The Phoenix of Montjuic

by Jeremy D. Rowe

  “Staff Sergeant Bonet holds some kind of strange record, as no soldier has ever, to my knowledge, achieved such promotion so quickly.”

  There was further cheering.

  “However, not only Staff Sergeant Bonet, but all of you, is in for a very hard time in the next few weeks. This morning we started to learn a far more complex marching sequence, and this afternoon some new music. Soon we will be putting them together in the most complicated formation ever attempted by this regiment. We shall be performing this routine shortly in front of the Generalissimo as part of the celebrations of ten years since his glorious victory, ten years of his leadership.”

  Once more there was cheering, and some of the soldiers leapt to their feet to give the Fascist salute. “Bastard, bastard, bastard,” said Eduard to himself.

  “Later in the year, we will be travelling to North Africa, to perform our new formation in front of some of the Generalissimo’s crack North African Regiments. To do this is an honour,” the sergeant major’s serious face broke into a smile, “and I believe the trip will be a great experience for us all. Further announcements will be posted as usual.”

  There was a pause as the commanding officer looked round the room. “Gentlemen, tonight you may remain at ease, remain seated, thank you,” and with that he left the room.

  There was a great buzz of conversation. “North Africa, Eddie!” said Digger. “The land of wine and women!”

  “And some seriously fierce regular soldiers, armed to the teeth,” said Eduard. “I remember them at the victory parade in Barcelona. They took no prisoners during the war, and won’t be easily pleased when we arrive to entertain them.”

  “I saw the victory parades in Madrid,” said Digger. “We were very impressed by the Moroccan troops. They were called the ‘Spanish Foreign Legion’, and they were very important to Franco; he knew them well, and he could rely on their loyalty and ruthlessness. I always wanted to be a drummer boy, but I didn’t want to join the foreign legion.”

  “There were a lot of papers to sign this morning,” said Eduard. “Is that it? Or is there more ceremony to come?”

  “Oh the best bit is tomorrow,” smiled Digger. “We all go on parade in dress uniform, and watch you kiss the flag. It’s a very solemn moment, although some of us struggle not to giggle. As usual, wear fatigues to breakfast, but then the order to parade will be posted. We’ll have to be changed quickly, and out on parade in full dress.”

  Eduard’s loyalty to the republican cause was sorely tested by the induction into the regiment. He marched smartly up to the sergeant major, grasped the corner of the Spanish flag, and repeated the oath of allegiance, all the time remembering his father’s mantra of “Bastard, bastard, bastard.” Digger’s family had come to watch the ceremony. Eduard was thankful that his family had not come. He knew he was reliant on his role in the regiment being entirely focussed on the band and its activities, and he remained nervous of how he’d react if any kind of conflict arose and he was expected to shoulder arms.

  That evening he wrote a long letter to Manel and Anna, describing the ceremony in detail. He emphasised his excitement when the band played for him, and how he returned to his colleagues and joined in with the trumpet part; and he simply said, “I thought of you, father, when I kissed the flag,” and hoped his father would understand the coded message.

  Clara was amazed that so many items of men’s clothing had been stolen by Perrella without her noticing. He’d obviously not expected to be able to sell women’s things, but had focussed on the soft-collared men’s shirts which were becoming increasingly popular. He’d taken from the bigger batches of wholesale deliveries, and Clara realised ruefully that she’d simply opened the packages, and placed the shirts on display without counting them. She’d made it easy for Perrella, and she thought that he must have been smiling when he had discovered how gullible she was.

  Manel had a similar remorseful feeling about the missing groceries. Perrella had taken cans and packets – almost anything that would keep to be sold at a later time. Manel remembered that he’d trusted the man to go to the city offices to receive the allowance of rationed goods, and how all down the chain of delivery there had been men from senior officials to petty clerks, with their grubby fingers in the bags of rice.

  The Mossos resisted giving the Bonet family a difficult time over the failings in their system: they could see Manel, Anna and Clara were contrite and regretful of their attitude. It was Carlos who reassured them, when he heard the full extent of Perrella’s haul, that they were victims of being such good, trusting people. They’d given a good responsible job to a man who was neither good nor responsible; for that they could only be seen as charitable and unsophisticated in their approach to business.

  It took two journeys with a van to empty Perrella’s shed, and after the second van-full had been unloaded, Manel called his extended family together. First he thanked Carlos and Ambros for capturing Perrella, and then he tackled the way in which the business could move forward. “We’ve been living in a make-believe world,” he said. “For most people life is hard, and has been difficult ever since the war. We’ve been lucky. We’ve never been short of food, and we have a comfortable life. Anna has reminded me that we have created work for a lot of employees who might otherwise have not had a job. Now is the time to confront the realities of the business world. First we must appoint a new grocery manager, and we’ll do proper interviews, and seek references. Once we are sure a good man is in place, we must review all parts of the business. I realise I have no idea how much stock we carry: I don’t even know how many motor scooters you’ve restored or sold Carlos! Clara and Anna will be giving more time to stock control in the clothing departments, and will have Senora Pinto to help them.”

  “One of the guiding principles of the business has been to run the store as if we are a large family. We’ve discovered we harboured a black sheep, but now he’s gone, we must all work to keep the good atmosphere in the store, and at the same time, keep a far better control of all that’s going on.”

  It was as if a kind of honeymoon was over. For ten years, the Bonet store had grown from a tiny grocery shop into a sizeable department store. The growth had been rapid and exciting, but had happened without much control.

  “It won’t be so much fun now, will it?” said Clara. “We must be more serious in the way we work.”

  “I think all businesses must go through this process,” said Manel. “Great fun at first, but harder when reality kicks in. It’s a kind of maturity, and the cost of success.”

  Eduard was also confronting the reality of his regular soldier’s life. His honeymoon with the army was over, and the daily grind of gymnastics and maintaining his uniform, alongside band practice and marching, was a tiring and demanding regime. Mostly he enjoyed the life he’d chosen, but there were times when he spat angrily upon his boots as once more he struggled to maintain a mirror polish after a long afternoon of square-bashing.

  The summer in Madrid was long and hot, and the bandsmen were used to coping with drill under the blazing sun. Once, after dinner, when cigarettes had been lit, Eduard complained to Digger, “It’s tough marching all afternoon on these hot days. Don’t we ever get some time off when it’s this hot?”

  Digger sighed. “I gather it’s far hotter in Morocco. I think we’re being hardened up to cope with boiling weather, ready for the great African adventure.”

  The complex new routine with its many twists and turns, was gradually taking shape, and fewer bandsmen were crashing out in the wrong direction during the drill. The music had become second nature, and although they carried the score in the little holders attached to their instruments, the bandsmen could have played them blindfold. Digger and his fellow drummers had perfected an exceptionally complex sequence of rising and falling drumsticks, complete with spins and twists, and they knew they would make a good impression when finally the drill was given a public performance.

  The first outing was back to Franc
o’s residence, the royal palace of El Pardo. The soldiers were taken by bus to the wide parade ground in front of the palace, and lined up in their traditional formation. They stood stiffly to attention for their first tune, ‘El Turuta’ with the Generalissimo watching from his balcony. Eduard was inwardly grinning in the knowledge that the rigid formation was about to break into the complex routine they’d practised so much, and with the first few bars of ‘Los Voluntarios’ the sequence began. The bandsmen marched and turned through the complicated drill, with only their sergeant major able to look up to the palace balcony and see El Caudillo wreathed in smiles. For the dictator, this magnificent display was a celebration of all that the Fascists stood for: discipline, order and control.

  They reached the end of the routine directly below the balcony, and on the final note, gave the Fascist salute. Franco delightedly returned the salute, and then unexpectedly turned to a microphone which had been set up for him. His high-pitched voice echoed across the parade ground.

  “A magnificent display. Congratulations to your sergeant major, and to all bandsmen. You are proud representatives of our great Fascist regime. You will take your prowess to all corners of our glorious country, and then further afield to Africa. Our Lord has chosen you to represent Him and our glorious government. God bless you all.”

  On the bus back to the barracks, Eduard reflected on Franco’s speech. Did El Caudillo really think God was on his side? He remembered his dislike of Father Matias back in Barcelona. The gruff priest had the same certainty of righteousness that seemed to be characteristic of the Fascists, justifying their ill-conceived and cruel treatment of their enemies. Perhaps one day they’d be proved wrong, although Eduard could not imagine how this would happen.

  In the store’s library, Ambros was more busy than he expected to be. Many local residents had registered to borrow books, and every day he would stamp books for their return dates, and receive returned books which had to be put back onto the shelves. He knew the small income from the fees charged for borrowing books was minimal, but along with the family, he gained much pleasure from offering a service to the community. Many of his customers would ask his opinion, and one regular question concerned how ‘hard’ a book would be to read. “I’ve seen this book about Antonio Gaudi,” said one man, “and I’d like to know more about him, but I don’t know if I’ll understand it.”

  Ambros had a crude but effective way of assessing the books: by simply checking the size of the print, he would give advice that some books, especially many in the non-fiction section with tiny print, would be too challenging. Some of his customers couldn’t read at all, and he started weekly reading lessons, and at last was able to give Senora Pinto the help she yearned for. Ambros was a little embarrassed to give children’s books to the older learners, but he was rewarded by the pleasure they got just from conquering a simple story.

  Elsewhere, the department store continued to grow and flourish. Manel found a new grocery manager and together they greatly increased the food hall: soon they were employing a fishmonger and a butcher, and their reputation for fresh fish and well-hung meat grew rapidly. Manel stood with Salvador Ribera, his new grocery manager, looking at the extended food hall.

  “It’s very middle class,” said Salvador.

  “I know,” said Manel. “I worry that the store is building up a good customer following, but we are becoming an expensive place, with little available for ordinary working people.”

  “In my last shop, in Badalona, we had many impoverished families, none of whom would come into this glamorous food hall,” said Salvador.

  “That’s how I started out,” said Manel, “but the influence of the black market, in food more than anything else, has driven up prices.”

  “My old customers lived largely on lentils,” said Salvador.

  “We all did once upon a time,” said Manel. “We had some very difficult times after the war, and we know it’s still difficult for many people. It’s strange that we still have rationing with such a plentiful supply of luxury goods.”

  “That’s how Franco has always intended life to be for ordinary people in Spain,” said Salvador.

  “Rich people have always had plenty to eat,” said Manel. “It’s only the poor who suffer.”

  “There are many rumours that Franco dines royally every day in his palace in Madrid,” said Salvador. “He’s lived a life of luxury for nearly ten years.”

  Manel smiled ruefully and leaned close to his new colleague. “Bastard, bastard, bastard!” he whispered.

  Salvador laughed loudly. “I knew I would like working here,” he said. “Not many would dare say that about our cursed dictator. There are many people, especially here in Barcelona who agree with what you said just then.”

  “Here’s a thought,” said Manel. “Do we still have a plentiful supply of cheap lentils?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we offer them at rock-bottom price. We’ll go back to the old rationing system I had at the end of the war, and limit the amount anyone can have. We don’t want restaurants buying up bulk supplies, but we’ll let anyone have a modest bagful for almost nothing. It seems to help my conscience as I make money from all these rich ladies, shopping with their ladies’ maids; they can subsidise cheap lentils for the poor – probably the very same maids who help them carry their luxuries home.”

  “That’s a good thought. I’ll be pleased to make sure it works,” said Salvador. “I wonder how long we need to keep rationing? It’s been nearly ten years since the end of the war.”

  “You remember that strange word ‘autarky’?” said Manel.

  “Yes,” said Salvador. “Another of Franco’s schemes, supposedly to make Spain self-sufficient, but probably just to keep the working classes down.”

  “I agree,” said Manel, “but I hear that the whole idea is falling apart. Franco is starting to think of importing food, and I guess that could mean the ending of rationing.”

  “When the day comes that there is enough food for all, that will be a day to celebrate. Meanwhile, there’s still not enough food, or jobs. I have a daughter at home, she’s just fourteen, and can’t find anything to do. There’s no position for her in the store I suppose?”

  “No,” said Manel, “but I’ve been thinking for some time that my wife Anna should have a maid. We still live in the little tenement we’ve always lived in, but with Eduard in the army, we have a tiny spare room, not much more than a cupboard, where she could sleep, and Anna would be pleased to have some help at home.”

  “Your wife seems to be full-time working in the store,” said Salvador. “Does she not have help at home?”

  “My daughter Clara works hard, but the time will come when she leaves. I’ll speak to Anna, and we’ll arrange for her to meet your daughter. What’s her name?”

  “Catarina,” said Salvador.

  “A good name,” said Manel. “A girl who likes to have beauty and order around her. She could be a good friend to Clara and to my wife. I’ll speak to Anna this evening.”

  At first Anna was unsure of the idea. “I was an ordinary working girl myself once,” she said. “I never dreamed of having someone working for me, and I’m very uncomfortable about the idea of a servant. I’ve seen some of the rich women who come into the shop with their maids. They do not treat them very well.”

  “But you won’t treat Catarina like that, I know,” said Manel. “We’ll be helping her by giving her a job, and we’ll treat her properly, with one day a week to go home to see her mother, and a proper wage so she can save a little.”

  “Put like that, it’s not so bad; and I suppose I’ll be glad of the help,” said Anna. “We must make Eduard’s old room a little more comfortable. Clara will help with that, and treat her more as a sister than a maid.”

  “Then it’s settled. Catarina comes to work for us, and the food hall starts to have rock-bottom prices for some essentials. Salvador Ribera has brought some good new ideas to our business, and with the problems
of Senor Perrella left behind, we can move on,” said Manel.

  “Always remembering where we came from,” said Anna. “We must never be too grand to help a few of our impoverished friends.”

  “One day,” said Manel, “we’ll see the end of poverty in Barcelona.”

  Eduard had similar thoughts each evening when clad in his full dress uniform, he sat down to dine in the officers’ mess. “We eat so well each day,” he said to Digger, “and have excellent wine. There are many at home who go to bed hungry every day, still relying on rationing, and living on very basic food: lots of bread and rice, and not much else.”

  “That’s what comes of being in El Caudillo’s elite forces,” said Digger. “I don’t suppose it was like this in your National Service days.”

  “Of course not,” said Eduard. “I never dreamed of such meals, and certainly did not expect such daily luxury. I suppose El Caudillo dines like us every day, as well.”

  “In that palace, with cooks and staff, I’m sure it’s better than this,” said Digger. “That’s his reward for leading our nation.”

  “Bastard, bastard, bastard,” said Eduard under his breath.

  Eventually the day came when the orders for the transfer to North Africa were posted. The bandsmen were to travel by bus to Almeria, then by ferry to North Africa. Dress uniforms were packed carefully and the instruments put into packing cases. The journey to the coast would be in a convoy of buses and trucks, with the sergeant major and senior officers in cars. A skeleton crew of privates were to be left to guard the Madrid barracks.

  On the morning of departure, the soldiers had little to do but board the buses. Orderlies had loaded the trunks of uniforms and boxes of instruments overnight, and the convoy moved off without ceremony. Eduard was excited, but did not show his excitement, as most of the bandsmen had done this kind of trip before, and most feigned boredom, and disinterest in the journey. In the middle of the day, rations were handed out on the buses – mostly large chunks of bread with sausage and chorizo inside, and after that many of the soldiers fell into fitful sleep. Eduard watched the scenery go by, but with the warmth of the bus and the dreary scenery, even he slept a little.