“Good day?” asked Manel.
“Busy,” said Sergio. “Run off my feet!”
“You’re lucky,” replied Manel. “I’ve had no-one all afternoon except a couple of men just now for cigarettes.”
“It’s funny, isn’t it? You never know what’s coming next. With all the shortages from the war, especially petrol, people can’t run their scooters or cars, and more and more are pulling out old bikes and trying to ride them. Some of them don’t even know how to mend a puncture, and some of the machines are real old bone-shakers. After all those lean years, I’ve got more work than I can handle.”
“You should take on a boy,” said Manel.
“I can’t afford to pay much, but I’m thinking about it,” said Sergio.
“Could you do most of the work sitting down?” asked Manel cryptically.
Sergio frowned. “I suppose so.”
“I know someone who might just be right for you,” said Manel, as he turned to walk home. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
Carlos was a strong young man and desperate to find work. He would hear of a factory offering limited employment, but when he arrived on his crutches, he would discover that the jobs were available only for active able-bodied young men, despite there being a shortage of such men.
Manel called on Senora Pinto before he went in to the family. Carlos was sitting staring into the fireplace, and Manel put his hand on his shoulder. The young man looked up. “Can you be ready early tomorrow?” said Manel. “I know about a possible job. You won’t mind getting your hands a bit dirty, will you?”
Carlos grinned. “Of course not. What is it?
Manel smiled. “Wait and see. It’s only a possibility, but it’s a chance. I’ll see you in the morning. Be ready early and I’ll take you there.”
Anna hugged her husband when he told her about Carlos. “It’s not a promise,” he reminded her. “Wait until Sergio has met Carlos, then we’ll know if there’s anything to celebrate.”
Manel was surprised how fast Carlos could move on his crutches, and had to jog to keep with him as they went down Balmes in the morning. Sergio apologised that he couldn’t afford great wages, but agreed to let Carlos start and see how well he could cope. Manel left them chattering and went to open his own shop.
Clear blue skies and a warm sun heralded the Spring of 1940. The aftermath of the civil war lingered in the city. The famine had continued through the winter, and almost everyone was hungry. Only the fascist leaders in the town hall had enough to eat. Manel’s mood swung from optimism that things could only get better, to pessimism that the shortages showed no sign of abating. Despite the glorious sunshine, the city continued to be grey.
Information about the European war was intermittent, and unreliable. Although Franco had refused to join Hitler and Mussolini in declaring war on the Allies, the family were aware that radio messages and newspaper reports were filtered through the Fascist propaganda machine.
Weeks and months dragged by. The housewives of Barcelona were at their wits end to make meals for their families, and Manel’s private rationing system was at straining point, trying to give a fair share of the meagre supplies to his regular customers.
For a long time it appeared that nothing was happening in the German war, but suddenly the radio was full of excited reports of the invasion of France. Madrid’s declarations of loyalty to Hitler became effusive with knowledge that the German war machine was marching across France. In June 1940, Spanish newspapers carried huge photographs of the Nazi troops entering Paris, and at the beginning of July there were illustrated reports of Hitler marching up the Champs Elysees, visiting the Eiffel Tower, and even going to the Paris Opera. It seemed the Germans had conquered France without too much loss of civilian life, for which Anna and Manel were thankful. The Catalan experience of war and its aftermath gave them an empathy with the people of France.
News of the war reached the people of Barcelona via their wirelesses and newspapers, although many found it hard to join in with the excitement of the Nazi invasions. They were all profoundly shocked when they learned of the arrest of their hero Lluis Companys. It was August 1940, and the Nazis had not been in France for long.
“He was our leader during the war,” said Manel. “We all admired him, and he was crushed by the defeat. He though that by escaping to France he would save his life, and his family. Why didn’t he go to England when he knew the Germans were approaching Paris?”
“His family were with him in Paris, and one of his children was ill. He couldn’t leave them,” said Anna.
“But now he’s been arrested,” said Manel. “What will happen to him?”
They didn’t have to wait long to find out. Companys was taken to Madrid, and the Fascist newspapers delighted in reporting how he was being held in solitary confinement. Following a short trial, he was sentenced to death.
It was an ordinary Monday morning in October, and Manel was sweeping the shop floor, when a crowd came running down the road, with Anna amongst them. “Come quickly,” she said, “something’s happening.”
Locking the shop door, Manel joined the crowd running towards the Grand Via. The wide boulevard had been closed to traffic, and they were still panting from running when a military convoy swept past.
“What was that?” Manel asked a passer-by.
“Lluis Companys,” shouted someone nearby. “They’ve brought him from Madrid.”
“Where are they going?” said Manel.
“Montjuic Castle,” came the reply.
The next day, Tuesday 15th October 1940, Lluis Company was executed by a Civil Guard firing squad. Refusing a blindfold, and barefoot, he shouted “For Catalunya!” as the guns were fired.
The city was deeply shocked by the loss of their hero. “He was democratically elected,” said Manel. “We all put him there. He should not have died like that.”
“He’ll be remembered for a very long time,” said Anna.
The volley of shots from the firing squad was heard throughout Barcelona and echoed throughout Catalonia. That echo would resound for many, many years.
In the shop, Manel found himself the centre of the new and complicated official rationing system. Families were issued with ration cards from the ajuntament, and at first Manel was relieved to follow the authority’s instructions. His own private rationing system could be abandoned. As a registered grocer, the bulk supplies he could obtain for his shop increased considerably. He no longer had to carry surreptitious bags of sugar and flour from the town hall, as a plain van brought supplies to him, often in the early morning. Gradually, he had stocks of rice and lentils, beans and even soap. Once or twice a week he’d get fresh vegetables, fish, and eggs. On rare occasions he was able to buy a piece of bacon, and once again his bacon slicer would whirr into life and cut thin slices.
Once his customers had their ration cards, and the deliveries from the Fascist central stores had become regular, Manel’s shop looked far healthier than before. The rationing system, however, was very complicated, and Manel found that it took a long time to serve each customer. Unexpectedly, queues started to form, and to Manel’s consternation, his customers often had coupons for items he did not have. Worst of this was the supply of bread. A regular client would thrust a bread coupon at him, hoping for a crusty fresh loaf, and Manel would only have a dreary and unpalatable lump of black bread, or often nothing at all.
Stocks of oil arrived, although Manel was unsure what was actually in the heavy barrels. Claiming to be olive oil, the murky liquid was obviously adulterated. Even more doubtful were the supplies of milk. Coming in big metal containers, Manel was convinced that the white liquid was partly milk, but had been much watered down, literally, with water.
Clara’s lessons were greatly curtailed, and despite being so young, she helped with fetching goods, and even checking ration books. At first she enjoyed wearing Eduard’s apron and ‘playing shops’ but the novelty soon wore off, and she missed the progress she had been m
aking in her lessons.
Anna took her turn in the queue, despite Manel saying she need not; but this provided a useful way of hearing the gossip and keeping up with local news. Anna learned that all the grocers’ shops had queues like Manel’s; and that some of the bigger shops were attracting large crowds of starving mobs. The Civil Guard was deployed to keep the queues in order, but could not stop the discussions of discontent amongst the people.
Sadly, the only interruptions to the dreary daily grind were horrifying. Franco’s Civil Guard celebrated the victory not with reconciliation but with punishment. Memories of that frightening moment when Senor Pinto had been arrested and shot, returned with appalling regularity, as other known supporters of the republicans were identified. Anyone who expected some kind of forgiveness from the Nationalists, was fatally mistaken. Manel was ashamed that he had taken down his senyera at home, and the small flag which had flown over the shop door, but he knew he had probably saved his life by doing so.
It was surprising that normal life could continue in the face of constant hunger and political danger; but most of the population continued to cope cheerfully with the deprivations of everyday living. Anna’s sewing attracted many clients, and with Clara’s help, they were constantly busy. Manel was busy distributing rationed groceries, also with help from his daughter. Even Carlos was fully occupied seated at his bench in the cycle shop, with a never-ending stream of repairs.
Eduard, unexpectedly, seemed to be enjoying some of his days at school. When not singing the Fascist anthem, or on his knees, he would absorb information like a sponge. His hatred of Father Matias made him reluctant to get on with his work, and his results belied his interest or ability. Although he still struggled with arithmetic, he was quick with most other lessons, and listened and remembered was told to him. He tried to keep out of trouble as much as possible, and it was thus out of the blue that he arrived home one day in the early summer in a state of considerable agitation, and with his hands firmly clenched.
“Whatever is the matter?” said Anna.
“He’s not spoken all the way home,” said Manel.
“Why are you holding your hands like that?” asked Anna. “Show me what it is.”
Reluctantly and slowly, Eduard opened his hands to reveal painful welts across both palms.
“What’s this, Eduard?” said Manel.
“I got the cane,” said Eduard. “We all did.”
“What do you mean? It’s not like you to misbehave – and badly enough for a caning.”
Trying hard not to cry, Eduard blurted out the explanation. “It was one of the boy’s birthday,” he said. “He was very excited, and called out in the class, ‘It’s my birthday today’. We all got excited and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to him.”
“That doesn’t sound so terrible,” said Anna. “Sister Frigido might not have been pleased, but that’s not a reason to cane you all.”
“But he called out in Catalan, and we all sang in Catalan. We didn’t know that Father Matias was in the corridor, and heard it all. He rushed into the room and asked Sister Frigido what was going on. When she told him, he said he’d punish everyone who’d been singing in Catalan. Sister said that everyone who had been singing must stand up. We thought we’d be safe if we all stood, so we did.”
“Everyone in the class?”
“Yes,” went on Eduard. “Then Father Matias made us all stand in the corridor and hold out our hands. He walked slowly down the line, and gave everyone of us one stroke on each hand. It really hurt, but no-one cried. It still hurts.”
“I’m sorry,” said Anna, “but you mustn’t be upset, or surprised. I know we enjoy the Catalan stories at home in the evenings, but it’s got to be secret. Our beloved language is banned in public, and it must never be spoken, or sung, in school. It’s a hard lesson, and Father Matias was very cruel to punish you all like that, but we can’t do anything about it. Hold your hands in cold water: that might stop the burning.”
“It’s not fair, is it?” said Clara. “I’m glad I don’t go to school.”
“No, it’s not fair,” said Manel, “but we have to deal with it. We live in terrible times with this dictator ruling our lives, but let us hope that a caning from Father Matias is the worst that happens to us. There are many who are far worse off than we are, and who have to live with much worse punishments.”
Outside the classroom, Eduard’s life was happier than might be expected in the aftermath of war. He loved playing all kinds of games on the bombsites near the shop, and occasionally came home with a souvenir from the unlucky family whose home had been destroyed. Amongst the rubble, he would find a battered hat, or a chipped cup, or even a chair leg which made an excellent gun in the war games he played with other boys.
One day, he found an exciting and significant treasure: a slightly battered trumpet. Brushing the grime away, and shaking dust and debris from it, he nervously put it to his lips, and to his astonishment, played a long loud note. Other boys playing nearby came running.
“Where’d you get that?” asked one of them.
“Just there,” said Eduard pointing to a derelict staircase, “under those stairs.”
“Blow it again,” said the boy.
Eduard did, and again produced a long clear note.
“Give me a go,” said another boy, and Eduard handed him the trumpet. The boy blew hard and produced only a strange breathy noise, not a trumpet sound.
“Like this,” laughed Eduard, taking the trumpet back. Once more he produced a clear note, and then squeezing his lips, and to the astonishment and admiration of the other boys, he produced a different note.
“Just like a bugle,” said the boy. “You’re a natural.”
Eduard grinned. “Who would have thought it?” he said.
When he got the trumpet home, Anna insisted that he washed it thoroughly. “It’s not just the people who have blown it in the past, it’s what creatures have lived in it since the house was bombed. If a cockroach falls out, you’re in big trouble bringing it into the kitchen.”
After he’d washed it, Eduard discovered that he could unscrew the valves and free them. He used the little bottle of oil that Anna had for oiling her sewing machine. Once the trumpet was dry and reassembled, he sat at the kitchen table to experiment with it. He found he could produce different notes, not only by blowing differently, but also by using the values.
Clara came running in from her bedroom. “What’s that noise?” she said.
“I found a trumpet,” said Eduard.
“I can see what it is,” she grimaced, “but it’s very loud.”
By the time Manel came home from locking the shop, Eduard had mastered several different notes, and attracted the attention of several neighbours. He proudly played what he could to his father.
“That’s wonderful,” said Manel. “I think you might have a talent for it.”
Anna looked across the kitchen. “He might have a talent, but the rest of us have headaches.”
As Eduard played a few more notes, Clara reappeared with handkerchiefs stuffed into her ears.
“Father,” she said, “tell him to go and play it somewhere else.”
Eduard blew a couple more notes at his sister, but Manel put out his hand. “Stop, boy. It’s very exciting, but we can’t have you playing in the kitchen all the time. You’ve only just found it, and your mother and sister have heard enough. After supper, I’ll give you the key, and you can go and sit in the shop to play it. There’s no-one upstairs and the bicycle shop next door will be locked up. Hopefully you can play it without bothering anyone.”
In the strange quietness of the empty shop, Eduard played a few tentative notes. He stopped and listened, but no-one called any objection, so he continued to experiment. He played until his lips were numb, but before he reluctantly locked the shop and went home, he had almost mastered the anthem ‘Face to the Sun’. He didn’t like the words, but he realised that playing the tune loudly would not get him into trouble ev
en if a member of the Civil Guard was passing the door.
CHAPTER THREE
Although news from the war between Germany and Great Britain was heavily censored, most people in Barcelona could follow what was happening, and those who had been on the republican side in the civil war, were alarmed to discover how successful the Nazi war machine was. With most of France occupied, it seemed only a matter of time before England was invaded. The German army did not advance over the mountains into Spain, but it seemed very close, and was clearly more efficient and far more alarming than even Franco’s crack troops.
The year dragged by. Manel could not understand how it was that time seemed slower when you were hungry. The rationing system gave everyone a little to eat, and no-one was dying of hunger any more, but there was never enough. The population rarely had meat, but fish had become a little more plentiful. Anna continued her daily skirmish with inadequate ingredients to make meals for her family, and the children were aware that they had occasional treats that other children did not get. They had no idea that their father, being the owner of a grocer’s shop, was able to get access to the black market, and thus able to supplement their food with a few slices of pork, or bacon, or even beef.
News from France got worse. The Spanish wireless and newspapers were full of the triumphant Nazi victory at Dunkirk, when the glorious German army had driven the British into the sea. There was much military music on the wireless, and many photographs in the papers of the German success, and of hundreds of British troops being pushed into the sea. The possibility of an invasion across the Channel now seemed inevitable and imminent. Families throughout the city continued to listen to their wireless sets, expecting news of the invasion at any time.
There was a tangible feeling of relief in Barcelona, when it seemed that Hitler had hesitated, and not invaded England. The majority of the population, most of whom had supported the republican cause in the civil war, now living under the nationalist regime, assumed that their lives would continue on a downward spiral as long as the Fascists were in power. The spread of the German Nazis, and their Italian friends, created great pessimism in Catalonia; but this turned to relief when Hitler called a halt on the French coast.
The Phoenix of Montjuic Page 5
