All four of my grandparents were in Catalonia during the 1936-1939 Spanish Civil War. Coming from families from both sides, each had a different journey through it. Bits of "family lore" about the wartime have trickled down to me through the years, but I decided it's worth trying to put together and contrast their stories.

Eventually, I'd like to expand this to my four grandparents, but for now, I'll focus on one of my grandfather's story, which I'll call J.M.

J.M.

Born in December 1920 and raised in Barcelona, J.M. was 15 when the military coup d'état that started the war happened (July 18th, 1936). Barcelona was one of the 'strongholds' of the republican side, but he actually came from a family that supported the military takeover led by the soon-to-be fascist dictator, Franco.

The younger of two brothers, he wasn't the 'family heir', and he was treated as such. When the mandatory draft happened, his dad hid himself and the older son above a fake ceiling, but J.M. was not spared.

And thus, in 1938, at 17, he became a member of what was known as the "Baby bottle levy", a levy of boys aged 14-18 drafted to fight for the republican side when things got dire.

His first and last major operation was the Battle of the Ebro, not far from home for J.M., about 100 miles south of Barcelona. It was one of the final major counterattacks by the republican side. It was also one of the bloodiest.

For historical context, this battle started just months before Germany, the UK, France, and Italy signed the Munich agreement, which pretty much sealed the Spanish Republic's fate. At the time, the Republican side was losing ground rapidly, but tension in Europe was getting to a boiling point, and the republican side was hoping that a Europe-wide conflict would erupt and Spain would get sucked into it, at which point they would have support from other european powers (especially their neighbor, France). So, their hope was simply to hold out long enough. It was a wager that turned out to be correct, but it came too late. France and the UK's attempt to appease Nazi Germany with the Munich agreement crushed that hope, and the spanish war was officially over a few months before WW2 began.

In any case, my grandfather made it to the battle of the Ebro, and the army discovered in him a valuable skill that spared him the frontline. At the time, the republican side had just received a large batch of Czechoslovakian rifles, but--largely due to the language barrier--they had trouble operating them. J.M. had a talent for technical drawing, and made drawings showing the steps to assemble and disassemble the rifles.

For the next part of the story, there are two pretty different accounts. What we know for sure is that the republican side was under heavy bombing, and J.M.'s unit was hiding in a bunker, and the bunker was hit directly and critically, killing everyone, or almost everyone, inside.

In one account, J.M. and a friend of his were the only ones outside the bunker, because it was claustrophobically crowded. Each of them was sitting under a different tree. When the bunker got bombed, his friend died too, either by the same or a different bomb, making him the only survivor. In the other account, he was also inside the bunker, but behind a corner that shielded him from the blast.

The next thing we know about J.M. is that he deserted during the battle of the Ebro, and he started making his way toward the French border, about 200 miles north. Initially, his only clothes were his military uniform, an obvious giveaway of a deserter, which makes it extremely dangerous to be wandering around alone. As the story goes, he got hold of a herd of sheep, and walked north with it. He used the herd as a cover: he said he was walking alone because he was in charge of bringing the sheep to feed the big mass of refugees also headed north.

Eventually, farmers along the way helped feed him and gave him new clothes. J.M. said he was stopped by soldiers, possibly multiple times, and from both sides. When asked "what side do you belong to?" he answered something along the lines of, "I don't belong to any side, shoot me if you want" and continued on his way.

Eventually, he made it to the Argelers refugee camp in southern France. A camp which, like the other French camps for spanish refugees, would later be relabeled as concentration camps due to the dire conditions. He was there around the 1938-1939 winter. The cold and famine was bad enough that when the war ended (April 1st, 1939), J.M. escaped under cover of night and headed back to Spain.

Apparently, he didn't receive any punishment for fighting for the republican side. He "simply" had to do military service from the summer of 1939 to the summer of 1942, this time for the nationalist side--the opposite side from the one he had fought for.

In his words, he had "wasted seven years on the whole ordeal." He never claimed to support either side and remained deeply skeptical of political and religious movements of any kind.

When he was finally able to move beyond those years, he pursued his passion for art. He worked in graphic design and used that money to study fine arts in college, where he met my grandmother, with whom he shared a love for painting.

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Catalan translation by GPT

Tots quatre avis meus eren a Catalunya durant la Guerra Civil Espanyola del 1936-1939. Provenint de famílies de tots dos bàndols, cadascun va viure un recorregut diferent. Fragments del “llegat familiar” sobre aquells anys de guerra m’han anat arribant amb els anys, però vaig decidir que valia la pena intentar reunir i contrastar les seves històries.

Amb el temps, m’agradaria ampliar-ho als quatre avis, però per ara em centraré en la història d’un dels meus avis, a qui anomenaré J.M.

J.M. (traducció GPT)

Nascut el desembre del 1920 i criat a Barcelona, J.M. tenia 15 anys quan va tenir lloc el cop d’estat militar que va iniciar la guerra (18 de juliol de 1936). Barcelona era un dels “bastions” del bàndol republicà, però ell provenia d’una família que donava suport a la insurrecció militar liderada pel futur dictador feixista, Franco.

El més jove de dos germans, no era “l’hereu de la família”, i era tractat com a tal. Quan va arribar el moment de la lleva obligatòria, el seu pare es va amagar, juntament amb el fill gran, darrere d’un fals sostre, però en J.M. no va ser perdonat.

Així, el 1938, amb 17 anys, va passar a formar part del que es coneixia com la “Lleva del Biberó”, una lleva de nois de 14 a 18 anys reclutats per combatre pel bàndol republicà quan la situació es tornava desesperada.

La seva primera i última gran operació va ser la Batalla de l’Ebre, no gaire lluny de casa seva, a uns 150 kilòmetres al sud de Barcelona. Va ser un dels últims grans contraatacs del bàndol republicà. També va ser una de les batalles més sagnants.

Per context històric, aquesta batalla va començar pocs mesos abans que Alemanya, el Regne Unit, França i Itàlia signessin l’Acord de Munic, que pràcticament va segellar el destí de la República Espanyola. En aquell moment, el bàndol republicà perdia terreny ràpidament, però la tensió a Europa estava arribant al punt d’ebullició, i els republicans esperaven que esclatés un conflicte europeu generalitzat i que Espanya n’acabés formant part, de manera que rebrien suport d’altres potències europees (especialment França, el seu veí). Així doncs, la seva esperança era simplement aguantar prou temps. Era una aposta que, tot i ser encertada, va resultar venir massa tard. L’esforç de França i el Regne Unit d’apaivagar l’Alemanya nazi amb l’Acord de Munic va aixafar aquella esperança, i la guerra espanyola es va donar oficialment per acabada uns mesos abans de l’inici de la Segona Guerra Mundial.

En qualsevol cas, el meu avi va arribar a la batalla de l’Ebre, i l’exèrcit va descobrir en ell una habilitat valuosa que el va salvar del front. En aquell moment, el bàndol republicà acabava de rebre un gran lot de fusells txecoslovacs però, en gran part per la barrera lingüística, tenien dificultats per fer-los servir. En J.M. tenia talent per al dibuix tècnic i va fer dibuixos on es mostraven els passos per muntar i desmuntar els fusells.

A partir d’aquí, hi ha dos relats força diferents. El que sabem amb certesa és que el bàndol republicà patia bombardejos intensos, i la unitat d’en J.M. s’amagava en un búnquer que va rebre un impacte directe i crític, matant tothom —o gairebé tothom— que hi havia dins.

En una versió, en J.M. i un amic seu eren els únics que eren fora del búnquer, perquè a dins ja no hi cabia ningú més. Cadascun estava assegut sota un arbre diferent. Quan el búnquer va ser bombardejat, el seu amic també va morir, sigui pel mateix bombardeig o per un altre, deixant-lo com a únic supervivent. En l’altra versió, ell també era dins del búnquer, però darrere d’una cantonada que el va protegir de l’explosió.

El següent que sabem d’en J.M. és que va desertar durant la batalla de l’Ebre i va començar a dirigir-se cap a la frontera francesa, uns 300 kilòmetres al nord. Inicialment, l’única roba que tenia era l’uniforme militar, una evidència clara d’un desertor, cosa que feia extremadament perillós caminar sol. Segons la història, va aconseguir un ramat d’ovelles i va caminar cap al nord amb ell. Va utilitzar el ramat com a coartada: deia que caminava sol perquè era l’encarregat de portar les ovelles per alimentar la gran massa de refugiats que també pujaven cap al nord.

Amb el temps, pagesos al llarg del camí l’ajudaven amb menjar i li donaven roba nova. En J.M. va dir que va ser aturat per soldats, possiblement diverses vegades, i de tots dos bàndols. Quan li preguntaven “de quin bàndol ets?”, ell responia alguna cosa com “no sóc de cap bàndol, dispareu si voleu” i continuava el seu camí.

Finalment, va arribar al camp de refugiats d’Argelers al sud de França. Un camp que, com altres camps francesos per a refugiats espanyols, més tard seria reclassificat com a camp de concentració per les condicions deplorables. Hi va ser durant l’hivern del 1938-1939. El fred i la fam van ser tan greus que quan la guerra va acabar (1 d’abril de 1939), en J.M. va fugir sota la cobertura de la nit i va tornar cap a Espanya.

Pel que sembla, no va rebre cap càstig per haver lluitat pel bàndol republicà. “Simplement” va haver de fer el servei militar des de l’estiu del 1939 fins a l’estiu del 1942, aquesta vegada pel bàndol nacional —el bàndol oposat al qual havia combatut.

En paraules seves, havia “perdut set anys en tot aquell enrenou”. Mai no va afirmar donar suport a cap dels dos bàndols i va mantenir sempre un escepticisme profund envers qualsevol moviment polític o religiós.

Quan finalment va poder deixar enrere aquells anys, es va dedicar a la seva passió per l’art. Va treballar en disseny gràfic i, amb aquests diners, va estudiar belles arts a la universitat, on va conèixer la meva àvia, amb qui compartia l’amor per la pintura.