A motley group comprising men and women ranging in age from the twenties to the eighties filed into the room laughing and talking.
They were gathering for a choir rehearsal held once or twice a week in a hall at the village square.
Obviously in high spirits, they talked incessantly even as they began to divest themselves of overcoats, hats and gloves - all the paraphernalia required on a bitterly cold January night.
The high-pitched laughter and conversation made the room come alive to the observer who sat in a corner, waiting for the action to unfold.
Soon firm footsteps could be heard and there was a brief lull as the conductor or choir director walked purposefully into the room, sheaves of paper under her arm, looking like she meant business.
Her presence seemed to be a stimulus for concerted action as groups began to disperse and people began settling in their seats.
The sheets of music on the table were soon distributed by a few volunteers. As eyes scanned these, she began speaking rapidly in Spanish, explaining what was required of them.
Heads nodded in unison with every point she made, paying avid attention to her instructions. One among the choir happened to be her mother for whom she seemed to reserve her most critical glance. No charges of nepotism could be laid at her door.
What struck the observer of this scene was the fact that this young woman who wasn't Spanish by birth but through acquired nationality had managed to command the respect of this august gathering. Her proficiency in music was recognised and respected.
Her powerful voice broke through the noise of papers being turned, hushed voices recapitulating what she had just said (and which some had missed) and throats being cleared.
As the clear notes poured forth there was pindrop silence as they listened and waited for their cue. Soon the hall was alive with the sound of music as the different voices joined in, some hesitant, others loud and sure.
They watched her face keenly for any signs of disapproval at a flat note or a missed cue. The feedback was instantaneous.
With a flourish of her hand, the voices were stilled mid-note as a chilling gaze was fixed on a member of the choir who was singing off key or had piped in at the wrong moment.
To see a fifty-something quail under the gaze of someone half her age was a sight to behold.
Vulnerable position
The reprimand was received in silence and the person on the mat seemed to make a resolve never to put herself in such a vulnerable position again.
This was evident to the observer although she was no mind reader. It was apparent in the squaring of the victim's shoulders and the look of thank-god-it-wasn't-me relief on others' faces.
The observer herself, it must be admitted here, heaved an inaudible sigh of relief that she had no part in this and couldn't be taken to task.
Of course, she did take extra care to turn the pages of the book she was perusing ever so carefully, making sure there was no rustling sound that those ears could pick up.
Or that when she shifted her weight on the hard chair there was no creaking protest from her seat.
As she sat in frozen silence, her eyes darted back and forth, from book to practising choir, feeling acutely for those transfixed by that dominant figure.
And then there was a palpable release of tension as the conductor's hand stilled and then began gathering together the sheets of music lying on the table.
Chairs were shuffled back, laughter and conversation erupted from relieved lips, overcoats were retrieved and the exodus began.
The observer watched amazed as the martinet seemed to transform into something very human before her very eyes.
Was that really her laughing and joking with previously petrified choir members? The observer shook her head in disbelief.
Who would have believed that her niece would one day be a leading light in a tiny corner in the Spanish countryside.
