The Phoenix of Montjuic

by Jeremy D. Rowe

  A senior officer, flanked by several other officers, appeared on the parade ground, and barked the order to stand to attention. The recruits did so as smartly as their brief training allowed. The orders to turn left, and quick march were given, and Eduard found himself marching with arms swinging in unison with the rest of his platoon. Despite the hardness of his boots and the prospect of a long route march, he smiled, discovering that he unexpectedly enjoyed this experience. The corporal marched beside his platoon, grunting out the rhythm of the march, “Eft, ight, eft, ight.”

  Out of the parade ground, the young soldiers found themselves marching on a concrete road, and their boots made a harder crunching noise. After a kilometre or so, they entered the outskirts of a town, with a number of small stone built houses along the way. Elderly ladies sat on dining room chairs in the doorways of their homes. The corporal saluted each old lady as they passed by.

  As they progressed, the houses were closer together and larger. Eduard could tell they were marching into a large town, although he was still unable to see a sign identifying it. Focussing on the precision of the march, it was hard to look anywhere but in front, and he had no chance of asking his companions if they’d identified their location.

  Soon they were marching through a busy urban area. The buildings were not as grand as Barcelona, and there were still scars from the civil war, but it was clearly a busy town. Knots of people lined the streets and clapped as the soldiers marched past. Eduard was alarmed to notice many of the crowd giving the Fascist straight arm salute.

  After marching for an hour, the boys found they were crossing a wide river, with a view of an enormous church on the opposite bank. From the many domes and towers, Eduard realised that this was a cathedral and he assumed that this would be their destination. None of the boys had ever been to this city before, and all were astonished at the magnificent building ahead of them.

  Halfway over the bridge, they became aware of some kind of disturbance ahead, and a jeep approached rapidly towards them. Some of the platoons ahead broke step, and jumped aside as the jeep roared past. The vehicle screeched to a stop, and Eduard’s corporal had little time to shout “Halt!” The platoon came to a rather clumsy stop. An officer jumped out of the jeep and had a brief conversation with the corporal.

  The corporal turned. “Private Bonet! Step forward, at the double!”

  Eduard stepped forward to the corporal and the officer, who spoke without introduction. “You will come with me in the jeep back to your barracks. Jump into the back.”

  With no idea what was happening, Eduard did as he was told. As the jeep thundered across the bridge, scattering the platoons which had been following Eduard’s, the officer turned and shouted over the din of the engine.

  “You’re the boy who can play the trumpet, aren’t you?”

  “Yes sir,” shouted Eduard.

  “We’re taking a risk, but we’ve no better solution. The soldier trumpeter to play in the basilica for the church parade, has been in an accident. We need you to play ‘Face to the Sun’. I understand you can do it.”

  Eduard nodded.

  “When we get to the barracks, you must show the driver which is your hut. We’ll drive to the door, you run in, collect the trumpet, run back. There’s no time to spare.”

  The jeep flew through the gates of the barracks past a very startled sentry, and careered across the parade ground. For a moment Eduard was horrified that all the huts looked alike and he was unsure which was his. He pointed for the driver, hoping he was correct, and the jeep screeched to a halt. He jumped out, ran in and grabbed his trumpet. In a moment, he was back in the jeep and it was swinging in a tight arc across the parade ground and out of the gates, back onto the concrete road. They reached the town centre quickly, and sped across the bridge. On the wide square in front of the basilica, the platoons were standing stiffly awaiting instructions to march in. The jeep drove quickly to one of the great doors of the church, and Eduard and the officer scrambled out. As the jeep drove away, there was a moment of quiet, and the officer turned to Eduard.

  “Private, get this right and it will do you much good. It’s a great responsibility. I will take you to a high platform at the back of the basilica where you will meet the organist. He will tell you when to play. You should play three verses. Your corporal will come to get you later, so just remain where you are after you have played.” Eduard nodded.

  They walked quickly into the basilica, which was filled by the sound of the organ. The officer led Eduard to a surprisingly small door in the wall, stopped, and grinned. “Take your boots off, boy. You’ll make too much noise on the stairs if you keep them on.” Eduard hesitated, and the officer’s grin faded. “Get a move on, Private.”

  The officer opened the small door, and with his boots in one hand and his trumpet in the other, he climbed a wooden spiral staircase set into the thickness of the wall. He emerged onto a narrow balcony, and turning, found he was on a slim walkway high above the floor of the church. Ahead of him, the organist, a civilian, was playing the organ. He looked up and saw the massed ranks of organ pipes and the elaborately carved wooden case of the instrument. Gingerly he stepped forward and stood within the sight of the organist, who glanced quickly at him, and nodded an acknowledgement.

  Abruptly the music stopped, and the organist turned to Eduard. “Get your breath back, mate,” he said. “You’re not playing straight away. I’ll tell you when to play.” Eduard had many questions, but before he could speak, the organist had turned back to his keyboards, and launched into military music, the kind Eduard had heard many times on the wireless. He sat on a tiny stool and waited. The organ music was joined by the marching of the men’s boots as they took their places in the great nave. At last everyone was in, and a small light bulb flashed above the organist’s head. He stopped playing, and indicated to Eduard to stand up.

  “Three times,” was all he said.

  Eduard played the tune of ‘Face to the sun’. At first he was disconcerted by the prolonged echo as the trumpet tune reverberated around the arches of the great building, but once he’d got over that, he played as he’d never played before.

  As he started the second verse, the great roaring of the men’s voices rose up to him, again with an even more disorientating echo. He could not look down, but he knew every man was holding his arm up in the fascist salute as he sang. He ploughed on, and was soon into his final rendering. As he stopped, the great organ took up the theme, moving the tune up a semi-tone, and played one more time, filling the great space with huge echoing sound. At the end, there was some murmuring from below, and the organist turned to him and held out his hand.

  “Congratulations lad. You are a great trumpeter.”

  It was only when he sat back on the stool, that the enormity of what he’d done became apparent. Shakily, he put the trumpet down, and raised his eyes to the distant ceiling. He leaned back against the cold stone, and breathed out a long sigh as he started to take in the beauty of the place. He turned to the organist.

  “I know this sounds crazy, but I have to ask. Where are we?”

  “In the great cathedral-basilica of the Virgin Mary, of course.”

  “Yes, but where are we? They don’t tell us where the barracks is. They just brought us in trucks, and we’ve seen nothing except the parade ground, that is until now. None of us knows where we are.”

  The organist smiled. “You’re in the cathedral-basilica of Zaragoza, and you just played your trumpet for the Generalissimo himself. During Holy Week, he travels to several of the great cathedrals of Spain, and wherever he goes, he expects to inspect his troops. He’s very keen to see the progress being made by the National Service recruits. How long have you been in training?”

  “Just a week, sir,” replied Eduard.

  “You don’t need to call me ‘sir’. I’m not in the army. I did national service once, before the war, and I served in the Nationalist army during the war. I was here when we fought the battle of our c
ity. The Republicans stood no chance.”

  “This place is amazing,” said Eduard. “Barcelona cathedral is not like this.”

  “It was a miracle there was so little damage during the war. There were just three bombs, and none of them exploded. Many people think Our Lady was watching over her church during those troubled times.”

  Eduard had many more questions, but the organist was busy playing further hymns for the service, and a quiet voluntary during the mass. Eventually he told Eduard that he should climb back down the stairs, and put his boots on when he got to the bottom. Just outside the little door, he sat on the floor to tie his boots. He became aware of a shadow falling over him, and saw his corporal bending down. The corporal hissed a kind of stage whisper. “Stand up straight, Bonet, shoulders back, eyes front, get a move on!”

  Eduard stood. A group of officers approached him, one of them giving him the order, “Private Bonet, attention!”

  A small, rotund man, in an elaborate military uniform emerged from the group of officers. He spoke in a quiet, almost effeminate voice. “Well played young man. I understand you had very little warning. I will recommend you for promotion into one of my bands. My wife said that I should congratulate you. Yes … well done.” The little man turned abruptly and walked away, the senior officers clustering closely around him. Eduard’s corporal, standing beside him whispered to Eduard. “You do know who that was, don’t you?”

  “No,” whispered Eduard.

  “You are a fool, Private Bonet. That was El Caudillo, the Generalissimo himself. I’ve never been so close to him. We must give him a salute as he walks away, smartly now.” The corporal and Eduard raised their arms. Franco turned, and smiled to acknowledge the salute.

  Eduard shut his eyes. “Bastard, bastard, bastard.”

  At much the same time that Eduard was playing his trumpet, Manel, Anna and Clara were sitting down to their Sunday lunch.

  Manel smiled at his wife. “I hope your Holy Week mass was good this morning,” he said. “How was Father Matias?”

  “Grumpy as usual,” said Anna. “I told him that Eduard was on National Service, and he said he thought that would mean our boy is doing church parade somewhere today. He hoped he could remember all he’d been taught at school.”

  “I expect he’s finding it all rather dull,” said Manel. “He was no more keen on all your Catholic rituals than I was.”

  “It’s funny without Eduard. I hope he’s alright,” said Clara. “He seems to have been gone more than a week.”

  They were just finishing the meal, when there was a quiet knock on the door. Anna opened it, then closed it again quickly. “Manel, it’s for you. It’s Ambros. What does he want?”

  Manel stepped outside to talk to Ambros, then returned smiling. “Clara, would you like to go for a walk? Ambros would like to take you out.”

  Clara stared, wide-eyed.

  “It’s alright,” said Manel, “I’ve said it’s alright.”

  “But we haven’t done the dishes,” said Clara.

  “Forget them,” said Anna. “You worked hard to make our lunch, and I’m happy to clear up. Get your hat and coat. Don’t keep the young man waiting.”

  Eduard was expected to rejoin his platoon and march back to the barracks. Too new to the army to be given rifles to march, the platoon had trained to march with arms swinging, but Eduard found he was carry his trumpet on his shoulder as if it was a gun. As they marched, he felt a broad grin growing over his face. It was not for playing for Franco, nor for celebrating the hated ‘Face to the Sun’ song, but simply for playing in public, to the massed hundreds of soldiers, both regular army and the national service recruits.

  The platoon swung into the parade ground and was brought to a halt. After being given the ‘at ease’ command, the men broke their formation and crowded around Eduard. They knew it was him that had played, but they didn’t know where he was! They told him the sound of his trumpet was magnificent, filling the vast space of the cathedral, and they were not surprised when he told them he had been perched on a high balcony, up by the organ.

  They were surprised, however, to discover that Franco himself had spoken to him. As young national service recruits, they were a politically mixed bunch, and some, with Nationalist loyalties, were full of envy and admiration; others with Republican allegiances kept quiet, and resolved to speak to Eduard later.

  They were summoned to the mess hall where a Holy Week meal was waiting for them. They were rewarded with roasted pork and buckets of spicy fried potatoes, and great heaps of toasted bread well slavered with garlic and tomato. His mates, delighted at the positive attention he had brought to their platoon, ensured that Eduard was served a huge portion

  As Anna cleared up their Sunday lunch, she turned to Manel. “I worry about Eduard,” she said. “I don’t suppose the army food is much good, and their rations are probably very meagre.”

  “He’ll survive,” said Manel, “even if his life is very boring at the moment.”

  Back in their hut, the men had a complete afternoon to themselves. The blond youth, who suddenly seemed to be enjoying army life, suggested they form some kind of band. “With you leading with your trumpet, we’ll do what we can to join in,” he said.

  With youthful enthusiasm, the others agreed. One produced a mouth organ, others banged makeshift drums and one or two even tried to sing, as Eduard led them into rousing jazz choruses. None was louder, or more prolonged than their boisterous rendering of ‘When the saints go marching in’. Eduard even played one or two Sardana tunes, inwardly amused to see the Nationalist boys joining in happily without knowing what they were playing. Eduard was tempted to play the Catalan anthem ‘Els Segadors’, remembering that joyous night in Placa Catalunya when they heard of Hitler’s defeat, but he didn’t dare.

  Later, the men were given envelopes, paper and pencils and told to write a short letter home. The blond boy looked distressed again for a moment, but their corporal, seeing there was a problem, intervened and started to write his letter for him. “By the Virgin,” said another youth seated by Eduard, “he can’t write. Poor little bugger. I wonder why the corporal is so nice to him?”

  “Thank goodness he is,” replied Eduard, “or we would have had a lot of difficulties with him.”

  With her hat and coat on, Clara hurried up the steps to join Ambros on the pavement. There was almost no traffic on Balmes, and they walked enjoying the Spring sunshine. Clara smiled.

  “What’s this about?” she said.

  “What do you mean?” asked Ambros.

  “What are we doing? What’s in your mind?”

  “Nothing’s in my mind,” said Ambros, “except enjoying the blue sky and sunshine of a leisurely Sunday afternoon. After all these grim post-war years, we must start to enjoy life.”

  “We’re lucky,” said Clara. “We do better than many in this city; we have enough to eat, and we have nice clothes and a roof over our heads, but that doesn’t tell me why you’ve brought me for a walk.”

  “I like you,” said Ambros, “but there’s never time to talk at work. You’re busy all the time, and I’m beavering away in the library. Don’t misunderstand me, I love doing the work in the library – and it’s very nearly ready to open, but we never get time quietly together. I thought it would be nice to walk down the Ramblas, and see the sea.”

  “Yes,” said Clara, “It is nice. What a lovely way to spend Sunday afternoon.”

  Eduard’s routine resumed in much the same way as the previous week, with a great deal of boot cleaning, square bashing and gymnastics, and dismantling, cleaning and re-assembling rifles. Halfway through the week, the corporal included drill with the rifles in the gymnasium sessions. All the young recruits found it harder than they expected, and often dropped their guns; but since Eduard’s trumpet triumph, the corporal had mellowed, and treated them with humour.

  At the end of the week, they were taken out to the parade ground with their rifles, and began the long and challeng
ing task of learning rifle drill. Outside, and within earshot if his contemporaries, their corporal reverted to type, and barked the orders, but they knew he was doing it for effect, and did not really consider them to be as stupid as he was telling them.

  Manel and Clara had already left for the shop, when Anna got the letter. She tore it open, and with widening eyes, read the contents. Stuffing it into her bag, she hurriedly got her coat, locked the door, and ran to the shop. “Clara,” she called, “come upstairs to your father’s office. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  Eduard had written a fairly short note, but within a few sentences they learned that he was in Zaragoza, had played his trumpet in the cathedral, and had met El Caudillo.

  “All that in the first week,” said Anna.

  “And we thought he was probably bored,” said Clara.

  “I wonder what he thought when Franco spoke to him,” said Manel.

  “I know my boy,” said Anna. “He’d have smiled, saluted, and all the while thought ‘bastard, bastard, bastard’.”

  Another Sunday, and another morning church parade, but this time it was in the wooden mess hall which was turned into a makeshift catholic church. It was odd to be attending mass, and at the same time smell their meal being cooked. Eduard was told to bring his trumpet, and at the end of mass he played ‘Face to the Sun’ and the men all sang with arms outstretched in the Fascist salute. The men were sent out for recreation whilst the mess hall was rearranged for their daily meal, and soon they returned to find once more the big piles of toasted bread and the delicious smell of frying potatoes.

  At the end of the meal, just as the men were being dismissed to return to their huts, a senior officer arrived and spoke quietly to Eduard’s corporal. As Eduard was about to leave, his corporal called to him, “Private Bonet, step over here.”

  Eduard approached his corporal and the officer. “Yes sir?”

  “It seems you’re being transferred,” said the officer. “Come with me to the CO’s office.”

  Eduard started to walk behind the officer, but the corporal reminded him to march as smartly as he could, and marched with him. They arrived at the Commanding Officer’s office, and waited. After a moment, they were told to enter. The commanding officer was seated, and told Eduard and his corporal to “be at ease” and invited them to sit down.