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The 20th November 2005 marks the 30th anniversary of Franco’s death. One year ago the government promised to “restore the true history” for those that died defending the democracy enjoyed by all today. Because for whilst the Nationalists were honored as heroes, the Republicans that died fighting fascism lie forgotten in hidden graves. But the removal, earlier this year, of the last statue of Franco from the streets of Madrid created an unexpected backlash amongst Spain’s not-so-dormant Right-wing. Will the Government now continue in its pledge to “honour the dead” and to “re-write history” or will it just let old wounds fester?





In 1936 Captain Juan Rodriguez was shot dead after refusing to join the illegal uprising against the newly elected Popular Front Government. In his will, Captain Rodriguez asked his descendants to do what they could to clear his name “when the time is right”. His grandson, Jose Luis now believes that this time has come and has vowed to do what he can.

Of course being President of Spain means that he can probably do quite a lot, and so in October 2004, the Vice-President of the government - Maria Teresa Fernandez de la Vega - announced the setting up of the Comission to study the Situation of the victims of the Civil War and Francoism in order to ”restore the dignity to those that suffered imprisonment, repression or death defending those values that today we enjoy as a democratic society.” However one year later, and with over 700 documents from individuals and associations still sitting on her desk, the Vice-President has announced yet more delays on the introduction of any new legislation.

As a consequence, the official history of the Civil War and its repressive aftermath continues to be interpreted in ignorance. Towards the end of the Civil War, Franco created the Law of Political Responsibilities which overall made it an offense to not have fought on his side. Hence many went into hiding or exile and Franco thereafter,

under this law, had thousands executed, imprisoned or forced into work camps where they executed public works such as building the Valley of the Fallen, the Guadalquivir Canal or the rebuilding of Guernica.

Understandably, for a great many people, Franco´s memory is a bitter one: Family members killed for being suspected of subversive actions or belonging to the ‘Intelligencia’ as was the case of Federico Garcia Lorca. The bodies were dumped in unmarked graves, which to this day the whereabouts remain undisclosed. So for all these people, and all those that were subsequently repressed or victimized under the regime, families and friends and historians have formed associations to fight for the rights of those that died in silence. One such association is the Recuperation of the Historical Memory. Back in 2002 they took their case to United Nations where they claimed that more than 30.000 Spaniards and foreign fighters assassinated by Francoist troops are secretly buried in the country. Friends, relatives and interested parties have kept records of their locations and begun to excavate with the help of volunteers.

Herein lies the crux of the issue. Who will help these desperate families to rectify these crimes if not the Socialist Party ( the PSOE) now in government? A Party led by the grandson of a Republican Captain killed by this very perversity of history? However, the situation is more complex. During the ‘transition to democracy’ in the mid-to late70’s an approach was adopted to ‘forgive and forget’ whereby the military were openly pardoned for any crimes committed under Franco. The present Government was a signatory of this transition.

So as the government drags its feet, manacled perhaps by its collaborative past with the conservative establishment, it has been the associations that have pushed the issue to the top of the pile on the Vice Presidents desk. These Associations have also requested the opening up of mass war graves, the opening up of the official history of the civil war and finally that the remaining Francoist symbols in Spain be removed as they “offend the dignity of the victims.” Captain Juan Rodriguez’s grandson was in agreement too: “It is unthinkable that in a democracy, reminders of dictators should remain in public places.” And Carlos González, one of the PSOE deputies said that public streets, squares and buildings should not be allowed to bear the names of those that violated human rights. So in November 2004 the Parliament (The PSOE, the Nationalist parties, the Izqiuerda Unida, but not the Partido Popular) asked Zapatero’s Government to remove all Francoist symbols from public buildings “within the shortest possible time.” Four months later, the Government decided to act.

In Madrid, at the gate of the Environment ministry was, until recently, a statute of Franco on horseback. Being a little man, he was often keen to be portrayed sitting on-top of things. Thus he felt a bit bigger. There was no plaque or memorial statement. Just El Caudillo and a horse. The two of them often splattered with paint from protesters. At the horse’s feet lay bunches of withered flowers.

On March 17th in the middle of night, under a pretext of carrying out road works, the Ministro de Fomento removed the last statue of Franco from the capital.

The horse went too. Although it was meant to be a secret operation, some 100 supporters turned out to demonstrate against the removal. The midnight errand provoked a strong reaction from the Far-Right who dragged themselves up from their usual petrified positions to protest in the loudest terms possible. Why stir up the past, asked the Partido Popular, Spaniards are not interested in these things.

It is precisely because the past remains stirred up that this issue has come to the fore again.
The Goverment has begun to argue that they cannot create a law about the removal of Francoist symbols as it is up to each local authority to act as it sees fit and to act according to its conscience. But the rest of Parliament ( PSOE, Nationalist’s etc etc) have proposed to draw up exactly such a law, one that has so far been approved by all the parties (except of course by the Partido Popular).

The problem is further compounded by the fact ithat many of these symbols are on church property, causing the continued calls to remove them to fall on deaf ears. Certainly if you travel through some of the smaller villages of Extremadura or Castilla y Leon you will find the Falange insigna engraved on church walls, situated in the local Plaza Generalisimo or alongside Avenida Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera (Father of the Falange Party). The church has also been a willing partner in prohibiting access to burial sites and nothing short of legislation, argue the associations will open their doors to the families of the deceased.

But then, the church isn’t too happy right now with Zapatero. The legalization of gay marriages and the forced distancing of the church in education has not made Senor President the Catholic Kid of the month in ecclesiastical circles. Neither is his party, the PSOE, seen as a natural bedfellow of the military, and it is in this arena that perhaps the greatest resistance to any change in history will be found. The military has all the archives and details of burial sites but is unwilling to share what it feels to be its’ own exclusive version of history. There is almost no access for historians or politicians let alone families of the Republicans trying to trace what happened to their relations. Even Paul Preston, the famous biographer of Franco and Spanish historian was denied access to organizations such as the Franciso Franco Foundation, created under the last PP government – and headed by Franco’s daughter.

Whilst Zapatero tries to balance the increasingly polarized sectors of Spain, Amnesty International has this summer demanded that the government stop delaying and act now on these issues. It argues that the Associations are getting impatient and that the issue is now of greater urgency given the advanced age of the few surviving members. And the Governments partners in power: ERC and Izquierda Verde have requested that at least the issue of the Valle de los Caidos (Valley of the Fallen) be resolved before the significant 20th of November anniversary this year. They wish for the Valley to be turned into a permanent exhibition of the Dictator’s reign of terror. This cold and nightmarish symbol of the Franco regime - a 300 foot cross under which both Franco and Primo de Rivera are cosily buried - was built by12.000 political prisoners. Many lost their lives in its construction as they quarried 250 metres into the valley. It is usual for supporters to congregate at the Valle de los Caidos each 20th of November to commemorate the little man in a rather sad display of political worship. But it wasn’t just the Valley that Franco put his prisoners to work on. They were also hired off to work for private companies constructing damns, canals, railways and factories. In return they received just 25% of the normal low wage whilst the state took the rest.

Disinherited properties, unmarked graves, inaccessible archives and fascist symbols everywhere. Is the “time right” to now implement the last wishes of Captain Juan Rodriguez or will, delays, diplomacy and the “forgive and forget” legacy dilute any real legislation from the Socialists in power? And how effective is the removal of one paint splattered statue when many other street names in the capital and elsewhere remain so boldly displayed? (Such as those dedicated to General Millan Astray - famous for his statement:: “Death to intelligence.”)

The Government is already under pressure from the Church, can it shoulder added pressure from the Military, the Partido Popular and the fringe right still active in Spain? It certainly has an obligation to try, an obligation to history and to itself as a new Euro-centric power. Zapatero has proved himself capable of acting decisively against these forces before now,when he stood up to Bush and Blair by withdrawing Spanish troops from Iraq. Such decisiveness is needed now.


© Paul Read

Try to imagine that the city of Malaga is to be evacuated overnight. 150.000 people will have to walk 200km along the N340 in search of a safe refuge whilst being pursued by Italian tanks, bombed by German aircraft and shelled by Rebel Nationalist ships. Men and women shot by planes or killed by blasts from the boats following them off-shore will be left at the roadside, innocent children abandoned to the chaos and inhumanity of adults at war. There will be little food, transport or fresh water. Nourished only by hope and driven by fear, exposed to the elements and to enemy fire, they will walk through the day and through the night. Many will be too weak to reach the safe port of Almería and survive only because a Canadian doctor comes to help. A doctor who will later be accused of spying and betrayal and will be unwillingly pushed out of Spain by the very people he had come to assist.
Try to imagine such a scenario and you would be forgiven for believing it to be a work of fiction. But alas, in the recent annals of Iberian history the story exists, forgotten by all but a few. It is as story of bravery and betrayal, dogmatism and defeat. It is the story of Norman Bethune and the Exodus from Malaga.





Only foreigners wore ties
In the general election of 1936, the Popular front (centre and left) won against the National Front (centre and right). Overnight villages and towns either planned an uprising against the new government, or euphorically began to initiate radical changes. In Malaga, the old symbols of inequality disappeared. It was a time for new customs, new attitudes and even a new dress code. The Manchester Guardian reported that in the new radical atmosphere of Malaga in those early post-electoral days, “only foreigners now wore ties”. Unfortunately, the absence of ties did little to prevent the military uprising and the country was thrown into a sudden and brutal civil war.

Malaga bites back
The Military garrison in Malaga tried to take control of the city, but the broadly Republican malagueños resisted and after a few minor scuffles and exchange of fire, the garrison retreated to its barracks under supervision. However, Malaga’s brave spirit soon began to attract the interest of Franco who needed access to this strategically important port town. He arranged for Italian troops, arriving via Cadiz, to begin the offensive against the southern provinces of Republican Spain. In response to this threat, the Republican Government sent Colonel Villalba to organise the defence of the city. But it was too little and far too late. By the beginning of February 1937, the Italians had reached the outskirts of Malaga, and backed up by divisions of Franco’s army, swiftly took control of the city.

They did not come
Arthur Koestler wrote of the Malaga defeat in his book ‘Spanish Testament’ that: “the rebel cruisers bombarded us and the ships of the Republic did not come. The rebel 'planes sowed panic and destruction, and the 'planes of the Republic did not come. The rebels had artillery, armored cars and tanks, and the arms and war material of the Republic did not come.”

Malaga’s spirited but ineffective defense collapsed before the professional armies that were grouped on its outskirts. The republic had indeed let down the Andalusian city. On the eve of the occupation, Colonel Villalba’s only comment was “the situation is a critical one, but Malaga will put up a good fight”. But without support and organized defenses Republican malagueños knew their city would fall and that massive reprisals and executions would follow, as had occurred in other Spanish towns. And indeed over 4.000 executions would take place in the city after occupation. Terrified, isolated and forgotten, malagueños knew that there remained only one solution - to flee; one exit - the coastal road; and one hope - to reach the safety of Almería.

La caravana de la muerte
Today, accounts of the exodus are few. Survivors remember it as the “caravan of death”. They survived on sugar cane, oranges and the blind hope that they would reach safe ground in the republican city of Almería before the Italian troops caught up with them. On and on they walked. Many fell victim to the endless rounds of ammunition from the airplanes flying a few metres above their heads or the shells targeting them from just out at sea. Some, too tired to keep up, fell to the back and remember the tanks finally catching up with them. They hid and watched. The true horror slowly dawning on them that they would now be forced to return to the occupied city and face the violent repercussions as defeated refugees.

The Ambulance arrives
Unbeknown to the malagueños in flight, the civil war was developing on other fronts. The International Brigades were recruiting volunteers from across the world, and people like Laurie Lee, George Orwell and Jack Jones were arriving to help defend the Spanish Republic. In Canada 1.600 volunteers came to join in the “defence of democracy”. One of these was a radical and charismatic doctor called Norman Bethune. Bethune came because as a doctor, he believed that poverty was the main cause of ill health. He saw in the Spanish republic a brave and classical struggle against poverty and so came to Madrid in November 1936 to co-ordinate and organise the medical help sent by the Canadian government. During this time in Madrid, he brilliantly organised the first ever mobile health unit that contained dressings for 500 wounds, and enough supplies and medicine for 100 operations. It would also carry crucial blood donations to the front lines.
As a foreigner in a strange city, Bethune did things his own way. He would make maps to help him re-find locations; he met and had a passionate affair with a
Swedish, blond journalist; he got drunk and criticised officials that tried to tell him how to do his job. These events and incidents would have repercussions. After Madrid, Bethune drove up to Barcelona with his work companions: Hazen Size and Thomas Worsley. Stocked up with an ambulance full off donated blood he headed south to Malaga in the hope of arriving at the city before it fell to Nationalist troops.


The end of the line
As the ambulance passed Almería and onto the coastal road to Málaga, the three companions came across the front of the procession: small compact groups of children and adults, mules and goats. Many children had no footwear and were crying in pain with swollen blistered feet.




Then, as they drove further on, they suddenly came across the bulk of the procession. A serpentine line that filled the whole width of the road and continued as far as the eye could see – at least 30 kilometres of endless bodies dragging themselves ever onwards. So compact were they that they trod on each other’s feet as they walked. The ambulance stopped. The only sound Bethune could hear as the procession wound its way past was that of esparto sandals trudging wearingly over pebbles and stones, of exhausted breathing or the wailing of starving infants. These people had been walking 5 days and nights without a break. Towards the end of the line were the remains of the military defenders in retreat. They were a small and disparate group, armed with only rifles against the attacking planes and boats. They wore torn and ragged uniforms and expressions of fatigue and defeat. They warned Bethune that Malaga had fallen, that even Motril had been taken and the Italians were close behind.
Bethune and Size decided to return to Almería. They emptied the ambulance of
everything to make passenger space, cramming in 30 to 40 people per trip. At first they tried to prioritise the abandoned children the elderly, the weak and the sick. Then they just took everyone they could in the rush to get them all to safety. With just bread and oranges for sustenance, the ambulance crew worked for four days and four nights without a break, back and forth to Almería and then returning to the “caravana de la muerte”.


Almería
As the bulk of the procession arrived in Almería and the population of the city doubled with the number of the refugees, the long feared bombing of the city began again. It was evident that the planes this time were not targeting the port or the military barracks, but instead the newly arrived refugee population. Just as they thought they had found sanctuary, they were targeted once again. The bombs fell everywhere, residential barrios, commercial centres and wherever the refugees tried to hide. For the exhausted travellers the nightmare wasn’t over. The civil war would carry on in this fashion for another two years.

“A scar on my heart”
The Malaga exodus, the Almería bombings and the heroic role of Norman Bethune and his companions have combined to become one of the great forgotten stories of the civil war. Ardently refuted by the political right in Spain, whilst commemorated by the left, the incident remains diplomatically forgotten by all but a few survivors. Records released later from the Soviet Union about the role of Norman Bethune, have confused the issue further. According these Archives Bethune was effectively removed from Spain by the then, influential Communist Party who insisted that the Republican Government purge him for his “immorality, drunkenness, money squandering and passing on of frontline maps to a fascist spy.”
This so-called fascist spy was none other than his Swedish lover, who as a journalist had access to his road maps. But she seemed an unlikely candidate to be passing on secrets to fascist forces, for after the war, she fled from Franco’s Spain to live in Mexico with other republican refugees, and to die there 30 years later. Mexico was the only country other than the Soviet Union to recognise, support and give homes to republican refugees.
George Orwell wrote in 1937 in the New English Weekly that:
“In Spain, everyone whose opinions are to the left of those of the Communist Party, is sooner or later discovered to be a Trotskyist, or at least a traitor.” Thus Bethune too, opinionated and anti-bureaucratic came under suspicion as a traitor and in May 1937, when the military medical forces in Republican Spain were organized into a government bureaucracy, Bethune disillusioned left the country, saying that Spain would always be: ”a scar on my heart”.
After a short period back in Canada he left for China to organize his mobile blood unit for Mao Tse Tung. He died there, just a year later, from a cut to his hand whilst operating on a wounded soldier. Without the drugs to stop the infection at hand, blood poisoning set in, his whole body became infected and he died. But his contribution to this day is remembered by the whole country as Mao wrote in his tribute to Bethune: “No one who returned from the front failed to express admiration for Bethune whenever his name was mentioned, and none remained unmoved by his spirit”.

Unspoken memories
In Spain however, apart from one street in Malaga bearing his name, Bethune and the Malaga Exodus are all but forgotten. But then so to is the history of how the war began. A survey published in El País
in November 2005 about Franco and the civil war found that of those questioned about the 1936 Military uprising, 45% didn’t believe that the Popular Front government was a legitimate one, or were not sure whether it was or just could not say. This makes shocking reading. The 1936 election had a nine million turnout. The Popular Front won by a 150.000 majority. Defeated at the ballot box the political right conspired to take control of the country by military means. Perhaps 150.000 does not make an overall majority, but then neither was the 527 vote majority that Bush won over Al Gore in 2000, and no one suggested that a civil war would best resolve the differences.
As Santayana said: those that cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. For this reason, the relatives of the Malaga Exodus and all those families of forgotten Republican soldiers have and are, still fighting to be remembered. And until they are, we shall all, like Bethune, be carrying scars on our hearts.

© Paul Read

We had to walk in a single file for 7 – 8 hours across the Pyrenees until we entered Spain. We were issued deck shoes for better grip and to make less noise. My boots were tied by the shoelaces and hung around my neck. At sunrise, from the top of the Pyrenees, I had my first glimpse of the Mediterranean - a vivid deep blue – something I shall always remember.”





This is not a story about tourism. Its not even a story about travel. It’s a story about one man who left the East End of London 70 years ago this summer. He crossed the French border into Spain with a group of men and women that made up part of the International Brigades that fought for Republican Spain, for the defence of a fragile democracy in Europe, and for the hopes of a young, progressive and visionary government. In the process they witnessed a nightmare rehearsal of WW2. As Laurie Lee wrote: “To Spain, so backward and so long ignored, the nations of Europe were quietly gathering”.

Of the 2000 men and women who made up the British contingent, only a handful are now still alive to tell their story. One of those is Sol Frankel. I had arranged to meet Sol in a café on the sea front in Almunecar. Andalusia. When I arrived I found him seated at a table sipping a cup of tea. A walking stick was leaning against another chair and an old brown A4 envelope was positioned in the middle of the table. As I approached and introduced myself I reached out to shake his hand. Sol shifted position and thrust his left hand into my palm. I clumsily grasped his fingers and looked at his other arm. He smiled: “It was a bullet. Went right through it” he said.


Sol Frankel was 91years of age this March.
His eyes conveyed a gentleness and a softness. I couldn’t imagine this man with a rifle. His smile was disarming and carried an infectious warmth. Where was the hardness that had fuelled this man to take up arms?

“Given Britain had agreed to a non-intervention policy throughout the civil war, and that is was technically illegal to enlist in a foreign army, what led you Sol to defy your own country, to defend - possibly with your own life - an unknown country like Spain?”

“I was born in Stepney, East London. I was a typical anti-fascist, not uncommon then amongst the Jewish working classes living in the midst of the inner city. I fought in the battle for Cable street for example against Mosley, and later volunteered to help out in the Spanish Children’s refugee camp where 3000 Basque kids had been evacuated to North Stoneham. I did what I felt I had to do.”

It was during this experience that Sol decided to do more to help the Spanish Republic and enquired about volunteering as part of the International Brigades. Sol was in historic company, others too had felt drawn to the cause: Jack Jones, George Orwell and Laurie Lee were amongst some of names often remembered. The idea of the International Brigades was proposed in 1936 by Maurice Thorez, the French communist party leader. Joseph Stalin agreed to it and so in September, just two months after the outbreak of the civil war, the Comitern began organising the formation of the volunteers. In Paris an international recruiting centre was set up and a training base for recruits established in Albacete in Spain.

Back in Britain, Sol had approached the British Communist Party They lent him the fare to get to Paris by boat. At Dover, passengers suspected of going to Spain were stopped. "I said I was going to visit an uncle in Paris, it was lucky they didn't search me for I had an English-Spanish dictionary in my pocket."

In Paris he was met by the French Communist Party who provided him with a train ticket to the Pyrenees. On the train he was told to keep his head down, as French Police would be looking for foreigners making their way to the border. “But they weren’t all bad,” Sol smiles as he remembers peering out the windows and seeing the French Police giving him the Communist salute as he passed through many stations.

At the border he was taken to a series of safe houses whilst others joined him from other countries. “There were three or four of us from Britain” but many others from France, Italy and even Germany. Eventually a coach arrived one night and about 70 of us left for the mountains. We then had to cross the Pyrenees on foot. In Spain another vehicle took us to Figueras where we were all housed in the town castle for a few days before being moved on. I was later moved on to Gerona and then Albacete where I undertook my training.”

“Most of us had done some military training” he recounts, “so were already familiar with a lot of it. We worked in companies according to where you were from. The training lasted two weeks before being moved off the front. For some reason I stayed for four weeks. I was lucky I suppose”


Sol was a sergeant and so had 18 men under him. After his 4 weeks, he was moved to the front as part of a company of 650 men. He remembers the day clearly, a day he says he will never forget. It was his 24th birthday and his group walked straight into a large Fascist tank division. “The tanks were Italian and as close to me as that tree is over there” he says pointing no more than ten yards away. Out of the 650 men only 90 made it back to the camp. The others were all captured or killed.
“How did you get away?” Sol’s endearing smile returns, “ I ran. I could run really fast in those days”.

Months later Sol was to hold a mountain pass near the mouth of the Ebro. His most vivid memory of this time was when the bridge was blown up and they couldn’t get the equipment across. But his details were vague. He was trying to recount a story from 67 years ago. Certain events were clear in his mind; others had left him a long time ago. The International Brigade, had very little motorised equipment. Nearly everything had to be carried by hand, even heavy machinery and artillery had to be dismantled in order to be carried. Someone might carry a wheel, another the barrel of a large gun. Resources were scarce for the Republican defenders.

By mid-July 1938 Franco’s troops had managed to split the Republican forces and had reached the Mediterranean. The Republic launched a spectacular counter-offensive across the River Ebro in order to re-establish contact with Catalunya. After three months of terrible fighting and great losses, the Republican army were forced back.

Sol´s gaze told me he was still there at the Ebro, but then his smile returned him to the café and he reached for his tea with his left hand.

“And how did you receive your injury Sol?” I finally asked.

This story has been remembered well. He imitates shooting a rifle across the table towards the entrance of the cafe. “I was shooting facing this direction” he recounts, shuffling his bad arm into use. “When suddenly I felt a pain in this arm. I had been shot through my right arm from the back.” He puts down his pretend weapon and rolls up his sleeve to show a scar on both sides of the upper arm. “Bullet went right through see? It felt like I had been kicked by a horse. A couple of mates held me up and helped me to where a stretcher could get to me. Eventually an Ambulance came and took me away. I was later moved to the Hospital in Barcelona. I stayed there 3 days. I remember that well as we were bombed every night. I thought I would be out in a couple of days and back onto the front. But the bullet had severed the muscle and the nerves. So I was moved to the International Brigade hospital. From there I was eventually returned home. We received a truly warm welcome on return at Victoria Station. Hundreds if not thousand came out to greet us. By that time of course the International Brigades had been disbanded as you know.”

The International Brigades had been disbanded when the President of the Republic, Juan Negrin announced at the League of Nations that his government would unilaterally withdraw all foreigners from the Republican Zone. It was a desperate and unsuccessful gesture to win the support of the western powers. It had no effect, nor was it reciprocated by the Fascist states that had supplied armies of support for Franco: 70.000 troops from Italy, 14.000 from Germany, 20.000 from Portugal and 34.000 from the Foreign Legion and Morocco.

It was Dolores Ibárruri, the Communist leader who addressed the Brigades as they left Spain and left them with a message fro the future:
“We shall not forget you, and when the olive tree of peace is in flower, entwined with the victory laurels of the Republic of Spain – return! Return to our side for here you will find a homeland – those who have no country or friends, who must live deprived of friendship – all, all will have the affection and gratitude of the Spanish People who today and tomorrow will shout with enthusiasm – Long live the heroes of the International Brigades!

SoI glanced down at the brown envelope, still lying unopened in the middle of the table. I caught his eye and pushed it towards me. Reaching inside I pulled out an International Brigade Passport dated 1937 with his details hand written in Spanish. “Partido Politico: anti-fascista” it said. The passport was burnt by time, faded and crumbling at the edges. It carried no photo, but plenty of official republican stamps on its delicate surface. The Popular Front government had lasted but a few months before civil war broke out. This was the first time I had ever seen an original document from that short-lived government. I was holding a museum piece. History rested in my palm. Slipped between the pages was an old sepia photo of Sol at the front. He was in a vague uniform, smoking a pipe between several other men. One was bare-chested and had a rifle slung casually over his shoulder. Above him was an arrow that Sol had drawn and a name. Added some time later were the words “killed”. I gently placed the items on the table and from the envelope pulled out a life membership card for the UGT (UNION GENERAL DE TRABAJADORES), and a letter from the Spanish Government offering him Spanish Nationality in thanks for his sacrifices made. The letter had been sent out after the Spanish parliament had passed unanimously a motion granting citizenship to every International Brigade Soldier, living or deceased.

“Well, it took Spain 60 years to fulfill its promise Sol, but they did it. However, Britain doesn’t allow dual nationality in these cases does it?”

“No it doesn’t. So I didn’t take them up on that because it would have meant giving up my British Nationality. Silly really. Otherwise I would have.”

I gently placed the items back into the envelope and pushed them back to the center.

“Do you always carry this stuff around with you Sol?”:

“When I come to Spain yes. Not many people ask me, or are interested, though I have been interviewed quite a few times. For the David Leach film for example, or by students of Paul Preston, the historian.” (Sol had been featured in a documentary about the civil war called Voices from a Mountain)

Sol shifts his limp right arm on to his lap and gazes out to sea. I imagine him, boots hanging around his neck looking down to the Mediterranean after the marathon trek across the Pyrenees. I try to see in him what it is that drove him to volunteer in one of the most symbolic struggles of the last century. Was it just a principle, a belief, an ideology? Or was he doing just what he felt he had to do?

“ Do you still see any of the others from the Brigades Sol?”

“There is not many of us left now. Probably just about 20. Each year we still get together. But each year there are less and less of us. Once upon a time we would have a meal and spend a few hours together. Now we just meet for a drink and don’t stay long. We are all getting on a bit now you see.”

© Paul Read