué facía solu? ¿Por qué apaició de secute teniendo'l mio tíu que frenar de golpe? ¿Cómo ye que desapaeció tan rápido?
¿Yera'l ninu una pantasma? El mio tíu nun lo tien ná claro.
Salú!

Quiciás yá vos decatastis. Pero la hestoria de pantasmes que cuntó Argayu tamién asocedó nel mio Conceyu. De fechu, mui cerca del mio puiblu. Esa hestoria yá la sintiera yo a mio güela.
De xuru que a Lovecraft, Bierce, Poe y otros-yos prestare pola vida "el Conceyu d'Ayer".

Mas historias por favor!!! porfiiiiiiii
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Soy un escéptico total del tema. Sin embargo, puedo contar lo siguiente:

1º Mi hermano cuando era niño vio a la santa compaña subir por un camino que estaba cerrado por la maleza. Comenzó a gritar llamando a mi abuela para que saliera de casa a verla y cuando esta lo hizo, aunque ella no veía nada, el niño seguía señalando al camino (estaba comiendo un trozo de pan y por lo visto eso indicaba que estaba vivo y no debía suceder nada).
Todavía hace poco volví a preguntar sobre el tema y continúa reafirmándose.

2º En una reunión familiar, en la que se intercambiaban recuerdos de familia, yo comencé a describir hechos y circunstancias sobre mis bisabuelos. Mi familia se quedó estupefacta y una tía comenzó a hacerme preguntas sobre mi bisabuela. Al final, después de describir ropas, objetos y cosas que ya no existían pregunté que pasaba y por que me miraban tan raro.
Es imposible que hayas visto esto, tu bisabuela murió bastante antes de nacer tu, me contestó mi tía. Sin embargo todavía me acuerdo perfectamente de ella, sentada y sonriéndome.

3º Esa misma bisabuela, que era partera, después de atender a una moribunda, cuando regresaba a su casa se le apareció en el camino para darle las gracias.

Podría contar más historias que me resultan increíbles, pero que son absolutamente ciertas, aunque vuelvo a decir que soy un escéptico.

Como diría un gallego “Las brujas no existen, pero haberlas, hailas”