I met Baltasar Brotons in the early days of 1989. I was then studying fourth degree at the University of Alicante (Geography and History) and I was walking around with a job that I had commissioned the unforgettable Juan Manuel Del Estal, professor of Peninsular Arab History. This work, entitled "Traces of al-Andalus in present-day Spain", led me to consult an endless bibliography and, to the extent of my possibilities, to get in touch with all those people who could help me to complete it. He had heard of Baltasar and knew some of his books; moreover, he was a first cousin of my maternal grandfather, Diego García, whose family owned land in the old Magram, as I have noted on occasion. Knowing his figure and trajectory, I soon considered Baltasar as a valid interlocutor to help me in my task and tell me customs and traditions of the Camp d'Elx, depository of so much history and so many ancestral knowledge.

On the eve of the feast of the Magi I took courage and called him on the phone. He was extremely kind-he always was; being by his side meant not only enjoying his teaching, but also impeccable manners-he summoned me to see us the next day at his home in Algoda. And when I left, on January 4th, I got into a taxi -I didn’t drive yet- which left me at the indicated kilometer point. I was greeted by his wife, Vicenta, with whom I spoke for a few minutes, until Baltasar appeared. We began our conversation and, as I stared at a framed diploma hanging on the wall, he began to tell me about his trip to the USSR and his connection with the Alicante Association of Journalists and Writers of Tourism, spinning one theme after another, so it was almost an hour before I, for my part, was able to explain in more detail the reason for my visit... And he helped me, boy did he help me! He explained to me what the Camp d'Elx was like in the past; he told me about history, told me stories and gave me the books he had written until then, almost all about agriculture, few even compared to those he would publish over time, also on other topics. And he dedicated them to me, it would be missing more, as he always did in his unforgettable public presentations. As it got dark and I had to go back to the city, I asked him to please let me call another taxi. Surprised, thinking that he had come to his house in my car, he offered to approach me in his, a splendid Renault 6, I think I remember maroon color, with which he left me -loaded with books- next to the church of San José.

I tried more times and always tried to attend the events he organized, as well as the tributes that, deservedly, were lavished on him. He was a family man, close and endearing, cultured and sensitive, involved and concerned about the fate of agriculture, the countryside and its inhabitants. A person with whom I also had the luck to share, years later, some round table on the School Museum of Puçol, of which he was a fervent supporter and with which he always collaborated, even publishing articles in the pages of El Setiet.

Author: Rafa Martínez, director of the School Museum.