Barcelona Sunset

by Jeremy D. Rowe

  Since the change of government in Madrid, workers in both the city and the countryside were becoming increasingly alarmed that fascism was coming to Spain. In an unusually co-ordinated move, the communists, the anarchists, and all the other workers’ unions combined to call a general strike in protest at the growing influence of the fascists. To Jordi’s surprise, the call to strike was heard throughout Spain, both in the factories and on the farms. He tried to telephone the News Chronicle’s reporter in Madrid, to confirm the strength of the strike in the capital, but without workers in the telephone exchanges, even that was impossible.

  The Madrid coalition, alarmed by the level of co-ordinated socialist action, used the civil guard to force the workers back to work. In many places, the mere presence of the armed policemen was enough to break the strike, and the focus of greatest resistance was not, as expected, Barcelona, but in Asturias. Led mainly by militant coal miners, the workers both from factories and on the land, held resolutely to the strike.

  Even though he’d had the telephone for some time, Jordi was always surprised when it rang. He was even more surprised to hear his mother’s voice. She was phoning from a noisy bar in the Boqueria Market.

  “I’m on my own at the music shop,” she shouted.

  “Where’s Pa?” asked Jordi.

  “Gone to Asturias,” shouted Mam.

  “I can hear you easily, Mam. You don’t need to shout.”

  “Your father’s gone to Asturias, to show solidarity with the miners,” said Mam. “Tomas has gone with him. I’m not sure if it’s ‘solidarity’ or an excuse to create mayhem in another part of Spain. They left early this morning, with several others, all anarchists, in an old van. They’re armed to the teeth. I don’t know how long it will take to get there, or how long they’ll be gone. Part of me wonders if they’ll ever come back. I worry about your father. He’s not so young now, and gets very carried away. I don’t say what I think, he’s too passionate to be argued with, but I still love the old fool.”

  “Are you OK on your own, Mam?”

  “Of course I’m OK. I go to work every day at the baker’s and on Sundays I just stay quiet and watch the world go by on the Ramblas. But that’s not why I’m phoning you. I want you to come and visit me, soon as you like. We can have a talk in peace, and I’ve got something for you. You know that suitcase you bought to go to London? Bring it with you. Bring it empty.”

  “Yes, Mam. I can come tomorrow evening.”

  “Good,” said his mother, and the line went dead.

  The next day, Jordi walked down the Ramblas to the music shop. Coming towards him, in his toad costume, was Bertoli.

  “They’re not there,” said Bertoli. “Gone to Asturias.”

  Jordi pulled a face at the dwarf, and the dwarf laughed.

  His mother had tea and buttered bread waiting for Jordi.

  “It’s quiet here in the evenings,” he said.

  “Not usually; it’s quiet because your father and Tomas are gone. Usually this place is as busy as Franca Station, so much coming and going. I’ll tell you one thing, these anarchists are noisy. They shout at one another, and it gets worse when they’re drunk. Sometimes they talk all night, making plans to blow something up, or kill someone. Terrorism has become their way of life.”

  “Are you safe here, Mam?” asked Jordi.

  “Yes, I am. Vilaro will protect me with his life; and I make endless cups of tea and coffee, and I bring buns and bread from the bakery. Even these murderers need sustenance to keep them going. I’m a kind of mother to them all. Tell me something, is the black cat in your pocket?”

  “Yes, Mam, it always is.”

  “Good. You know, your father still loves you in his funny way. That’s why you’re here.”

  “What do you mean, Mam?”

  “You know all those books upstairs, in Bonaventura’s room? They are all still there. Your Pa wants you to have them. He won’t read them again, he said they were a bit of a struggle the first time; and Tomas has no time for books. You take them – he’ll be pleased, even if he won’t say so.”

  News from Asturias was grim. Whilst the civil guard had got workers back to the factories and farms in most of the country, the Asturians held out. The Madrid government sent in a troupe of Spanish foreign legionnaires, commanded by a ruthless soldier called Francisco Franco. The soldiers from North Africa did not hesitate to fire at the strikers and their supporters, and around two thousand revolutionaries were killed.

  Jordi could hardly believe his ears when he received a telephone call from the News Chronicle’s reporter in Madrid, reading a statement from Major General Franco, who had announced that troops would be used against Spanish civilians, as if they were a foreign enemy.

  “We are fighting a frontier war,” Franco’s press secretary proclaimed, “and its front are socialism, communism and whatever attacks civilisation in order to replace it with barbarism.”

  Following the terrible death toll in Asturias, Spain went quiet for a while. Jordi knew that things would not stay quiet for long, but his reports to London focussed on the preparations for the international games, scheduled for the summer of 1936. As always with Spanish affairs, writing about the clash of exciting developments happening against a background of violent political unrest, proved a challenge for the young reporter in his London column.

  The great sports stadium crowning Montjuic had been completed in time for the international exhibition. When Jordi visited he was able to report that it was being enlarged for the games. He gave the readers of the News Chronicle reassuring intelligence that the city was peaceful and safe, but he hoped his column did not read too much like propaganda.

  He was encouraged by his editor. The News Chronicle, of all the London papers, was probably the most outspoken against the Nazi regime in Germany, and carried lurid warnings of what was in store for the world if the Nazis continued their present regime of violence and cruelty. Other daily papers in London expressed hopes that Hitler would be appeased, and there would be peace. The News Chronicle campaigned for nations to support the Barcelona games, and turn their backs on Berlin’s grandiose plans. Ironically, a number of nations decided to send athletes to both games, the Barcelona activities being seen as a rehearsal for the Berlin Olympiad.

  Laura would often call into Jordi’s room on her way home from work at the end of the day: after all, she had been walking past his front door for some time before she knew him. When she arrived, Steven would always find a reason to rush out, leaving Jordi and Laura alone for a while. Laura would tell Jordi about the gossip from the factory, which often centred upon the activities of various unions and who had supported whom; and Jordi would tell Laura about the latest news he was sending to London, whether it was political, or about the continued rapid growth of the city. Laura came with him to the Begemot Bar, and joined in with understanding when the discussions became political. She was as unhappy as Jordi with the idea of having a gun or rifle, but told him she would have one on the assumption that it was very unlikely that she would use it.

  Jordi took Laura back up to the Magic Fountain one chilly evening in November. She shivered slightly, which gave Jordi an excuse to pull her into his coat.

  “I love you,” he whispered into her ear.

  “Yes,” Laura replied, “I know, and I love you. I think we started to fall in love the day we met.”

  On Christmas Eve, Laura took Jordi to her home for a special meal. After the supper, when Laura had gone into the back room for something, Jordi took the chance to speak to her mother.

  “Senora Fado,” he started, hesitantly, “I have come to like your beautiful daughter very much.”

  Ma smiled. “I’ve noticed that,” she said. There was a silence. “Go on,” she continued, “if there is more you’d like to say.”

  With one hand in his pocket, touching the black cat, he said, “Without her father to ask, I would like to ask you for … for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

 
Laura burst into the room. “I heard that!” she exclaimed, and she turned expectantly to her mother.

  “A professional young man, who has been in an aeroplane, and been to London; a reporter for a London newspaper; I think he is just right for you Laura. But there is one question he must answer.” Turning to Jordi, she asked sternly, “Tell me your politics. Are you a good working class boy, or have you grown above your station?”

  “I will never forget how my life started, Senora Fado,” replied Jordi. “I was born in the Raval slum, and lived many years in the shanty town on Montjuic. I’m proud of my working-class origins, and I am a member of the communist party. I’m hoping that Laura will join me there and join the communists, like me.”

  There was a pause, as Senora Fado looked at him; then a smile spread over her face. “Well spoken, young man. If it is Laura’s wish to marry you, then I am pleased to give you my blessing.”

  Laura rushed into Jordi’s arms, as her mother continued: “My husband died when Laura was very young. He lived and died for working people, and you could not have given a better answer.”

  On Twelfth Night, Jordi took Laura to watch the procession of the kings, and afterwards to supper at Carla and Benet’s apartment. Jordi was pleased to find Dolors and Jaume at Carla’s, and he introduced Laura to them. He was aware of much smiling and nudging going on between Carla and Dolors. His sisters had spread a cloth over the big sewing table and borrowed several chairs from neighbours. Laura helped bring plates of food from the tiny kitchen, and just as there seemed to be no more space in the room, there was a commotion on the stairs as Mam arrived with a big box. After much kissing and embracing, which threatened to overwhelm Laura, Mam opened the box to reveal a huge decorated ring of sweet bread, a traditional king’s crown, special for the occasion.

  They all sat, squeezed around the table, with Carla’s children given space on the floor, and were about to start the meal, when Benet stood up. “This is a very s-s-special t-t-time,” he stuttered. “There are m-m-more of the family gathered here in our home, than ever before. What a w-w-wonderful spread you have achieved. I want to thank my lovely w-w-wife Carla, and her sister for such a m-m-magnificent table.” There was general nodding and banging of spoons on the table. “And one m-m-more thing, the m-m-most important,” continued Benet. “We’re so pleased to w-w-welcome Laura into our family.”

  Jordi blushed and smiled. “Thank you, every one of you,” he said. “I’m so happy for you to meet…” He paused, gulped, and turning to Laura, said, “…the future Senora Vilaro!”

  Jordi’s Mam promptly burst into tears, and rushed around the crowded room to embrace her future daughter-in-law.

  “Now, everyone,” called Benet, “l-l-let’s eat!”

  After the meal, Mam took Jordi outside on his own, for a moment. “I’ve some news,” she told him quietly. “Your father’s back, and Tomas. They got in last night. They’re very shaken by what they’ve seen. Only the two of them and one other came back in the van – all the rest were killed. I’m pleased to see him, but he’s even more bitter. This General Franco, and the way he talks, is making many men angry. Your Pa says there will be many more joining the anarchists now, they’ll not stand by and let the fascists take over.”

  Jordi hugged his Mam. “I’ve been worried for you,” he told her, “I’m glad he’s safe. Tell him I said thank you for the books.”

  “Hey, you t-t-two,” came a call from Benet, “We’re m-m-missing you. Come back into the warm. This is a p-p-party!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  In July 1936, Barcelona was ready for the opening of its much anticipated International Games, the ‘Peoples’ Olympiad’. Jordi had had his busiest year so far, not only getting married, but also covering extraordinary political changes in Barcelona.

  As neither of them attended church, Laura and Jordi had been married at the ajuntament, followed by another riotous party in Benet’s apartment. Jordi wore the suit he’d bought for his trip to London, and Laura had a new dress from Sant Antoni’s market. Before the ceremony Jordi checked carefully to ensure the black cat was in his pocket.

  Laura decided not to tell Hispano that she was married, so that she could continue with her job. Before the wedding, they agreed that they would live in Jordi’s apartment building. Jordi enquired about the tiny room next door, which had been unoccupied ever since he moved into the building, and with only a small extra rent, he secured it. Laura’s and Jordi’s mothers enjoyed painting the new room, and with help from his sisters, Jordi created a comfortable little private bedroom for them. Laura would often meet Steven on the stairs as she was leaving for work in the morning, and sometimes he’d meet her again as he left at the end of the day.

  The elections in February had seen a resounding victory for the socialists, and there was much rejoicing at the release of Lluis Companys and all the other socialists imprisoned on the stinking Uruguay. Companys took an ironic pleasure in locking up his captors in the very same cells on the boat, that they had used to imprison him.

  Anarchists stormed La Model and other prisons, in an action similar to the French revolutionaries storming the Bastille, and the political prisoners flooded out. Pushing through the main doors, and leaving them wide open, Tomas’s voice echoed through the prison. “Comrades, all out!” Most of them had been radicalised in the prisons, and emerged as fully-fledged anarchists. All of Barcelona turned out to watch a bizarre procession of dishevelled souls, mostly political prisoners, but plenty of common criminals with them, marching out of imprisonment into the spring sunshine.

  With Lluis Companys back in his office as President of the Independent State of Catalonia, the communists enjoyed unprecedented freedoms, and almost every business in the city was taken over by its workers. Much the same was happening in the countryside, with farm workers taking over the farms. One of the greatest, and most celebrated, achievements of the communists was to take over the famous kitchens of the Ritz Hotel, and open the glamorous restaurant for everyone, offering meals as cheaply as possible.

  Jordi wrote an ecstatic piece for the newspaper, celebrating the release of Lluis Companys, and countless other political prisoners, and he described the parades of ex-prisoners in the city. He did not dwell on the irony of so many men who had been communists when they went into the prison, coming out as anarchists, and the dangerous implication of so many radicalised men.

  Following a very noisy meal at the Ritz Hotel, he wrote with great enthusiasm about the way communist workers were creating great experiences for others; and he compared the Ritz Restaurant, crammed with boisterous workers, with his surreal experience at Simpsons in London.

  Tensions and divisions between fascists and socialists remained; and enmity between communists and anarchists was brewing. The climate of violence spread throughout the land: there was a peasants’ revolt in Estremadura, and in Navarre where a Republican local government had been elected, the Carlist fascists tried to use violence to overthrow that government. In Madrid, a republican parade spread rumours that nuns were giving poisoned sweets to children, sparking further arson of religious buildings. With such mayhem in most of Spain, various groups of military officers become increasingly alarmed, and muttered between themselves. For a short time, Barcelona became a haven of geniality, with most workers enjoying some peace of mind for the first time, and the population started to look forward with some gaiety to the international games.

  In order to avoid sarcastic comments in the street, many of the residents of the Eixample took to dressing like workers, in the familiar blue serge which had almost become a uniform for the communists. Ferrer and Alvar arrived at Jordi’s room one day to report that the workers had taken over the mill, and had decided that the pair were ‘management’ and thus had been told to leave. Happily, they both found manual work on the building site for the games; Alvar using his tunnel-digging muscles again, and Ferrer as a trainee electrician, ‘tall enough to screw in the light bulbs’!

  The Generalit
at was dominated by the Workers Party of Marxist Unification, which was formed by many of the old workers’ unions, and most of the communists in the city. Jordi’s Begemot group was prominent in bringing many of the other unions together, and the new enlarged party set about supporting workers’ co-operatives, and had great fun painting all the trams red and black, the colour of their flag.

  The anarchists in the city were less happy. Pa Vilaro saw the development of a hierarchy in the communist party which was the opposite of what he believed in, and he was particularly angry that his red and black flag had been hijacked by the communists. He remembered the first time he’d displayed the flag, back on the hut on Montjuic; he had kept a red-black flag flying at the music shop; and now the communists were painting the trams. He remembered all the reading he had done with Bonaventura’s help, those books he’d given to Jordi, and how real Stalinists, in his understanding, were anarchists. There was much muttering between him and Tomas and many other anarchist friends. What could they do with the whole city in such a good mood? He’d wait for the games to be finished, and then these upstart communists would have it coming to them.

  Ferrer and Alvar brought news of how the arrangements for the games were progressing on Montjuic, and Jordi kept a close watch on information coming from the Generalitat. Josep Sunyol was also particularly excited about the forthcoming sports events, and a huge blackboard was installed on La Ramblas to give workers football results from Les Cortes matches they couldn’t attend.

  With such an atmosphere of carnival in the city, and a growing awareness of the rapid growth of the National Socialists in Germany, even the newly-reformed government in Madrid supported Barcelona’s plans. As the spring turned to summer, it became apparent that many thousands of athletes would be coming. The Generalitat received applications from the United States and the United Kingdom, closely followed by requests from the Netherlands, Belgium, Czechoslovakia, Denmark, Norway and Sweden. Groups of independent athletes, wishing to distance themselves from their own governments in Germany and Italy, applied to take part.