Fromthespanishtrenches by l netopil

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ZE ŠPANĚLSKŶCH ZAKOPŮ LUDVIK NETOPIL

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Louis Netopil From the Spanish Trenches, 1969 © 2015 Petr Netopil English Translation by Petr Netopil & David McLean © Web Edition E=mc² Publishers, Amsterdam / Haarlem 2015 Email: Czechoslovakia.Netherlands@gmail.com Front page illustration: based upon the cover of the original book in Czech, design by Pavla Novosadova ISBN No: 978-1-326-17739-3

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Map from the George Orwell Archives

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Czechoslovak Historical Map: Locations of the combats of Czechoslovaks in theSpanish Civil War

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These three historical maps show the change and loss of the Republic.

From 1936 to 1939.

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Index page Historical Maps

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Introduction by Eckart Dissen

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Foreword by Stanislav Bártek

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FROM THE SPANISH TRENCHES, Ludvik Netopil 1.

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Annex Annex Annex Annex Annex Annex

Before the decision Prague - Paris – Figueras The path to the front The first fight on the front Madrid Ahead !

"Gottwald" Anti-aircraft Battery

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Photo section

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"Jožka Majek" Anti-aircraft Battery The destruction of the Battery ‘La última retirada’ / Last retreat The bitterness of sweet France Life behind barbed wire Agde calling. . .

Conclusion

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The letter by Josef Hruza, Czechoslovakia In memory, by dr. Joseph Day Illustrated Covers to Ludvik Netopil Story by Ludvik Netopil for Journal Pictures from the family Album Links Books, Films, Music Postal History

Acknowledgements and Epilogue

87 93 95 104 108 117 123 131 137

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Title page of the original book in Czech, signed by Ludvik Netopil, 1969

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Introduction to the Web edition of ZE ŠPANĚLSKŶCH ZAKOPŮ, by LUDVIK NETOPIL

“From the Spanish Trenches” This short book which Ludvik Netopil wrote is a direct report of his experiences in the Spanish Civil war, as a member of the Czechoslovak Batallion, part of the International Brigade, that fought agains the fascist army of General Franco.

What makes this publication so special is the fact, that hardly any publications were ever made on the Czechoslovak participation in the International Brigades of those times and any information is very hard to find.

In September 1938 the occupation of the Sudetenland by NaziGermany took place, followed on March 15, 1939 by the occupation of the whole country and the outbreak of World War II. After its liberation in 1945, Czechoslovakia elected a democratic Government, led by president dr. Edvard Beneš, which was replaced in 1948 when the Communist Party took over power.

The result of that was that, from then on, not only did history change, but also the treatment of former Czechoslovak soldiers, especially from the Spanish Civil War, or from the Czechoslovak Army in France and later Great Britain. "These brave men and women were considerd to have served in a foreign army and were often treated as ‘enemies’ of the Communist State. Many were never allowed to vote in elections, and most of them were not allowed to study or work in state controlled organisations. Ludvik Netopil was one of them, and an eye witness of this era.

In 1969 we visited the Netopil family to establish contact between them and their daughter, who fled in 1968 in the Prague Spring and who was my employee and colleague. At that occasion I received this publication personally from Ludvik Netopil in Prague and this web edition is a tribute to this remarkable man.

Eckart Dissen, Summer 2014/Spring 2015 Questions, suggestions and comments welcome at: Czechoslovakia.Netherlands@gmail.com

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Painting of the author

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Foreword Ludvik „Luis“ Netopil From the Spanish trenches Ludvik "Luis" Netopil was born in 1908 in Holešov (Austria-Hungary, later Czechoslovakia, now the Czech Republic) where he spent his younger years as a working class boy in a small town struggling with life with the energy which he had been given by nature and hard life experience; a man who was independent.

Life experience and friends shaped his political beliefs, which he never gave up, since it was brought to him by life itself. After returning from military service, the fate of an unemployed young man awaited him, and this was further aggravated by being a communist, to whom work was rarely offered. Therefore he left to where his principles and heart directed him; to Spain, to help where it was most needed.

After the defeat of Republican Spain he saw the threat of World War and wanted to be on the side of active fighters.

Hence he travelled to England to join the 1st Czechoslovak Independent Armoured Brigade and so his journey to Spain eventually became a nine-year odyssey of a soldier on the world stage, far from his home.

The advantages and literary interest in these memories is that the author, not a "true man of the pen", engagingly recounts his experiences. These are the experiences of a man who was there on the front line with rifle in hand and literally face to face with the enemy. Experiences and feelings of such a man are certainly not common.

It is about these experiences that he writes.

Stanislav Bártek, 2015

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From the Spanish trenches Before the decision When I completed my military service and returned home with my black army case I was not exactly pleased. What troubled me was the uncertainty of coming days, expressed as a question: "Will I find work?" I had no grand illusion about it, but I still hoped to find work of some kind. Well, my hope was not fulfilled. In the summer we were consoled that it would be better in winter, and in winter we were looking forward to summer. And so we barely kept alive, only through occasional employment.

It was not until the autumn of 1935 when luck finally smiled on me. After more than a year of unemployment, I was accepted for the sugar harvest. It was really an opportune moment, because not only were my clothes threatening to fall apart but also both my pairs of shoes looked alarmingly worn out. With my first salary I bought myself new trousers and paid off my debt at the store.

I could not buy shoes since there was nothing more left, so I had to wait for a new opportunity to buy this necessary part of my clothing. In the meantime I bought the shoes on credit. In December it was freezing and with each degree below zero the ice on the manor pond was growing. With my friends we eagerly watched the ice growing and waited for the moment when the breaking of ice for a local brewery would start. The brewery foreman took us all on, except for some of the oldest, because of their excessive age. One crew cut the ice, another crew loaded it and another crew sorted it in the brewery icehouse. So it went on until dark before we went home.

Mum welcomed me with a plate of steaming hot potato stew. After working all day in the freezing air, it tasted like a best delicacy.

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In those years the political party in our town worked very well and the party's youth organization “Komsomol� was also well organized. The Party had matured during the sewerage strike in 1934 and was widely trusted for its good municipal policies in the city council. In the organization there were some comrades who had great knowledge of politics and were enthusiastic about the idea of socialism. They were L. Mucalik, E. Prusenovsky, J. Mandak and others. We, the young, met in the attic of Mandak's house at St. Anna Square. There we sang, boisterously debated and discussed the national and international political situation - we argued passionately about marxism and socialism. At that time, the situation in Spain excited us. It excited not only the whole world, but the young especially. Here was the opportunity to demonstrate our desire to act for a world without hunger, unemployment and for the socialist form of society.

The situation in Spain was getting more serious and the reports of the first battles introduced unprecedented excitement into our meeting discussions. The talks dragged on late into the night; mainly on how to help the struggling Spanish Republic. Actions to assist Spain also took place across the whole of Czechoslovakia.

The secret plan that I already had in my head was beginning to take a more specific form. A journey to Spain was getting to be not just a dream anymore only for me but also for many of our comrades. It turned out that others also, like Hruza, Taraba, Holub and many other members of the Communist Youth thought the same way as me. We were willing to go to Spain immediately, but this was not possible yet. First of all it was necessary to submit an application to the party, which carried out a closer selection procedure.

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For the trip to Spain only those who did not have maintenance obligations to family, primarily unmarried, and mainly those men, who had received military training, were considered. As a result, seven of us were chosen.

Comrade PrusenovskĂ˝, an uncompromising and fearless communist, advised us "to do everything calmly, deliberately and quietly - this is the key to success. Meanwhile, take care of your passports, the rest you will be told when you leave".

Applications for passports were made one by one at intervals, so it was not noticeable. Among the first to be processed were mine and Hruza's application. I was about the best off - I got a passport with three months permission for France, Belgium, Germany and back.

Others got permission for Austria only or their applications were still pending. Because we should not travel all together it was decided only three of us should be the first to leave - Joska, Pepik and me. All the preparations were carried out in secret, so that only a few people knew what was being planned. Even at home I did not say anything.

But my mum still suspected something. When, before leaving, I told her I was leaving somewhere for work, she looked at me and it was clear to me that she didn't believe me. But she said nothing. With the majority of our comrades we parted earlier. In the District Party Committee were comrades Stavenicek, Kosina, Mlatecek, Prusenovsky, Mucalik, Bursik, and the Mandak brothers.

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Prague - Paris - Figueras The day of our departure had come!

We travelled to Prague by passenger train and at six o'clock in the morning arrived at Prague Main Station.

Because it was a frosty morning, even in the train it was not warm. We made our way to a restaurant for some hot coffee. We then walked towards Karlin and after eight o'clock we opened the door to the Central Committee of the Communist Party. An older friendly comrade gave us our first accurate instructions and advised us on what to do next to get across borders smoothly. From each of her words it was clear that action to help Spain had been perfectly organized and proved the capabilities of Communists to cope quickly and effectively with all tasks.

Only one thing did not please us - the breaking up of our trio. According to the conspiracy plan, Hruza and Josko had to go through Budejovice to Austria and from there via Switzerland and France to Spain, while I had to leave Prague the next morning to go through Germany to France. We received the instructions without a word of objection and the rest of the time we spent together. We were not much in a mood to talk; the weight of farewell hit all of us, even if we did not acknowledge that to one another. In the evening I accompanied my two friends to the station. Before the train left we promised each other to meet up again within ten days, in Paris or at the Franco-Spanish border. The last "Good Luck" and the train with my two friends left the station.

I was alone and I was homesick. I had bleak thoughts, influenced by parting from my comrades. I decided it would be best to go to the hotel and get some sleep for tomorrow's trip. Next morning I took the express train, and my nervousness increased proportionally with the

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nearing of borders. I was in a better mood after the customs inspection was over and everything had gone smoothly and I could return to my carriage more relaxed.

The journey through snowy Germany went without incident and I slept for most of it. I woke up only at the larger train stations where the train stopped. Looking at the bustle of the station, I had the impression that the whole of Germany was dressed in uniforms. There were almost no civilians, but one could see the swarm of army uniforms, police, some student and school uniforms and of course SS and SA uniforms everywhere. Most of them were the SA, which although it was very cold, wore only their brown shirts, as if to show their valour and intrepidity. On closer observation, however, I found that each of them had a sweater under his shirt and certainly even more clothing, because otherwise they would not have looked so stuffed. Looking at all those uniforms was not too pleasant and caused the uncomfortable feeling one always has when one comes into contact with the enemy and should not give a hint of it.

Finally, the call came from outside: "Koln am Rhein" and the train stopped on the German side for the last time.

The first stop in France, where I also left the train,was Strasbourg. French customs clearance was not so complicated and as strict as in Germany. The journey from Strasbourg to Paris was much more relaxing than it was in Germany. Finally, the silhouette of Paris appeared and a little while later we stepped off our train at Gare de l'Est. I found myself in the wild mix of people and voices of this wonderful city.

In Prague they had given us the address of the Paris Committee and happily I was included in the list of the expected arrivals. The messenger then led me and others into a neighboring street, where comrades of all

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nationalities were gathered. They were mostly young people and I had the impression the youth from all around the world to help struggling Spain were assembled here.

There was so much elation and martial enthusiasm!

Amongst the Babylon of languages and nationalities I discovered a Czechoslovak group; such a warm and joyous feeling seized me that I can not even describe it.

I wanted to sing and hug everyone. A head of each group, designated by the Paris Committee, arrived and informed us where to sleep and where to eat. We stayed for a few more days in the capital city of France. Then finally the time came to say our last goodbye to Paris. Preparations for departure passed quietly and in silence. However, the station was full of police officers and Garde Mobile. They all seemed to know what was going on, but thanks to the existing "Front populaire" they left us in peace and allowed us to get on the train and leave the station.

We were divided into carriages by nationality, but after the first few kilometers of the journey the various national groups intermingled and got to know each other better.

The majority were French, then Germans and Poles. But even our small Czechoslovak group was not the smallest.

I regretted not speaking any foreign languages, because I would have liked to talk with some of my future comrades of a different nationality.

Our destination was Perpignan, a large town near the French border, where in January as well as in September one could see the snowy peaks of the Pyrenees.

Upon our arrival in Perpignan we were lined up in front of the "workers house", the property of the local union.

There we were given instructions about crossing the border. The speech was in French, but each national group had its own interpreter. Our group had to go to the Pyrenees in coaches.

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We boarded prepared coaches, thirty men to a coach and a column of seven coaches rolled out towards the Spanish border. Around nine o'clock at night the lights went out in the coaches and we continued driving in the dark. We were in fact already in the French border zone. The driving speed of the column did not decrease. We admired the skill of the drivers who without lights were able to pass safely along a dangerous road full of breakneck curves.

Suddenly, our convoy stopped. Our leaders were negotiating with the customs about our transit. The transports with volunteers arrived at the border only when "our" bribed customs officers and gendarmerie patrol were on duty. Crossing the border was therefore not always possible and all attempts to cross the border only happened at night. Soon the coaches pulled away, without lights again and - for the last time - illegally. After a short ride through the French border area the headlights went on, announcing that we were finally in Spain. The border gate opened and Spanish Carabineros greeted the buses with clenched fists. Clenched fists also appeared in the windows of our buses and out of many mouths came the Spanish greeting "Salud!" for the first time. The formalities of border crossing were settled amicably and in a few minutes, the coaches drove us on to the town of Figueras in the province of Gerona.

Upon arrival in Figueras we parted from a companion who was going back to France and lining up in rows of three we marched to the old Figueras fort, designated as our barracks until we moved to the front. Massive, three metre thick walls and huge defensive mounds gave the impression that the fort could never be conquered.

"Castillo de San Fernando" was considered the greatest fortress of Spain.

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The path to the front Early in the morning we said goodbye to Figueras and, divided into nationalities, we sang as we marched to the station, where we waited for the train that was to convey us to Barcelona.

For most of us, the trip was an unforgettable experience.

On one side of the track the Mediterranean Sea, on the other side the large groves of orange and lemon trees, and in the distance olive groves. We could not get enough of the beauty of the Catalan coast and it seemed to us that we were seeing the enchanted land of children's fairy tales. Barcelona - the beautiful capital city of Catalonia and the second largest city of Spain - soon appeared in front of us.

At the station we lined up in rows of three and accompanied by militia and a band moved off to another temporary home - the Karl Marx barracks, the largest in Barcelona.

Barcelona's welcome was very friendly. The streets we marched through were full of people, who greeted us with clenched fists or with clasped hands above the head in the manner of gladiatorial greeting - the greeting of the Spanish anarchists. In addition to the purple-yellow-red republican and red communist and socialist flags there were many black-and-red anarchist flags, with the letters of their organizations CNT and FAI. In the barracks our attention was drawn to a tank, standing in the courtyard. It was a veteran of World War I, English built, but local militiamen were very proud of it.

One of the Barcelonians told us that the tank, the

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barracks and also some other parts of Barcelona had been captured in a single night by Republicans, armed only with home-made bombs and knives. Most difficult to take was the statue of Columbus standing on the main street of Barcelona. On top of the statue tower had been a fascist machine gun stand, controlling the whole neighborhood.

Barcelonians attacked and took the tower. For this victory more than a hundred warriors paid the ultimate price. In the struggle for access to the tower fifteen others fell, but their sacrifice was not in vain. The tower was taken. The victors threw the defending fascists from the thirty-meter high tower down onto the pavement below. So was cleared the main avenue in town and the Barcelonians could start their victorious advance against the fascist rebels.

We praised the Barcelonians for their bravery and courage. Our informant, proud that he personally had taken part in this event, suggested we stayed with them in Catalonia. We explained to him that we could not accept his invitation because we were assigned to the International Brigade. So our new friend had no choice but to say goodbye to us with a hearty "Salud!"

All in all, Barcelona made a peaceful impression. Just a lot of weapons and uniforms, assembled mostly from the imagination of their owners, served as a reminder that the peaceful life was not the real normality. These weapons had never seen action. This is not to say that the Catalans were perhaps wrong. It is certain, however, that in such a serious period the anarchist ideology of FAI (Federation Anarquista IbĂŠrica), which refused any kind of organization and discipline, severely damaged the interest of the Republic and the successful conduct of the war.

We left Barcelona's Karl Marx barracks and accompanied by the band marched back to the station. The purpose of

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our stop in Barcelona was to demonstrate international working class solidarity with the Spanish people, and to strengthen the resolve of the Spanish people.

On the way back we were greeted thunderously to which we responded enthusiastically. Czechoslovaks with clenched fist, French and Italians with both hands as anarchists, certainly a gesture of solidarity with the people of Barcelona and not because they were also anarchists.

Important was that they were honest anti-fascists and that all of us marching through the streets of Barcelona gave reassurance: "Do not worry, comrades, we are with you in good times and in bad!"

A lot of young and older people came to the station. They literally flooded us with fruit and each of them wanted to exchange a few words with us. But again there was the unfortunate lack of knowledge of the foreign language, for most of us and also for the Spaniards. We were therefore limited only to smiles, gestures and friendly slaps on the back. Even so, one could express his mutual sympathy and friendship.

Finally, our train was ready and we rolled to the south.

As on the way to Barcelona we enjoyed the beauty of the way along the Mediterranean Sea and the scenic beauty of the Spanish south. Taragona with its old Roman walls, lying majestically on a cliff and then Castell贸n and the endless orange groves and then the third largest city in Spain - Valencia.

The town was slowly getting lost in the darkness, when we stopped at the train station, which, unlike all the previous train station stops, was completely blacked out.

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Disembarcation and departure were done quickly and with military precision. Overnight accommodation and dinner had been reserved for us in the local barracks. Early in the morning we left for the last part of our journey.

This time Albacete, the capital of the province of the same name, was our headquarters. At that time it was the centre of the International Brigade and where we would get our equipment and weapons.

We all longed to join the infantry. We assumed that by being in the infantry we would get to the front first. After all that was the main aim and purpose of our trip to Spain.

At Albacete station the commander of the International Brigade and his staff, composed mostly of French welcomed us. The French made up the majority of the volunteers.

Our temporary residence in Albacete was the former barracks of the Guardia Nacional, which is a Spanish sort of gendarmes. The barracks consisted of a three-story building, formed in a square. The gate with its traces of bullets and blood, testified to the struggle between the people and the Guardia Civil. The barracks, like most others, were also the military arsenal. Their conquest gave weapons to the people, and with these they were able to relatively quickly liquidate all fascists in the province.

The interior of the barracks were an unimaginable mess which gave the impression that the fight had ended only a few hours earlier. Even if it had not, it was understandable that the building could not be put in order, because its inhabitants were changing too quickly. After the fight with the Guardia Civil the barracks were occupied by

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militia and before they could settle in, it had to be emptied for the International Brigade.

There I also met a few Czechoslovaks.

It was really not easy to manage, categorize and classify the volunteers, whose numbers grew with each passing day. So, for example, on October 10, 1936 the first 500 volunteers arrived in Figueras. Soon after, the ship "Ciudad Barcelona" brought another 500; so in total 1,000 men had arrived in Albacete by October 14. During eight days, the number of volunteers rose to 4,000 so that the first four battalions were created.

At the time of our arrival in Albacete, a new 9th Battalion had just been formed, to replace the original Battalion of the same number, which had been merged with the Garibaldi Battalion. Our group was included in this new battalion, which was part of 14th Brigade. This was to be formed directly at the front at Cordoba by merging the 9th, 12th and 13th Battalion and the cavalry, artillery and sappers.

Most of the men in the 9th battalion, called "Compania Balcanica", were Czechoslovaks, Hungarians, Poles and six Bulgarians. The commander was the Bulgarian Petrov, and it was probably the reason for the name of our company.

In Albacete we were informed about the events of the previous battles. Lack of weapons and disunity in the army leadership had allowed the fascists to penetrate to the heart of the country - to Madrid. Franco had loudly shouted, drunk by first success, that on November 7, the anniversary of the Great October Socialist Revolution, he would enter the "Bolshevik nest" - Madrid. But he did not fulfill his promise, he could not fulfill it. Thousands of brave people around the world, led by the spirit of

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international workers solidarity, stood alongside the Spanish people under the slogan NO PASARĂ N! (They will not pass!)

In Albacete we got our equipment and weapons: brand new French green uniforms. They consisted of a blouse, wide pants, belt, beret and boots. But the greatest joy for us were the weapons. We got old "Colt" machine guns.

Besides these, we were also supposed to get rifles of the type "British rifle", which the Mexican government had bought for us and that we called "Mexicans". We called the machine guns "Colts".

On December 18, 1936, we began training at the shooting range which was situated at the Albacete football field.

Four machine guns were assigned to our Czechoslovak group. Under the leadership of two Soviet armorers we learned to analyse, load, fire and fix the "Colts". We were happy to have good hits. Nevertheless, we were concerned about how the "Colts" would prove in practice, because they had some defects. If there was a defect, it was necessary to disassemble the whole gun. This, however, would result in a considerable time loss and this could not be permitted on the front line. The ammunition belts also worried us. Manual recharging was very bad because the charger machine was weak and the bands hard.

But even the problems with the "Colts", or other nuisances could not spoil our joy over the impending departure to the front.

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The first fight on the front Hasty arrival in the courtyard of the barracks, a distribution of the "Mexican" rifles and ammunition, accurate determination of the formation of battalions, companies, platoons and teams - thus began our first combat action.

Our company commander was Bulgarian Petrov, and the brigade was led by the likeable Dr. Dubois. The position of political commissar fell to a Yugoslav student, whose name has slipped my mind. I know that he was good in Czech and French - Czech because he studied for several years in Prague.

Command of the Czechoslovak squad was taken by Sedivy, who had lived in France for over twenty years.

At four in the afternoon we entered the courtyard of the barracks for the last time. With full combat equipment we walked to the train station and boarded the train by companies.

We moved south toward Andalusia.

Ethnically we were quite mixed. Slavic nationalities were represented everywhere. For example, our "Balcanic" company spoke Czech, Serbian, Slovak, Polish, Bulgarian and Russian, because there were several Russian émigrés from France and Belgium who wanted to fight in Spain to earn a return to their homeland.

Our train rolled thorough the La Manche countryside to the south. At night we reached Andalusia, and by noon we arrived in Andújar, a medium-sized Andalusian town in the district of Jaén.

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At the train station in Andujar we formed again and marched through the city to the monastery, now converted into a military barracks. We believed our march past gave a strong impression. After all, its purpose was a demonstration of international solidarity as well as having a positive psychological effect on the population and the currently fragmented militia units.

After a short rest we jumped onto the Pacific Express, consisting of a small, wood-burning locomotive and several cargo wagons and passenger coaches, none of which had glass in the windows. The train served as a local district train and the journey ended for us in nowhere land. Beyond this point the train was used for a change by fascists.

Without lights and breathing heavily, the curious train brought us through the night landscape and stopped about two kilometers before the town of Villa del RĂ­o.

We left the train quietly. Before us was only the empty train station.

At the station a group of ten horse riders awaited us to show us the way forward. We wondered about the riders and their curious clothing and weapons. One of them wore a poncho, rifle over the shoulder and a sword at his side, perhaps from the 17th century. Another had a cuirass shell on the chest and a hunting dual rifle over his shoulder and a beautiful new gun on the side. Despite the weirdness of this military equipment we felt a great admiration for these riders. They were the first soldiers from the front whom we had met.

Under the command of our cavalry our column stepped forward. We had not gone more than 300 meters before we had no doubts that we were at the front. In the bright moonlight we saw a few corpses on the ground, quite

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close to us. Whether they were ours, or fascists, could not be said, because we had no knowledge about the location of the front. It happened that one night scouts from both sides came to the same village looking for the enemy.

The local inhabitants kept rather silent and so on one side of the village the republicans slept and on the other side the fascists. At that time there was not yet a united command and the units did not link with each other properly.

In complete silence we entered into the town, which gave the impression that it was lifeless. And indeed, except for the units that came with the Spanish reconnaisance party, there was not a single soul in town. Our squad was allocated to individual houses with orders never to leave assigned quarters. It was necessary to send scouts to determine the troop deployment first, which we had come to strengthen and relieve. We stayed in the quarters until noon the next day. Smoke from cooking could have betrayed us, so we had only cold canned food for lunch.

After lunch we were given orders to clean and prepare the guns and rifles. In Albacete we had only trained in firing machine guns and there were also comrades who had never handled a gun before. However, the overall situation in our platoon was good, because most of us had military training at home. Many Italian and French volunteers had never fired a gun before.

In the evening we filled the machine gun belts. It was strenuous work; the old problems we had experienced in Albacete were repeated. For all the machine guns there was only one weak belt filling machine and the belts were hard and inflexible.

All was quiet so far. So behind closed windows we could talk everything over. Suddenly, our discussion was interrupted by a door flying open. "Fascists!" flashed

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through all our heads and we jumped up excitedly. But there stood comrade Ruda Barchanek in the doorway with a big smile and holding a piglet in his arms. He had found and caught it in the garden. So we were seized by culinary passion and in a little while the fire crackled in the fireplace. We could afford it, because at night the smoke was not visible. Before midnight was over only a few pig bones were left. "So we still have a Christmas dinner, even though it's the day before," said someone, when we lay down to sleep. It was December 23, 1936.

Christmas Eve at the front - what would it be like ?

The first day of the feast of peace started early for us and completely non-peacefully. Reveille was at four o'clock in the morning. After a quick breakfast we boarded trucks that took us about 3 km further towards the olive hills.

After getting out of the truck we were ordered to spread out in the surrounding olive groves, which sloped down to the river Quadalquivir. The undulating landscape did not allow accurate observation. The scouts from the local anarchist militia ONT assured our commanders that the terrain was clear and that the fascists were not in sight. The scouts now proceeded together with us and there was therefore no reason why we should not believe them.

Our battle group had proceeded about halfway down the hill, when suddenly we came under unexpected fire from above. Surprised we took cover, but firing also came from behind and the side. We could not even put the machine gun shields on and return fire to the left, where the enemy was strongest. After several shots, our "Colt" got stucked and could not be used to fire anymore. At the same time, our other machine guns fell silent. Their fault was rectified in a few minutes. Only our's still resisted. Therefore, we were ordered to return to the

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village so one of us could repair the faulty "Colt" whilst others refilled the belts for the remaining machine guns.

The way to the village was under intense enemy fire and even today it seems to me incredible that we all four got into the village without injury.

Among the friends back on the hill confusion reigned.

Unified command ceased to exist, each platoon fought on its own, not even the phone or scouts were available. The scouts from the anarchist militia ONT disappeared as soon as firing started and it was more than certain that they were traitors through whom the fascists had lured us into a trap.

In the meantime, we had repaired the machine gun and refilled the belts. Although the first injured helped us with that, it was clear that even with the greatest effort we would not be able to deliver filled belts in time.

From the railway embankment came strong fire. Almost simultaneously the Spanish courier came with the message that the Jaen battalion, holding the left side of the hill to the village, had been attacked by Moroccan cavalry, who had used the panic caused by the ONT betrayal to get closer to Villa del Rio, which they wanted to occupy and cut us off from the last supporting road across the bridge.

Therefore we stopped refilling the belts and ran to help the Spanish milicionarias at the railroad track embankment. Each one of us always mingled between several militiamen. We wanted to boost the confidence and calmness of our Spanish friends. Even though we had less fighting experience, we hid our fear. We were calmer and stronger than if we were alone in such a situation for the first time.

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Over fifty of us, of whom about twenty were interbrigadists lay on the railway embankment. There was no cover for the riflemen and besides that we lay too close to each other. We tried to spread out but at the same time we fired on the Moroccans, with protection only from the railway embankment. The situation worsened when fascist aircraft appeared above us. Although the aircraft were of an old type, we were completely powerless against them as we had no anti-aircraft guns or "Colts".

The pilots, aware that they were masters of unlimited airspace, dropped five to ten kilogram bombs from a minimum height on us. Fortunately they did no harm.

With concentrated fire we drove the Moroccans back over the hill.

Then another messenger came with an order to return to refill the belts. So we went back to the belts, while the others remained with the Spaniards. Under a continuous grenade bombardement on the town we filled about four belts. And then the bell rang at the local church. Again enemy aircraft were near!

An older villager sat in the bell tower as an observer and always began to ring the alarm when he spotted an aircraft. He did his duty so honestly, that he rang even if some of our aircraft appeared. Despite the alarm, we continued to refill the machine-gun belts. Our work was interrupted by a messenger, with orders to return to the railway embankment again. Morrocans were attacking again and because their attack was stronger than all the previous ones, even the command staff and lightly wounded comrades came to help. Again fascist aircraft appeared. We ran into a deserted yard in the nick of time.

Bombs dropped only a few metres from us. After the impact, we quickly hit the ground on the railway embankment. Even this time the Moorish cavalry had to retreat over the hill on the face of our fire. We used the

31

pause to dig a hole in the ground with knife or bayonet and piled the earth in front of us. This afforded us a little protection from bullets.

Among the first to fall in this struggle was the friend Weiner from Prague, who that morning had tenaciously defended himself from being allocated to the field kitchen.

Each platoon had to send one man to the field kitchen and Weiner was chosen as he was very short sighted. When he went with the Slovak Zlenicky in the morning to the well for water, a bomb hit the house where the kitchen was and blew it up. Two other friends, Romanian and Bulgarian, were found dead in the ruins. Several French and Italians were also injured. At first nothing happened to our boys at the well, but they also only escaped their fate for a while.

During the afternoon retreat, whilst the fascist artillery shelled the olive groves, a grenade hit both our friends and tore them to pieces. We only found Weiner's glasses, which had remained completely intact.

A moment of calm in which we took in this bleak information, did not last long. The enemy attacked again and intensified their fire. We answered them thoroughly.

The most succesful of us was old Soucek. The guy who could have been our father, a soldier from the First World War, remained calm as only few could be. His marksmanship was not only the result of his soldiering. As Soucek admitted, he often poached at home and thus had lots of practice. He always kept calm, aimed calmly and without haste. His sharp eyes detected two Moroccans hiding and firing into us from the trees. Each of them needed only one shot from Soucek.

I tried to imitate Soucek and instead of shooting at random, I looked for a solid target. It did not take long to

32

come. Faint smoke appeared in the crown of a tree and for a second a bit of a gray burnus appeared. I aimed, fired and the Moroccan fell from the tree.

From the direction of the escape routes, we saw soldiers fleeing from the church to the river. They were ours. The entire right flank had collapsed under enemy fire. In an effort to help them, we started to fire across the street, so the Moroccans could not get there. Meanwhile, a group of Spaniards who were a staff squad of colonel Sarabias, commander of the section, stacked all the ammunition in front of the church with the help of several local villagers.

In the event that there could have been a danger of the enemy capturing the town, the ammunition could be blown up, in order not to fall into the hands of the fascists.

Preparations for the destruction of the ammunition were certainly necessary because the situation was becoming alarming. We still fought on bravely, but the enemy pressure intensified; we had no orders and everyone was becoming impatient. The only one not losing his calm was Soucek, whose accurate shooting found every Moor, who inadvisably came within his rifle sights. The situation was intensifying with each passing moment. We decided therefore, that Soucek, Boucek and I would stay on the railway embankment, so that the remaining Spaniards and our friends could retreat on the last escape road past the tobacco factory to the bridge. There was no longer any other option but to retreat, because fascists were everywhere around us.

Therefore we covered the retreat of our friends with covering fire and when they had reached safety we had also intended to leave by the same path. But this was not so easy. A hidden fascist gunman had our position in his sights.

33

Therefore, we decided to bet everything on one card. All of us immediately ran desperately from the embankment to the bridge. After a few jumps we had to hit the ground again and take cover from the rain of enemy bullets.

Fortunately, none of them found their target, although the Maroccans were great marksmen.

The hidden fascist who blocked our retreat with gunfire, was tracked down by inexhaustible Soucek and he silenced him with one well-aimed shot. But a number of other dangers were still waiting for us on the road between the tobacco factory and the bridge, where we had to get as soon as possible to prevent the fascists from cutting us off.

Bullets began to whistle again around our heads and forced us again and again to hit the ground after every two or three steps. Usually we hit the ground before they shrieked high above our heads. Those that flew directly at us, we did not even hear. Just a light slap of grass or wood testified to their presence. They were dangerous because in addition to normal bullets the fascists also used bullets that exploded by a stroke or a mild impact on an olive twig. We called them "Explosives".

Finally we made it to the tobacco factory. Before us, however, were still three hundred metres of terrain where only a shallow ditch would provide us with cover.

Jumping we continued our gradual retreat under the fierce fire of the fascists fire, who were determined not to let us reach the bridge in any case. However, we risked death rather than the possibility of falling into the hands of the Moroccans. During one of our pauses I found myself behind comrade SenkyrĂ­k, who was already so exhausted that he could not continue. With my encouragement he just pulled himself together. Together we covered the final

34

metres without injury and finally got into the dead space behind the bridge, that afforded us protection.

There we found a few Spaniards and interbrigadists who, like us were gathering strength to conquer the last leg of the journey.

Just at the moment when our group wanted to run out onto the bridge, Moroccan cavalry attacked the bridge.

Right in front of us a group of about twenty riders on excellent horses with high saddle backrests so that they could shoot while riding. It was clear that we had to repel the Moroccan attack, if we wanted to get across the bridge alive. We quickly agreed and almost simultaneously all the rifles of our group fired. About ten riders dropped from their saddles and one horse collapsed. The other riders retreated.

All the Moroccans were carrying various decorative weapons and almost every one of them wore an amulet on the neck. I took the scapular of my victim and a silver dagger as the spoils of war. In the scapular was one silver duro (5 pesetas) and 10,000 of old stamped German marks. I wondered why Moroccans carried non-valid German marks. Later I learned that Franco paid a few pesos to the Moroccans and for the rest he gave them old German marks, so that they could exchange them when they got home. They were never sent on leave as they were put into action again and again, where the majority of the them fell. Money found on the fallen was then returned back to the Franco's treasury and was used for the payment of new units, which, of course, had no idea about these scams.

Just as we ended a search of the fallen Maroccans, a violent explosion threw us to the ground. Spaniards from the courier section had blown up the ammunition stacked

35

at the church to prevent it from falling into enemy hands.

Then we all ran to the other side of the bridge, under which the sappers had prepared charges in case it would be necessary to blow it up.

36

Madrid Ahead !

In January 1937 it began to get busy at the Headquarters.

The couriers went here and there; everywhere there was a strange tension. Our platoon lieutenant, Karcevskij, sent us to the staff and a few days later, we were ordered to prepare to leave. Soucek was assigned to the Commissioner André Marty and I was assigned to General Walter as his personal guard. I was given a short automatic pistol. I sat down in a Ford, next to General Walter's chauffeur. In the car there was also - besides the general - his Polish adjutant, a small lieutenant, with perfect knowledge of German, French, Russian and Spanish. In the other car were the Commissioner André Marty, his French chauffeur, Soucek and Marty's interpreter.

Both cars rolled out very sharply towards Ciudad Real and headed to Madrid.

In the afternoon we arrived at a crossroads where we stopped at a guarded barricade. On the orders of the general's adjutant, Soucek and I got out of the car and joined the small guard section. We were to await the arrival of the whole column, give them instructions and explain the direction of the route.

To our great surprise, the commander of the guard section was the Bulgarian Petrov, who commanded us in the fight at Villa del Río and had fled from the battle.

Instead of captain's epaulets, however, he had only the insignia of a lieutenant. Therefore, for his infamous escape from battle he had only been partially demoted.

The first car of the expected column appeared in the evening on the next day. Our guard section was replaced

37

and shortly after midnight the whole column moved on, with lights off, in order not to reveal our presence to fascist airmen. We headed to Madrid on a country road.

The fear of air raids was not necessary. Two enemy aircraft flew over our heads, but either they did not see us or pursued another purpose.

Without any problem we arrived that night in Colmenar, where our convoy stopped for a short rest. Then we continued towards the Escorial. Near the village of El Pardo the trucks again stopped, for the last time. Here the road definitely ended, with the rough terrain making further driving impossible. We left the trucks and continued our journey on foot.

On the morning of 12 January the whole front section was attacked by a heavy artillery barrage. Dense fog prevented us from determining of the location of firing.

We were ordered to launch an attack.

The beginning was promising; we managed to destroy a few nests of resistance. Several times our tanks brushed around us and took out places of extremely strong resistance. Their support and effort was really enormous.

Their presence made us calm. But there were only a few of them. Our advance was stopped at a farm where we came under heavy machine gun fire, and here the principal of solidarity was demonstrated by the Polish fighters. The Poles were covering us with the fire from their machine guns until we got over the open terrain. As a result we managed to get into an advantageous position. Using hand grenades we took the farm occupied by fascists and all roaring, which gave us courage, we rushed the farm. We found only two heavy machine guns, seven dead fascist and in the attic one alive. He yelled not to shoot at him; he wanted to surrender. So we had the

38

first prisoner and Karcevskij sent him, accompanied by one Yugoslav, to the headquarters.

However, tanks attacked us. We had neither anti-tank guns, nor inflammable grenades. With rifles, we could not go up against tanks. Therefore with the captured machine guns we stayed on the farm. The fascist onslaught was so intense that we could not even think of another approach.

Only at night, could we return to our starting point.

There, we were given wine and coffee. We could not move freely. The terrain was flat, the dugouts too shallow.

Although it was dark, the enemy crossfired the terrain.

The next morning at dawn, we were supposed to attack again. With the first light of dawn the artillery began the preparation and then afterwards we went forward. Our tanks drew near. Among the tank crews was my friend from Red tramping Honza Mrkva of Zilina. The tanks moved forward. We ran behind them and a few moments later we were in direct fascist fire. By running and taking cover we proceeded into "no man's land". We may have been protected against direct hits, but it was clear that we would not get away without loss. The Political commissar ran to us exhorting us to go forward quickly and straighten the section and with a pistol and a grenade in his hand he led the charge forward. We also set off, while Saly was trying to silence the fascist firing, with his "Colt" machine gun.

Out of the twenty-member group only seventeen of us made it to the protective wall. We threw hand grenades at the machine gun nest and immediately after the explosion we again moved forward across the line. Among the dead and wounded fascists, of which there were several dozen in the vicinity, we also saw for the first time German soldiers deployed against us from Hitler's command.

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We left the dead, wounded and surrendering fascists to the sanitary section, because every man was needed ahead. Amongst the wounded, around which we ran, a German officer suddenly rose up and threw a hand grenade at us from behind. Honza Boubin noticed his intention at the last moment and shouted a warning. In a split second we dived for cover. I felt the impact in my feet. My first thought was that it was a clod of earth, thrown up by the explosion. But the blood that ran down my leg, suggested that I was wounded. I tried to get up and to my delight I succeeded. Friends who stayed unharmed thanks to Honza's warning, had returned to the insidious fascist and settled our account with him by several blows from a rifle stock. They took his documents, binoculars and a bag in which, in addition to maps, were also fifty thousand pesetas. The boys had to move further forward and therefore I took the captured things with me in order to hand them over at headquarters on my way to the aid station.

One wounded Dutch comrade also went with me to the aid station. After initial treatment, we were sent to the hospital. In a relatively short time other battle wounded comrades arrived, and told us all about what happened after our departure from the front line.

From them we learned that it had been necessary to evacuate from Las Rosas because of the superiority of the fascist weapons, but that further fascist progress on the whole section had stopped.

One event of note was the capture of one Moroccan. He had studied in Paris and had surrendered himself, explaining that after returning from studying he had been forcibly taken by Franco's troops. This he, as a consciencious republican, did not like and therefore he

40

had used the first opportunity to join our side. He hated Franco's regime deeply.

During our stay in the hospital, the front stabilised and our brigade was replaced by Spanish troops. They were exposed to the fiercest attacks by the fascists, who were perfectly equipped thanks to German and Italian help.

Republicans had resisted their attacks through great selfdiscipline, superhuman effort and determination to fight to the last breath. Franco's often heralded entrance to Madrid on a white horse still could not take place.

After being relieved by Spanish troops, our brigade took a well-deserved rest near the line of Las Rosas, where heavy fighting had recently raged. When, at my request, I was released from the hospital after a few days, I also went back there.

Because I still could not walk well, on my return to the brigade I was assigned as a guardian of the warehouses and the staff. They were the duties that were undertaken only by the lightly wounded, because none of the healthy friends would agree to it nor with serving in the kitchens.

More than once the political commissar had to intervene personally and persuade the boys. However, even the headquarters and kitchen were close to the front and at any time direct fire or fascist attack could be expected.

The enemy was preparing a new offensive. Therefore, none of us got a pass to Madrid, although we were at rest. The draw of the capital city of Spain was too big and so it happened that some friends, particularly the French, had slipped away to Madrid for a "black visit".

After a day or two they returned back to their units. The number of secret visits to Madrid was constantly growing and so our political commissar decided to resolve the situation through compromise. For mail and provisions he

41

also sent several crew members to Madrid in addition to the chauffeur. That gradually allowed us to spend a day or two in Madrid, which although exposed to direct fire, was full of military activity, civil and cultural life. Cinemas, cafes and theatres were in full operation and at first glance it seemed that there was no idea about the war at all. So the life of Madrid was depicted by our pals who returned from Madrid full of enthusiasm and talked about its people as heroes who deserved full respect and admiration.

Finally it was my turn. The truck stopped at "Casa Telef贸nica", the highest building in the city, in which the telephone headquarters was located. We had to return there the next evening. Together with Saly we set up a day programme: first the cinema, then reservation of our overnight stay and then sightseeing tour of Madrid on foot and by subway.

Shortly before two o'clock in the afternoon we arrived in the liveliest square of Madrid - Puerta del Sol, with crowded cafes and kiosks, which were selling everything possible. Some goods were to us, the Central Europeans, totally unknown, for example Horchata - almond milk.

However, most interesting to buyers was Churro, a kind of donut, fried in hot oil in the way of our "draft sausage".

Vendors cut the Churro with big scissors and customers ate it on the spot.

Also interesting was how suits were being sold. A salesman walked through the square carrying suits on a large hanger in the shape of a big "T". I took the opportunity and bought a new uniform for eighty pesos.

Suddenly one side of the square began to empty quickly but calmly. We looked at it blankly, but a militiaman came already running up to us with the order to move to the

42

other side. Obediently, we walked towards the other side when the first shells began to fall on the empty side of the square. It was artillery fire on Madrid, which was repeated every day from exactly two to three o'clock in the afternoon and whose aim was to terrorise the civilian population. But Madrilenians could not be intimidated. On the contrary, they hardened even more against the fascists and despite destruction of houses and loss of life they remained calm. Every afternoon before two o'clock they calmly evacuated the side of the square, on which the fascist shells fell.

After dinner we went to the cabaret. There, as well as in cafes, it was busy and people were talking as if there was no war at all. We spent the evening in the company of two pretty Madrilenas, who next day showed us some of the attractions of Madrid, especially the world-famous Prado museum and the art gallery. Because of bombing the buildings were protected by sand bags. We even saw the famous statue of the Greek goddess Cibeles. We met up with our fellow countryman, Pivoda, a mechanic who had been settled for many years in Madrid. He was also wearing a uniform. He had been sent to the front by his trade union. His unit was at that time in Manzanares. He was on vacation and had came to see his family. We sat with him in the cafeteria and then the remaining time until the departure of our truck we spent in the cinema. The return journey passed quickly. We were looking forward to revisiting Madrid. But our hopes were dashed when a ban on commuting to the capital city, was issued a few days later.

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"Gottwald" Anti-aircraft Battery After returning from Madrid, I found our XIV. Brigade in the midst of big changes. Americans and Englishmen had moved to the XV. Brigade, created in Albacete in early 1937 - Americans and Englishmen from the British Battalion; an American-Canadian "Lincoln-Papenau" Battalion led by American Major Steve Nelson, and a "Dimitrov" Battalion, formed of Czechoslovaks, Yugoslavs and Bulgarians who had been moved to the XV. Brigade when it was created in Albacete in early 1937.

The Commander of the XV. Brigade was the Hungarian General Gรกl and the political commissar was the Yugoslavian Copic, who later took over the command from General Gรกl. Part of the Dimitrovov Battalion was the Zizka machine-gun platoon under the command of the Pole Gede with the political commissar Slava Tichy.

In addition to the Americans and the British, members of other nationalities were also leaving from our Brigade.

The Germans and Scandinavians were relocating to XI. Brigade, Italians and Poles to XII. and XIII. Brigade to the "Garibaldi" and "Dombrowski"Battalions while the French, Belgians and Swiss came largely to us to replenish the level of the Brigade. The reason for the transfers was an attempt to unify nationalities within the various Brigades, which would allow a more unified command.

Thus the XI. Brigade became the centre of German and Scandinavian volunteers, the XII. Brigade concentrated mainly Poles and Italians, the XIII. Brigade was the AngloSaxon-Slavic unit and the XIV. Brigade was of FrancoBelgian character. At the same time the supply of Spanish fighters in our ranks was reduced.

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Promotional material from Spain

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Artillerymen on the move Moving of the Batery

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85 mm Anti-aircraft gun Zenitka Anti-aircraft range-finder

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Sighting devices "planchettes" Shot down fascist airplane

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The fighting at Las Rozas in early 1937. The Czechoslovaks and the Spaniards bring away together the dying Romanian comrads.

Madrid - Gottwaldovcu group.

Ludvik Netopil kneeling, standing in the middle Josef Hruza, both of Holesova

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French evacuation to shore after the fall of the northern front in early 1938 Replacement of the battery

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France - Camp de Gurs, summer 1939. From left: Ludvik Netopil, Frantisek Svacina, Rudolf Svacina, Josef Hruza, all from Holesov.

Over view of the concentration camp at Gurs.

In the background snowy Pyrenees,right and left swamps, at back Mobile Guards patrol.

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The Author - photo from 1937, Valencia

Front page of military identity card of 1938. Such military identity cards had all members of the Republican Army, volunteers and Spaniards

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Despite the opposition of anarchists and Caballero's clique, an effort in forming a unified command - "Mando Unico" - was being asserted more and more. The creation of "Ejercito popular" (regular People's Army) gave the legitimate hope that the achievements made by the Republican troops in Jean, Quadalajare and Madrid would not be ignored.

At that time Honza TeĹĄĂ­k returned from his trip to Madrid and told us that he had visited the "Gottwald" anti-aircraft battery located in Madrid. We had already known of its existence since the Jarama front. I remembered a downed Nazi bomber, which we had seen fall to the ground in flames and smoke, both at the front and in film footage in Madrid's cinema newsreels. Knowing that the precise interventions were the work of our comrades awakened a new enthusiasm for battle in us. So we enthusiastically accepted the proposal by Honza Tesik to join our comrades in the Gottwald battery. There were also other reasons for accepting Tesik's proposal. One of them was the fact that from the original number of Czechoslovaks at XIV. Brigade only a handful of our comrades were left.

Except for a few Romanians and Bulgarians there were only French and Belgians with us. So, in addition to Spanish we also had to learn French. We often mixed up both languages and we were not sure which words were French and which were Spanish. With the move to the Gottwald battery we would get rid of this language difficulty and in addition would be among our countrymen.

We agreed to delegate Honza to tentatively explore everything in order to obtain the Brigade staff's consent for our move.

A few days later Tesik returned from Madrid with the joyful news that the Gottwald battery was also suffering from a lack of people and that therefore we would be welcomed as reinforcements. However, he did not bring

53

an order from headquarters so passionate and endless debates started as to whether we should move now by ourselves or wait for an official order. Most agreed to wait for headquarters approval. After the experience of past struggles it was clear to us how much damage spontaneous decisions and movements can inflict. In contrast, the French Czechoslovaks declared they would not participate in the transfer. They had been sent to Spain by their French trade union or other political organizations, their families were being supported by their competent French Committee and therefore they actually belonged more to the French Brigade than to the Czechoslovak unit.

About ten friends had, however, decided to leave without special permission and a few days later left for Madrid.

After their departure our Brigade moved closer to Madrid and so at the earliest opportunity Honza Boubin and I visited the Gottwald battery. We were told a "cadre service" permission would be needed for our transfer.

Immediately two of our comrades left for Albacete and managed to get approval for our transfer to the Gottwald battery.

There I met Josef Hruza. We had not seen each other since our parting in Prague and so our conversations were endless.

But to get back to the Gottwald battery, on Feb. 5, 1937 it celebrated another success in the way it fought on Madrid's battlefront.

On that day new artillery guns arrived at the battery and on February 13 we drove to the Jarama front under the command of B. Lastovicka, the editor of the Czech "Red Right" newspaper and the Soviet instructor Semyonov.

After a three-week stay on the Jarama front at Morata de

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Tajuna the battery relocated to the western edge of Madrid to El Pardo and from there to the workers district of Ventas where at the time of my visit it was in a combat position on a hill - Hip贸dromo - in Madrid's Abasadores district. Except for one gardener's house, there were no residents living on the hill and the battery crew itself lived in well-camouflaged tents. In addition, all the guns were dug in and were masked carefully.

At first sight it was clear that the comrades were commanded by good officers who understood perfectly the defensive and offensive ways of fighting. They had really modern field equipment, including a wonderful Soviet made "Zenit" targeting device which was one of the highlights of the latest military technology.

Although the location of the battery on the hill provided a good view of the whole region, several reconnaissance patrols were deployed in close and distant proximity to battery, making telephone reports of their observations.

Observers and telephonists were well rehearsed and so within a few seconds of enemy aircraft being sighted the alarm was raised in the battery.

I became convinced of that with my own eyes the night after spent in the company of Hruza after our reunion at Gottwald battery. Around seven o'clock observers reported fascist aircraft. The alarm and preparations to fire were immediately given and in a while accurate, telemetric and ballistic controlled commands to the guns could be heard. Then the first shots were fired. The comrades were truly masters in their field and their fire forced the bombers to retreat.

However, they were not always so lucky. The fascist planes often got into their airspace and tried with all they had to silence the battery. But the comrades defended like

55

lions and many of the fascist predators ended their combat operations fatally struck by fire from the battery.

Most raids ended with bombs falling in the fields around the guns without causing any serious damage.

All the Gottwald battery fighters certainly fully deserved the praise they received for their bravery, dedication and military skills from the air defence commander Colonel Saralia in his daily orders of August 1st 1937.

It was with reluctance that I left the Gottwald battery and in my mind I felt sorry not to have been amongst those sixteen who recently had left on their own and now were at the battery as if it were their home.

But the fascists were everywhere, and everywhere it was necessary to step up the fight against them. Just honest effort by every individual could bring the Republican Party such a success, as that which our troops achieved from 8 to 22 March 1937 at Quadalajar.

This rather small town located north of Madrid witnessed fourteen days of stubborn fighting between the Republicans and the Italian expeditionary force.

The crushed Italian fascist units eventually sought refuge by escaping towards Siguenza, and fled in confusion harried by the Republican Air Force.

Quadalajara stood out in gold letters in the book of our winning battles.

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"Jo啪ka Majek" Anti-aircraft Battery August and September were the months of change. Our ranks were thinned; we were tired, and we needed a rest and replenishment.

Thanks to the understanding of someone in the Spanish government both came in time and so we saw a charming Valencia again. It hosted us for about ten days before we got on the way to the grain storehouse of Spain - in the province of La Mancha. It's capital city Albacete was our destination.

Upon our arrival, preparations to forge a new international brigade began. At the core of it was the "Agrupaci贸n de la Reserva" composed of the Dimitrov and Djakovic battalions which had been released from the XV. International Brigade. At that time the formation of the new Czechoslovak Battalion "Masaryk" started. In it were included experienced fighters from the front or released from hospitals, as well as new volunteers from Czechoslovakia, so that the battalion got more combat practice.

After the establishment of the brigade in early 1938, the Polish revolutionary major Wacek Komar was appointed as the commander.

All administrative work was managed and performed by comrades who due to their injuries were not capable of further fighting at the front. Their work was successful.

The field post, "cadre service" worked perfectly for all nationalities.

After arriving in Albacete I spent the first hours searching for friends. I discovered a few friends from our 9th Battalion, who it was thought had already succumbed to

57

their injuries long ago. They brought me to "Žižka's meadow", as the Czechoslovaks had named one of Albacetes small parks, where they met in the evening and at noon to discuss the frontline news and the international situation. I instantly liked the friendly atmosphere of the park, as it resounded with the sounds of our mother language. But soon I had to say goodbye to it. Combat duty called.

Along with fifteen Czechoslovaks and three Bulgarians, I was sent to a training and updating centre for the artillery in Almansa, less than a hundred kilometers southeast of Albacete. After an overnight stay in a former convent our training began.

Under the command of the Slovak comrade Lieutenant Mikurcík we were introduced to all the features of our guns, an old 10.5 cm calibre veteran. The only difficulties for us were the sights, because the only one we had was the quadrant. So we always achieved the best results by shooting straight. This was also rated as excellent by the representatives of the main artillery staff in Valencia, on a visit to our training in Almansa.

Spanish commanders were satisfied with us, praised our team and Lieutenant Mikurcík and eventually asked us to sing them one of our national songs. We had a quite a lot of good singers, so we did not have to be encouraged for long. We sang three-voiced "Sobotenka ide", "Akú som si frajárecku", many more were added.

The next day we drove back from Almansa to Albacete.

There a train to Andalusia was waiting for us. We drove to strengthen the Jožka Májek's battery, fighting in the area of the Sierra Morena.

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It was a battery formed by Czechoslovaks, who named it unanimously on behalf of the brave Slovak volunteer Jožka Májek. He was deputy commander of the Thälmann battalion machine gun platoon. He was killed in the battle of Palacete de Moncloa in defence of Madrid.

The Majeks experienced their first fight at the Escorial, where they showed their great military prowess. From there they were moved to the south so that even on the Andalusia front they could spread the good reputation of Czechoslovak military volunteers.

We were looking forward to meeting with our countrymen, but at the same time it worried us to think of standing side by side with experienced and seasoned comrades with such a famous military tradition. We were in fact no beginners, but the artillery training went too fast. We were worried about how we would compare to the Majeks.

So in between we talked about frontline experiences. The most attended event was the talk by Vaclav Ruzicka, who took part in the battles of the entire Belchite and the whole victorious Republican campaign up to Quinto. The hardest fighting took place in Belchite, situated just over fifty kilometers from Zaragoza.

Belchite had been captured by house to house fighting and Vaclav was one of the snipers who had been shooting fascists and Moroccans off the roofs of houses, sometimes even through a chimney. It happened that the ground floor of the house was ours, while the basement was occupied by the enemy. Hand grenades then came into action. The worst situation had been on the main square where the fascist priests had barricaded themselves inside the presbytry and turned it into a small fort. The windows lined with bags of flour served as rifle ports. The presbytry fort was maintained even after the fall of the city, as if it wanted to document the slogan, written

59

before Belchite: "The city was not conquered by Napoleon nor will it be conquered by the Red dogs!". However, several shots from the artillery and the presbytry fell too.

In one small town in the province of Cordoba we changed to a narrow-gauge track. A little train that reminded us of a toy took us. It was not much larger than a children's railway of today. Suddenly the train stopped. The reason was quite simple: there was no fuel. Together with the train crew, we cut down surrounding trees and cut logs for the train boiler. This incident did not embarrass the train's crew. It had been normal procedure. The whole procedure of felling, cutting of trees and re-heating of locomotives lasted quite a long time and so we continued our journey after several hours delay.

We were still heading south. People were working peacefully in the fields, vineyards and olive groves, as if there were no war in Spain at all.

But before the town of Hinojosa del Duque the railroad was crossed by the front line. We left the train and got into trucks that drove up to the Sierra Morena. The destination for our journey was an abandoned yard in the mountains, which was the seat of the ArtillerĂ­a Pesado Grupo Eslava staff, the slavic section of heavy artillery.

We were welcomed by the Spanish divisional commander Captain Matienze. Battery number one was the Czechoslovakian. There were also our countrymen from Canada.

The second battery consisted only of Poles and the third was made up of Bulgarians and other Balcan Slavs.

Our group moved to the Jozka Majek battery, located in the Sierra Morena mountains near the village of Valsequillo. The heavy truck engines strained in the uneven terrain which was full of steep inclines. The hills to the right were in our hands, while the hills to the left were

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dominated by the fascists. At the Majek's battery we were welcomed by the political commissioner Jan Eisner and the battery commander - the Bulgarian Lieutenant Cernookov, who was leaving for holiday and was giving his command over to our Rudolf MikurcĂ­k. Our concern as how to compensate our hastily acquired artillery experience soon passed away.

In front of our astonished eyes appeared two 15.5 cm cannons, which had perhaps been modern weapons sometime around 1887 when they saw the light of the world from their manufacturer Fy Schneider & Co. No one would believe that with such museum pieces one could stand in the fight and still win. Another thing amazed me: not one cannon had a recoil action. Both cannons had single piece barrels. I imagined what would happen during firing and in my mind I guessed the place where the cannon would rebound to when fired.

My thoughts were interrupted by a soldier from Majek's battery, who explained to us the serviceability of both war veterans. Under normal circumstances, after firing the cannon sped backwards like a little tank. At least fifteen people would have to bring it back into its original place.

The boys had solved this in an ingenious way. They used railway sleepers as rolling area and lifted up the ground behind in order to stop it from running back. However, the return of the cannon to its original position was not accurate and so eventually crowbars had to be used. For this rather lengthy procedure the cannons had a firing rate of about one shot in six minutes. Shots were made alternately from three cannon positions. The fascists had the impression of several sections of modern artillery firing from this section. The good work of the battery was also contributed to by the telephonists, observers and topographers, so that the firing was effective.

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Moving the battery over was not easy, however. In addition to the hard work of loading and stacking of railway sleepers and ammunition the trouble lay in the lack of trucks. For all three batteries, the ammunition storage and the kitchen there were only six trucks.

We made it impossible for the fascists to move; we destroyed their positions, cover and convoys. This way we helped our numerically weak infantry to successfully defend the position. The fact that we had done our job well resulted in several congratulations from our headquarters for the successful artillery actions.

The destruction of the Battery In May 1938 we were supposed to take the offensive against Penaroya town, an industrial region in the centre of the Sierra Morena. It was in the hands of fascists; the town was close ahead of us. With the support of all batteries, an artillery barrage was to be carried out, followed by an assault by 73 Infantry Brigade and the independent JaĂŠn battalion under the command of Captain Espeja.

Firing began at 5.30 am and should have continued for one hour. Battery firing was accurate, but to everyone's astonishment after about fifteen minutes we were ordered to cease fire. It was an order by the High Command of the Andalusian front, so we had to obey. But the infantry which was ahead of us, apparently did not get a similar command as its ranks kept on spreading out and at seven o'clock they started an attack. Heavy fascist machine gun fire forced our infantry to retreat. Only under cover of darkness were they able to return to our positions.

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The next day comrade Georgevic appeared at the battery, red-faced with excitement and explained to us that the order to cease fire was issued as a result of a protest by the English in Barcelona. The copper mines in Penaroya belonged to Englishmen and the government of the Republic, who did not want to anger them, gave the command to stop firing. It is interesting that in a similar manner the interests of the English capital were also protected by the fascists.

On June 13, 1938 the French government closed the border between France and Spain and made it impossible to import any kind of goods. Wagons with food and medicines stayed at the French border stations. At the same time the fascists launched an attack on the Levant front in the Castell贸n area. The Republican Army with the support of international troops crossed the river Ebro and made significant territorial gains.

In a rush we moved to occupy Los Blasques. The onslaught of fascists supported by their Air Force grew stronger. Our air force was deployed in the battle on the Central Front and at Ebro.

The crew of our guns had had almost no sleep and we were concerned that the guns would not last much longer with the endlessly repetitive firing, which exceeded the safe daily firing standard. Salvo after salvo was fired, but our observers reported that we would not be able to stop the enemy: six of our old cannon veterans in three batteries were no match for sixty modern rapid-fire guns.

Fascist shells began to fall into the battery emplacement.

Fortunately not all of them exploded or they fell outside the operational area, so that we were able to continue firing. From our observation stand we saw our infantry

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retreating before the attacking Moroccan cavalry.

Immediately we made a report to the battery crew, who opened fire on the Moroccans.

Then an enemy grenade ripped the telephone connection between the battery and the observation post. Therefore, fire control was taken over by Fr. Rehulka, the first officer of Majek's Battery. Firing continued by direct observation from the battery emplacement. The infantry retreated around us to the next hill. The fascists systematically progressed to follow their retreat, with the result that our shells were falling behind the enemies last line. We were in a bad situation from which we could not escape, because the order to retreat had not been given. When the connection between Battery and Staff was interrupted, Mikurcik sent me and two other friends to repair the phone line. Our post was already more a pile of rubble rather than an observation post. We had not even reached the middle of the hill where we were to repair the line, when there was a massive explosion. In the clouds of smoke we saw Mikurcik and Janda run to us. Our observation post had been totally destroyed by a direct hit. Almost simultaneously the observation, staff and telephone post were hit. From Fuente Ovejuna cavalry rode at us and pushed our infantry back to the firing position of our batteries. We were running back to the battery. The situation was desperate. The entire battery of sixty-five men had only thirteen rifles and little ammunition. This of course was not sufficient to defend and to take the guns to safety was not possible.

Under the circumstances there was no possibility of saving the Battery and therefore our commanders Mikurcik and Rehulka decided to dismantle the cannon breech, load the sick and wounded along with important material on the truck and drive through the fascist fire on a mountain ravine to safety.

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The rest of the team filled the cannons with gun powder and laid the remaining grenades around them. One of the boys stayed to blow up the cannons and then get to the friends behind the hill. Orders were undertaken quickly and despite being under fire the truck happily passed the danger zone. A deafening sound from the explosion of the battery was heard.

It was the last salute of our guns, which together with a thunderous explosion of the remaining ammunition ended their combat operation.

The abandoned space of Majek's Battery waited for the approaching enemy. Nothing remained to fall into fascists hands for the next fight.

We were devastated by the loss of the guns and hotly debated the failed fight. Some saw the culprits as the command section, others blamed the headquarters section, others saw the cause of the disasters as the lack of trucks. There were even voices accusing the commander and the Commissioner of patriotism, since both commanders were Bulgarians and all the trucks were at the critical moment with the Bulgarian batteries.

But the real reason for the failed fight was as always a lack of weapons on our side and the more advanced military technological superiority on the side of the fascists.

Later that evening we moved to Fuente le Lancha. Thirtyseven men were assigned to the 129th Brigade, while the rest of the team got one gun and remained on the Andalusian front under the command of Franta Rehulka.

The former commander of Majek's Battery, Ruda Mikurcik, moved over to the Spanish battery.

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La Ăşltima retirada Last retreat Almost at the same time as the tragedy of Czechoslovakia, I mean Munich 1938, so the Spanish Republic suffered from the treacherous policy of the West, when the non-interventional Commission ordered the withdrawal of foreign volunteers. The Government of Dr. Negrin complied with this request, thinking that it would also make the German-Italian Fascist Party forces leave.

And so one day our Spanish friends arrived to replace us this time forever.

Under orders, we had to surrender all weapons. We felt like we had betrayed democratic Spain. We did not really believe the assertion that at the same time the Germans, Italians and members of other nationalities who were fighting on the side of the fascists would also disarm.

As it turned out, our suspicions were correct. Franco made no attempt to withdraw foreign troops. On the contrary, new fresh divisions from Italy and Germany and more air reinforcements arrived.

After the retreat from the front line we were temporarily concentrated in Valencia. We had a lot of free time then, even for football. At the stadium in Valencia we played four international matches and came second.

Representatives of the non-intervention committee, high ranking French, English and Swedish officers, investigated as to where each of us wanted to go from Spain. "Where to go from Spain ?" - it was a really difficult problem for many of our Interbrigade comrades. Only the ones from democratic countries could return home. Comrades from

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fascist states had to remain in exile. Only the Soviet Union had declared that it was willing to accept these Interbrigadists and Mexico, where there had been a progressive democratic government in power.

For us Czechoslovaks a special problem arose. Should we go home to the Second Republic, where the party was illegal but so far there had been no arrests of Communists, or should we remain in exile? After considering all the circumstances and after consultation with the leadership of the Communist Party of Spain, it was decided to return home. Almost all Czechoslovaks signed up to return to the Second Republic. The Commission had carefully noted everything and left with the promise of an early fulfillment of our wishes. While we waited for the realisation of their promises, we took care of washing the laundry, delousing and treatment of psoriasis. Both of these problems were the result of the previous life on the frontline and with the best will in the world it was not possible to avoid them.

On December 20, 1938 the representatives of the International Commission showed up again and continued with an inventory of departure for abroad. Thoroughly and carefully they wrote down especially the personal data and the military rank in Spain and left us with just the same dignity as their predecessors.

It was not until 16 January 1939 when the long-awaited order to move came. Covered, brightly painted trucks for protection against enemy airmen arrived. We were not allowed to open the awnings. After a long journey we were accommodated overnight in unknown barracks.

During the night they were bombed twice, but fortunately we escaped unscathed. Soon after breakfast we continued, concealed under the awnings, on the next leg of the journey. The destination was Valencia harbour.

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The opulent shipowner buildings, long avenues of beautiful trees, office blocks and warehouses were now a pile of rubble. Surprised by the devastation of the port we walked to the pier, where an old, retired pot bellied ship "Barcelona" awaited us. This maritime matriarch was in those days the only transport ship capable of transporting us. On this frail vessel we had to travel thorough enemy waters to Barcelona. The ship's pumps ran at full speed yet not enough to pump out all the water from below.

Perhaps that's why the gentlemen of the committee apologized and announced that - unfortunately - they would not be able to sail with us. Later we learned that they waited for the French cruiser which moved them safely to France.

We were also not exactly thrilled about the "Barcelona" but we had no choice but to rely on luck, as so often before and for twenty-four hours had to trust ourselves to the retired vessel flying under the flag of the Republic on its bow.

We descended the ladder to the deck of "Barcelona" and filled the space for the transport of goods. We were three thousand men in an area where in the case of the transport of goods at most five hundred men could be accommodated. Crammed like sardines it was not possible to move, never mind sit down. During the whole voyage we had to stay on the lower deck so our presence would be hidden from the enemy. During the disembarkation in Barcelona, we learned that before dark the crew had painted over the name of the ship, changed the appearance of the deck and raised a flag of a foreign state in order to deceive the fascists who controlled the sea between Valencia and Barcelona with powerful headlights.

Crammed human bodies slowly heated the whole space and with the discomfort there was unbearable sultriness.

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The lower deck area was covered with a large sail. The atmosphere became unbreathable and some friends fainted. The fainted were passed "hand to hand" to the opening of the deck, where there was still a bit of air. As the voyage progressed, the number of patients grew, because of the stuffy air, body sweat and other odors.

Because we could not move away even in a great emergency, all essential human needs were taking place on site.

On January 18, 1939 at ten o'clock in the morning we approached the port of Barcelona. The fear and nervousness of the previous hours vanished, and the lower deck rang with wit, laughter and singing. Our grandmother "Barcelona", guided by a pilot shuffled slowly to the pier. However, we did not reach the pier so smoothly and without any hassle. Suddenly, the alarm sirens sounded and over the harbour fascist aircraft appeared. A few seconds later, however, the Republican fighters appeared flying over the sea toward the fascists.

The air combat did not last long. The enemy aircraft turned and fled at full speed to their bases. The young Republican airmen allowed our landing in peace and without loss.

The next day Prime Minister Dr. Juan Negrin came to visit us. He found us all in our temporary barracks, because no one was allowed to leave. We did not know when we would be ordered to further displacement.

Dr. Negrin thanked us on behalf of himself and the entire nation for our generous assistance in taking up arms for the Republic. His speech created such enthusiasm that only one word from him would have been enough for us to take up arms and stand side by side with our Spanish friends again. But Dr. Negrin respected the requirement of the "non-interventional committee". Therefore he did not

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mention the possibility of our assistance. It was clear to us that the Spanish people would complete their fight alone - without volunteers.

Soon after we were transferred to the Hostelet settlement near Figueras. There, a few days later we witnessed the fall of Barcelona. On January 26, 1939 the Republican Army command surrendered to the fascists.

The enemy had the upper hand. Only the disciplined Spanish troops, hardened in battle near Madrid, Aragon and the Spanish north, under the command of Enrique Lister, Juan Modest prevented the Moroccan, Italian and other fascist divisions from rushing to Barcelona. The city itself was not yet lost and it was still necessary to transport the state archives, offices and wounded civilians to safety.

Here again the spirit of international solidarity and discipline volunteers showed.

The Spanish government asked the Interbrigadists to resume the fight and at least help to stop the advance of the fascists. Almost all of us were willing to join in to allow the evacuation of the state archives, government, wounded, women and children to France. But we did not have any weapons. Our command reckoned that we would be able to obtain weapons and ammunition from warehouses and those units in Barcelona, which had fled in panic before the fascist onslaught. When we arrived unarmed and in several trains - in the suburbs of Barcelona, heavily armed motorized troops of the Italian divisions had already reached the other side of the city.

This time the great experience of our commanders saved us. With a great deal of skill and luck they brought us back out of Barcelona and created a continuous line of defence a few tens of kilometers long. From military

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warehouses we picked up infantry weapons, rifles and light machine guns. The fascists had planned to arrive as quickly as possible at the French border. Our resistance thwarted their plan. They were forced to make large maneuvers and diversions to bypass the Interbrigade and Spanish division units, whose remnants fought on our side. And so the retreat of more than half a million civilians and soldier to France was enabled.

The picture of the main retreat road through the Pyrenees can hardly be described with words. The road was literally jammed with passenger and freight cars, horse drawn carriages, wheelbarrows and two-wheel carts drawn by donkeys, mules and people. In the tangle of carts staggered thousands of starving, freezing people with bundles on their backs and crying children in their arms.

One hindered another and at times the whole flow stopped completely. That was usually when one of the car tyres was flat or when a car engine broke down. There was no no time for repairs and to push the broken car on the road was also not possible. On one side stood a steep cliff and on the other side a deep chasm yawned. And so the damaged cars and trucks travelled despite the protests of the owners into the abyss.

The French borders were still closed. Sections of Senegalese under the command of white officers guarded the borders and prevented every attempt at crossing.

Finally on February 9, 1939 an order was issued permitting the refugees to enter French territory.

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The bitterness of sweet France First to welcome us after the border crossing were the troops and detachments of the Garde Mobile. Under their supervision we had to hand over any weapons and submit to a personal examination so that no weapon remained hidden. At the same time refugee's rings and watches also disappeared into the pockets of the black-clad guards.

Then in groups of five hundred we were driven like cattle and herded into prepared concentration camps. Saint Cyprien, Argelas sur Mer, Gurs and others were "ready" to accept eight and a half thousand international volunteers and over half a million Spaniards.

Our group found itself in the camp of Argelès sur Mer. In the whole camp there was not a single house or other shelter. Cooking and necessary sanitary facilities were not there. The camp was simply a piece of bounded, bare sandy coast, where the icy february wind - the "Tramontane" - from the Pyrenees was blowing.

Into this environment day and night came new streams of more and more refugees, some on foot, others in personal cars, trucks or at various wagons and carts. We lived in the open. Only those who arrived by car had a shelter for the night. Many dug pits in the sand that at least offered a little protection from the cold winds. Others overlaid pits with wood from the damaged trucks and covered the top with metal sheeting. Here and there one could see canvas or rug tents.

Upon arrival at the camp in Argeles we, along with Hruza, Kalvoda, Zampa and Kazbunda, created a five-member group and decided to construct a little bearable housing.

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To this purpose we stole plate from the Garde Mobile, and organised wood and tents. The tent built from this material was fixed with wires.

There was another problem - the provision of food. On the way from Figueras we had already stocked up.

Continuous supply had already ceased to function during the last retreat, the remaining stocks going to the refugees, because otherwise the food would have fallen into the hands of the fascists. Therefore the Carabineros crew opened a store in the local church in a small town on the way to the French border and everyone got what they wanted and could carry. I took five kilograms of semolina and tobacco, others some soap, flour - anything that was at hand.

In the first days of our stay in the camp the French guards did not care about the supply at all. It was necessary to protect the most essential food for the wounded, women and children. Thanks to the commanders of the Spanish Republican army the supply was at least partly provided for those in greatest need, as were the medical services, hygiene, order and discipline organized. Not even in the terrible conditions of the camp did the Republican Army and Interbrigade loose its human face. Every day we brought dozens of dead out of the camp. In addition to the lack of food it was the lack of water which made us very worried. Only after several days did water pumps appear in the camp. Although the taste of the water was not good, it was at least palatable.

The lack of water caused a large drop in the standard of hygiene. Washing almost stopped completely although some of the men compensated by swimming in the sea.

Only the hardened ones could do this because it was February and the water was ice cold. Great difficulties were encountered with the exercise of personal needs.

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Some of us used to go to the sea for this purpose. But it was to no avail as the tide threw the sewage on shore.

We soon began bartering with our guardians, ebony dark Senegalese. They did not understand the value of the metal, only its color. For all yellow, let it be gold or brass ring watch, they payed five francs. Items made of white metal, whether it was platinum or silver, were worth three francs. So somebody would get three francs for an expensive watch and another get five francs for a brass ring. Other things such as clothes, shoes, etc were exchanged only for bread.

Supply to the camp did not improve with time. We only ate condensed milk diluted with water to make it last longer.

One day a French plane flew over the camp and dropped bread, regardless of where and on whom it might fall.

After the unexpected gift mainly mothers rushed out wanting to grab as much as possible for their children.

This was just what the French aircraft was waiting for. It returned to the camp and began to film the painful scene.

Using the film the French government could show to the world that we came from a starving country and that only because of France did we have something to eat. And at the station platforms at the French border countless trains with food and medicines for the Spanish people were held.

The French government did not even allow one wagon to proceed to its destination. Everything was held back under the pretext of "non-intervention". Only after the fall of the Catalan front did one train after another leave for Spain where the material which had been retained for weeks and months fell into the hands of Franco.

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After a few weeks of our stay in the camp, individuals or entire groups of Interbrigadists returned to their homelands, but only French and Belgians, while other nationalities in the camp had to wait for the visit of representatives of their countries. Among the first to come were the representatives of England, Canada, USA, Switzerland and of the Scandinavian countries. Only we, the Czechoslovaks, had to wait in vain. We could not imagine. Communists were not desirable in the second bourgeois republic. In spite of the protests of Czechoslovaks settled in France no one lifted a finger to help for us. We were not the only citizens of a democratic state who remained in the camp to the end. Similarly affected were friends from Germany, Italy, Austria, Poland, Yugoslavia and Bulgaria.

We spent endless days and weeks, the monotony only broken by the occasional good-bye to friends exiting the camp. Only those who had a relative or friend in France, willing to bail five hundred francs to the camp headquarters and sign a statement that he will support the released, were able to leave.

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Life behind barbed wire At the end of April we were ordered to prepare for departure from the camp, accompanied by a notice that men and women and children would be travelling to different destinations. The report caused a great stir in the camp, because for families with children and those who were childless it meant separation, which no one knew how long would be for. In addition, we did not know the destination.

The evacuation of the camp was carried out by nationalities. An extremely long train took us from that inhospitable place to the French town of Pau, where women and children had to get out. It is hard to describe the pain and despair of mothers, fathers and children who did not know when and where they would meet again.

The final part of the journey ended in the "Camp de Gurs" concentration camp. It was the largest camp in France. Its space, divided into smaller sections called Ilot, was surrounded by barbed wire, natural marshes and a wild mountain river. Our military guards were mostly members of alpinists and one could get on with them. Worse, however, were the members of the Garde Mobile, not open to any agreement. The barracks and their equipment were quite primitive, but we were glad that they even existed. Our first concern was the treatment of the bunks, whose wood really hurt us when we slept sleep.

Therefore, we stole barbed wire and made steel mattresses from it.

It was worse with the wells, which we dug beneath some bunks. The water in the water supply only flowed to the quarters for a short time in the morning, noon and night.

After a few days the Garde Mobile discovered the wells

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and a few friends got a good beating for it. In order this would not happen again, we concealed several wells with planks and sprinkled earth on them.

At the camp, it was difficult even with food. Although the kitchen was equipped as in the army, allocations were like those in a concentration camp. We were constantly hungry, even if everything our boys cooked was honestly shared. A poor menu was repeated with relentless regularity week after week and the only exceptions were the days when the camp offended somebody and was sentenced to fasting.

The only privilege in the camp was the permission to trade between inmates and the Garde Mobile. The Garde was allowed to buy anything from us and under their supervision we could spend the money earned on everything we needed in the local canteen. Apart from trade with the Garde Mobile, trade among inmates also developed. Thus a market was created in the camp, where one could sell and buy everything - from new suits to watches, gold teeth, refillable ink pens, books, ties, clogs, thread and needles to the Armenian hot cakes and cup of coffee. In addition to inmates, dealers from the army and the Garde Mobile were also visiting the market. Soldiers were quite respectable business partners, but the guards robbed us whenever they could. They determined ridiculously low prices amongst themselves.

The Garde Mobile were the unchallenged masters of the camp and used their power at every opportunity. Under the pretext of looking for hidden radios, weapons, flyers or other prohibited material, the guards undertook thorough inspections of the barracks. They scattered everything, destroyed some things, but mostly they stole.

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One day, the camp came to life with an exciting new feature: on the French shores Mexican ships appeared which we supposed had come to take us to Mexico. But the French authorities did not give us permission to leave for Bordeaux. They supposed we would sign up for the "Legion Etranger". A Big "recruitment" event of unprecedented proportions started, but did not meet with the desired result. Only a few volunteers signed up to the Legion. Had it not been for the hunger and hopelessness of their situation, which broke some friends, the French would not have even recruited those few men. Angry at having missed their recruitment target they reduced our food rations and cut outings.

The misery and despair of camp life even led to suicides and mental illness. Even our Czechoslovak group was not spared such cases. A comrade, Zeigerschmied, stabbed himself with scissors in a sudden attack of madness.

Symptoms of mental illness in another friend, Karel Cernousek from HodonĂ­n, escalated so much that finally he had to be taken to a mental institution. We never received any further news of him.

Efforts to create activities, which would at least partially liberate us from the monotony of camp life produced good results. Language courses were formed in the camp. Fritz John taught German, Jan Rosa taught English and Marek French. Chess courses and a choir conducted by Horsky were also established. A bowling area was built and together we constructed a beautiful stadium for six thousand visitors. It was intended for football, but we only played a few matches. The camp commander forbad it.

And so we started to build a volleyball court and we celebrated many victories in this sport. Volleyball became the most popular sport in the camp and for the Sunday afternoon game several thousand spectators regularly turned up.

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Art was also not forgotten. Sometimes we held a popular cultural afternoon. Individual ethnic groups performed various sequences alternately. Among the performers were soloists, some of whom were professional artists, such as a tenor from Milan's La Scala. His professional reputation spread out even beyond the camp wires, and he received a financially advantageous invitation to perform at Radio Toulouse. The tenor declined the offer on the grounds that he would only accept an engagement if all Italians were released from the camp. His aria rang out farther from behind the barbed wire than on French radio, as did the gorgeous voice of an Hungarian baritone.

Both singers shared our admiration for the Cuban guitarist who composed, among others, a "La Ăšltima Retirada" rumba which is played and sang untill today.

In addition to sports, music and dance even the visual arts were cultivated. In the middle of their Ilot the Italians built a large statue of Garibaldi. As material they used clay mixed with straw and asphalt scraped from roofs of the houses.

An exhibition of models of blast furnaces, power plants and dams, paintings, sculptures and various objects and casts in plaster, metal and tar was arranged. It was on the occasion of the visit of the Minister of National Defence and senior representatives of the French army.

We wanted to show them that even misery and harassment had failed to break the spirit of international volunteers, loyal to the Spanish Republic. The exhibition and also our spartan like appearances confirmed it. The French delegation inspected everything, reassured us with many promises and left. None of these promises were fulfilled. The French working class behaved quite differently. They did not promise, but helped through real actions. Collections were held among the workers for the

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purchase of food, tobacco and other goods for the Spaniards and the volunteers. Similar collections were organized by workers in Belgium and Canada, and later, during World War II by members of the Czechoslovak army which was forming in Agde.

During that time of preparing for war we remained in our camp. In several places high watchtowers were built around the camp and massive spotlights installed.

At night when the lighting of the camp was tested, thousands of birds flew over the camp towards the Pyrenees. Attracted by the glare of the lights hundreds of birds flew down and were killed in the power wires. In the morning we collected them and at noon the smell of cooking filled the whole camp. It was the best lunch we had ever had in camp.

A less pleasant surprise was when we were told that all inmates would be fingerprinted. We knew that this regulation was a violation of international law, but our protests were to no avail.

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Agde calling. . .

In Gurs camp it was the autumn of 1939 when the war began.

One day a military commission from the Czechoslovak army arrived. It consisted of several officers and a military doctor. The Czechoslovak authorities in France had declared the mobilisation of all Czechoslovaks in France. Before the war, in August 1938, the Czechoslovak embassy in Paris had already called all Czechoslovaks in France to sign a declaration that we did not recognize the occupation and that our representatives would still remain the Czechoslovak embassies and consulates in France.

Naturally all of us signed this statement.

We welcomed the arrival of the commission with joy, but before applications to join the army were approved, the changes in rank obtained during the fighting in Spain and necessary care for our wounded and sick had to be discussed between our leaders and the committee. We assembled in our area Ilot according to the list for the first transport, to which I had been allocated. Each of us was given a new overall and high rubber boots, so that we could drive through France decently dressed. Under the Czechoslovak and French flags we lined up for a little parade and after saying goodbye to friends who were to leave in the January transport, we left the concentration camp in Gurs forever. Trucks were ready to transport us to the station. The train then took us to Agde on the Mediterranean Sea. Agde was a huge camp with wooden barracks, which was the base of the Czechoslovak foreign army. Soon after arrival at the camp we got new uniforms. The first glance at them provoked astonishment, because they were such

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a mix of colors and the kind of uniforms as would only be seen in a museum. We therefore did not have consistent uniforms. The exceptions were officers and ordinary soldiers, who came from Africa. They were mostly boys, who fled after the occupation of Czechoslovakia and wanted to fight against fascism.

During our stay in Agde we were assigned to individual weapons. We also worked in a warehouse, where the goods were initially stored on the floor after which we sorted them and stored them on prepared shelves.

In addition to the basic food we received only three francs pay a week. Officers were paid monthly from 1600 to 2000 francs. They also distributed the consignments from Czechoslovak, Canadian and Belgian relief organisations.

All the best things they kept for themselves and gave the rest to the troops. But even among the officers there were honest and good soldiers, who had a sense of justice and disagreed with the conduct of their colleagues.

Unfortunately, they were mostly removed from leading positions or otherwise silenced.

Our prospects for our future life in the Czechoslovak army were therefore not enticing, but precisely because of it we had to stay. In addition to the fight against fascism we expected a hard struggle within the military, to combat the culture, which under the guise of patriotism implemented its selfish policy and did not hide the desire to establish a bourgeoisie government in liberated Czechoslovakia. We knew that we were going to face military and political struggles, but we were determined to overcome even the most difficult obstacles and persevere until the final victory.

When it would be none of us knew - after all, at the time, it was February 1940.

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Conclusion It's been many years since we, as young people, went to Spain to help the Spanish people to repel the fascist attack on their country.

All of us, who in those days knew or just surmised the size of horror and danger, were defeated in the first great battle in Spain. The defeat of the Spanish Republic was the beginning of a temporary victory march of world fascism; the beginning of the most terrible carnage in human history. Only the strength of the Soviet Union was able to break the colossal fascist army and bring freedom to hundreds of millions of people, for which we took up arms years ago.

After the huge conflicts and suffering of the nations in the Second World War, the Spanish War was only an episode which was slowly forgotten. Sometimes we come across opinions and the idea that the working class of our young generation were led to Spain by a romantic desire for adventure. No wonder, those who now live differently than we did can hardly imagine our former situation.

Young people especially, who were born at a time when we fought in Spain or were imprisoned in concentration camps, or fought on the front lines of World War II, can hardly imagine the intellectual environment in which we then lived, the difficulties that we had to overcome and above all our solid moral beliefs about fairness and the final victory of our struggle that we always, even after the heaviest defeats, gave not only moral but also physical strength to and which we renewed and embarked upon new struggles.

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About 2500 Czechoslovak volunteers made it to Spain.

Less than a thousand among them remained alive after the war. Most fell in heavy fighting. Of the remaining thousand many were killed on other fronts of World War II or died on the scaffold or in Nazi concentration camps.

Today we are less than six hundred. Some have died prematurely from their wounds or hardships in the camps.

Perhaps it was that only a few of us are left that has led me to try to portray the image of our heavy beginning of the war against fascism. I'm not an editor or a writer, or a prominent political worker, I have written my work as a simple worker.

I could not even write out in detail a description of the Czechoslovak troops fighting on the Spanish front lines.

During the war, Czechoslovaks formed part of a number of smaller and larger military formations. Some of them existed only temporarily and then were reorganized and formed into other units. In those units were a lot of other nationalities and Spanish volunteers and at a later time mobilised Spanish soldiers.

As an overview I mention the units in which the Czechoslovaks fought in greater numbers. Within the 129th infantry brigade which were the Dimitrov and Masaryk, Checo-Balcรกnico and Divisionario battalions, as well as the anti-aircraft battery Klement Gottwald, the Jozko Majek field battery, the Liebknecht battery and the Jan Amos Comenius field hospital.

In addition to these units Czechoslovak volunteers fought in other departments or even in the staff. For example, throughout the whole war several senior officers and commanders - comrades of Sudetenland from Czechoslovakia served in the Spanish 86th Brigade.

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The Czech fighter pilot major Kral from Havlickuv Brod, who died in battle after having already flown 400 hours on combat missions excelled in the Republican Air Force.

Similarly, we also had some excellent tankers.

One Cechoslovak served in the officer rank in the Republican navy.

We received only limited reports about the individuals or sometimes the whole units. Sometimes these would be stories from the wounded in hospitals, where the fighters came from various units, and sometimes from short articles in the Czechoslovak issue of the international brigades journal "El Voluntario de la Libertad" which was published throughout the war. Finally, we told each other in the concentration camps, where we finally all met and where we had enough time to tell our story, of our own fates from various war fronts.

Therefore, in practice it has been very difficult to collect all the material on our units and their struggles into a single work. Nor is it possible to compare the combat achievements and merits of our units. Each fought as best he could, because he was aware that both Spanish friends and comrades of other nationalities looked at him as a conscientious member of the Czechoslovak anti-fascist and revolutionary movement.

So I have only written about a handful of my personal memories of some events and fights, which I took part in.

The Author.

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Card to commemorate 25 years after the Czechoslovak participation in the Spanish Civil War

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ANNEX ONE

View of Holesov in the Interbellum

The letter by Josef Hruza, Czechoslovakia To Petr Netopil ..."First I will write few words about myself, so you will know who I am.

I was born on March 20, 1911. As a youngster I never knew my parents. I was given to strangers to be educated. I grew up in hunger and work. In that time the bread had to be locked away from the children, it was said that "the bread went to sleep". We had a hard life and suffered from hunger and a lack of money. When we were young we tilled every piece of garden or field to grow our own vegetables, while today the gardens are built over with houses and people are buying food in supermarkets.

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1932 - 1935: I was doing my active military service on the Hungarian border in the city of Sáha, where I also learned Hungarian. In 1935 and 1936 I worked in a variety of jobs and for little money. In the autumn of 1936, Ludvik and I agreed to go to fight in Spain where general Francisco Franco, with the help of Hitler and Musollíní, was fighting against the Spanish Republic. We left on 10 December 1936. Louis travelled through Germany and France and into Spain. I went through Austria and Switzerland. I travelled into the city, which was on the border with Germany, France and Switzerland.

I did not have my own passport and used a friend's passport and photos, but in the French office, where I had to get a passport stamp to France, I failed and had to return home.

In January 1937, three of us left Holešov again for Spain.

This time we drove through Austria, Italy (Milan) and then through France to Marseille and then with the help of the French Communists we travelled to the border with France and then with two buses to Spain. There were about twenty Czechoslovaks, others were of different nationalities, I do not remember which. I was afraid of that route, but it turned out well. In Spain I fought with anti-aircraft batteries; 10 months in 1937 and again 10 month in 1938. We suffered fatal casualities, but not too many. At the end of that year, we were withdrawn from the front and in February 1939 we crossed into France.

About half a million crossed into France, mainly Spaniards together with we Czechs, Austrians, Germans, Poles, Hungarians, Bulgarians, Romanians and Koreans, who were unable to return home. We were all imprisoned by the French in a concentration camp "Camp de Gurs" at the

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foot of the Pyrenees. In December 1939 the Cs. military unit in France enrolled us into the Czechoslovak army.

Of the more than 600 from Czechoslovakia in the camp 150 men joined the Czechoslovak Army in France. I was in the infantry. Upon arrival at the military unit, those of us from the International Brigade, were split up and put into two separate units, so we were not among other soldiers. I was allocated to the kitchen, others went to the warehouse etc. I knew how to cook but only to boil water, but I learned. After the fall of France in 1940, we went by boat from France to England, where the volunteers created two large companies, each of more than 500 men, where we worked on various things in England until the end of 1941. Ludvik was in a second operatinal unit.

In January 1942, Ludvik went to the army and I was transferred to the Air Force where I served my time until the end of 1945. After coming home I worked in hotels in Marianske Lazne as a Russian, Spanish, French, German and English translator. In addition to that, I knew Polish, Hungarian and Italian. Even now, at the age of 90, I can speak English. I have seen the whole of Europe - from Moscow to London, Holland and Italy, but mostly as a warrior.

After the war I was in Russia three times and even spent three weeks at the spa in Yalta. In 1957 in Marianske Lazne I was selected for a job as a photographer by criminal police where I served until 1966, when at the age of 55 year old I went into retirement. Still in England, I met an English woman in 1943 and we married in 1944.

We had a boy, who is now 56 years old (in 2000), but unfortunately we do not have any contact anymore.

When I served in the police at home in the beginning I had no place to live. In Marianske Lazne, Karlovy Vary, Cheb and As I slept in police stations. Later in Beroun, Kromeriz and Holesov I also slept in the district stations.

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Back in Holesov I married a woman with whom we had a boy who lives in Holešov. Our daughter died in 2000, and my wife died in 1980. My wife and daughter died of cancer. When a retirement home was built in Holesov, I as a widower did not want to stay with grandchildren and I now live in a retirement home.

And now something about your dad which you probably do not know about.

Your father Ludvik was born in 1908 and died in December 18, 1974. Ludvik was about three years older than me. During his youth, Ludvik grew up as a very interesting boy. I only knew his mother and I remember she looked after Ludvik very well. He had the gift of speech and could entertain young and old. He was popular with the young girls. He actively served in the army for 18 months in the artillery. When he was at home he was a typical tramp. He had talent for everything, knew how to have fun, sing and really everyone wanted to be friends with him. He was always well dressed. I and many others wanted to be with him.

Together we went to Spain, France and England, and returned home after nine years. Later when he married and had childern he moved to Prague. Because he spoke several foreign languages he worked as chauffeur at foreign embassies and I know he always had enough money to take care of his family. I know that when he came from Prague to Holešov he was very popular and many young people would ask him to talk to them about his life as a tramp and soldier and he always had something to say.

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With Ludvik we were commrades abroad and then at home. I travelled to Prague to visit him often. He died when he was 67 years old. Why I am still living at the age of 90 years old I do not know. Out of the fifteen comrades with whom I went to the wars, all have been dead for more than 20 years. All of Ludvik’s friends regretted very much his passing away. I will always remember Ludvik as a good friend and I am not alone. Even after many years all those living "Spaniards" and other friends and comrades still remember Ludvik; he is not forgotten. We knew his character and his life. Ludvik in his life was very popular, he liked people and people liked him.

Josef Hruza"...

Mr. Josef Hruza is the author of: Pod žhavým sluncem Madridu (Under the hot sun of Madrid), z bojů protiletadlové1 Gottwaldovy baterie. The book is about the deployment of the Gottwald Anti-Aircraft group, where Hruza and Ludvik were both serving.

‘Gottwald’ Anti-Airceadt Battery 1

Reprint: Acta Universitatis Carolinae : philosophica et historica 3-4 (1973); Studia historica IX-X. P. 146-197. Summary in Spanish

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ANNEX TWO IN MEMORY

Comrade Ludvik Netopil died On 19 december 1974 died in Prague after a short illness honorary citizen of the town Holešov, comrade Ludvik Netopil, employee of service to diplomatic corps as a driver for Embassy of Algerian Republic in Prague. He was born on January 24, 1908 in Holešov, where he lived as a poor boy socially dismal childhood. From his youth he participated effectively in different events of the revolutionary workers' movement, organized by the Communist Party, whether they were his speeches in Holešov or in the former Bata factory in Zlin. He took part in the work of the proletarian physical education and sport, while in the hometown of the year 1933 he cofounded the Sport Club "Red Star" and with his friend, Comrade Joseph Hruza, now chairman of the Commission for the regional history of the workers' revolutionary movement in Holešov, became the promoter of "red"

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tramp movement.

The years 1936-1945 comrade Netopil spent as an active fighter against fascism on several fronts of war. As a member of the Spanish International Brigade he fought along with six other members of International brigades from Holešov in Spain against the Spanish, the Italian and German fascism. At the end of 1939 in the southern French town of Agde he entered the Czechoslovak army and after the fall of France in mid-1940 he came to England. Here, as a soldier of the Czechoslovak foreign resistance movement he fought against German fascism until the liberation in 1945.

After returning to Czechoslovakia, on whose liberation he is actively involved, visited comrade L. Netopil his hometown Holešov, where he had many friends; personally he was very helpful and popular. His relations with Holešov widened after r. I960, when he participated in the organization and arrangement of an exhibition of national importance "At Madrid we fought for Prague", in the hall of the Municipal Museum in Holešov. On 28 October he was attended actively engaging in discussions on the theme "How we fought in Spain" and June 18, 1967 he held a speech during the unveiling of a memorial plaque to his fallen comrades from Spain, Interbrigadist Ladislav Hotar. Among his works published we mentione at least two: the article "Remembering Ladislav Hotar hero of the international brigades" (Kroměřížská Jiskra May 25, 1967) and the book "From the Spanish trenches" (published in 1969 Kromeriz, district archive in Holešov).

Last farewell to comrade L. Netopil, which concluded a revolutionary song, was attended by numerous former Interbrigadists, among them the former commander of the anti-aircraft battery "Klement Gottwald", comrade Bohumil Laštovička.

Dr. Joseph Day (Author) ("Kromerisska jiskra", Jan. 16, 1975)

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ANNEX THREE

Illustrated Covers to Ludvik Netopil Related to the Spanish Years

Illustrated R-Cover from P. Hornych, Liberec to Ludvik Netopil, Prague, 1970.

Labels at back: “Do not be afraid” (for the dentist) and “Do not be afraid”(for the physician)

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Hand illustrated R-Cover, 1971 by P. Hornych, Liberec to Ludvik Netopil, Prague Text front: 1936/ 35th Anniversary of the formation of the International Brigades in Spain.

“Fascists: -No Pasaran- They shall not pass”. Remember the dead Comrades * Madrid. Jarama. Gudalajara. Bruno. Belchit. Valseguillo Villa Nueva de la Canada.

Ebro. / 1971.

Text back: ... When the Fall has cut its sad and rude to gold, we heard the nightingale sing and saw Don Cuichotte follow his dream, and so we did not hesitate to do what he wanted ... no peace, without the sword.

The writing in pencil on the back (left) faded away…

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Illustrated R-Cover from P. Hornych, Liberec to Ludvik Netopil, Prague, 1972.

Front: “The matador on the road” Vertical:” We dug the well in Jini, and had great hopes…”

Back: two laquer seals.

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Illustrated R-Cover from Pedro Hornych to Ludvik Netopil Text front, vertical: “…if you risk nothing, you have nothing…”

Text back >>Ich Dien<< “I Serve” Back closed with two laquer seals.

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Illustrated R-Cover from P. Hornych to Ludvik Netopil Front: Don Cuichotte riding, with flag and Pigeon of Peace, with text ’20st Anniversary of the World and Czechoslovak Peace Movement’ Back label left: (For a) Disarmed Future label right: (Remember) Marzabotto – Lidice – Oradour / MUNICH -massacre by Nazi-Germany, as a result of the Munich Treaty.

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Illustrated R-Cover from Pedro Hornych to Ludvik Netopil Front text vertical: "...so meant brother Zizka, in those times my highest commander, as well as the other commanders..." Being a citation from the book "Against all" ("Proti vsem by Alois Jirasek", historical novel from 1890 about the Hussite revolution of 1420) Back label: Danger (for fire)

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Illustrated R-Cover from Pedro Hornych to Ludvik Netopil, With colors of the Spanish Flag and text vertical: “VIVA LA VIDA PARA BRIGADAS INTERNACIONALES”, (‘Long Life for the International Brigade’).

At back two laquer seals

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Picasso, Guernica Stamp issued for the 30st anniversary of the Czechoslovak participation in the Interbrigade in Spain (1936), special cancel of the Exhibition of the Czechoslovaks in Spain â&#x20AC;&#x201C; in the Holesov Museum.

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Two Covers from the Holesov Museum addressed to â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Soudruhâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; = Comrade Ludvik Netopil, Prague, staff of diplomatic service.

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ANNEX FOUR

Spain - smile even in bad times

A Short version of this story is mentioned in the chapter "Gottwald" Anti-aircraft Battery, page 42: "Spanish commanders were satisfied with us, praised our team and Lieutenant Mikurcík and eventually asked us to sing them one of our national songs. We had a quite a lot of good singers, so we did not have to be encouraged for long. We sang three-voiced "Sobotenka ide", "Akú som si frajárecku", many more were added."

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ŠPANĚLSKO úzměvi i ve zlých časech Spain - smile even in bad times In July this year (1974) it is 38 years since Franco's coup turned Republican Spain into the battlefield and land of tyranny, terror and concentration camps.

Among the brave people who had rushed to help the Spanish democracy, were also progressive Czechs and Slovaks. One could write a lot about their strenuous fighting, victims and suffering. But, as it is our good habit, we like to tell stories and if possible with humor. Perhaps most of these stories arose because of a lack of knowledge of the the Spanish language.

One such episode happened in Almansa, when a group of fifteen Czechoslovaks and three Bulgarians acquainted with the art of artillery. They always achieved the best results in direct firing. At the end of their training, during the visit of representatives of the main artillery headquarter, their score was praised as excellent.

Spanish commanders were satisfied, praised the team and its commander lieutenant Mikurcik and finally came with the wish to hear some of our national songs. In the team were several excellent singers and so the boys did not waste any time. As first they sang three-voiced "Sobotěnka ide" (Saturday is comming). The Spaniards liked it and asked for an ancore. So a few more songs followed, including the popular "Aku som si frajarečku ..."

(What a girl I'm in love with...)

But then something unexpected happened. The Spanish commanders asked Mikurcik to let the crew sing our national anthem. But Mikurcik did not speak any Spanish and Vojta Rozchod, his interpreter, misunderstood their request. He thought they asked for one more folk song.

Delighted by their interest and before anyone could stop him, he began to sing "Žala Lojzka žala travu" (Lizzy was mowing the grass). At this moment and to everyone's 105

horror all officers stood at attention, with clenched fist at their caps. In an effort to salvage the situation, all began to sing with Vojta, so Mikurcik had no other choice as to stand at attention too and to honor the grass-mowing Lizzy.

When the song ended and the officers thanked for the performance, the boys looked extremely embarrassed, but nobody dared to tell the truth. Consoled by the fact that out of a desire to fulfill the wishes, uttered by a littleknownledge of the Spanish language, already worse mistakes occurred as was Lizzy being taken for an anthem.

Most difficulties had of course those who did not have any talent to learn foreign languages. They then distorted Spanish words to everyone's frightening. So once, during the changing of the guard, it happened that the alternating guard approached, asked for a password and shouted: "Intendencia!" (Quartermaster). It was obvious that the soldier messed up the password, but the French guard commander did not accepted this wrong pass word.

On his call "Alto!" and "Manos arriba!" (Halt! Hands up!) resounded only "guys, don't fool, it's me, Lajšner and I'm here to change you". The Frenchman, however, insisted on the password, and ordered the guard to take Honza Lajšner away to learn to pronounce "Independencia" (Independence) and come back again in half an hour. At the agreed specified time he approached and was stopped by a warning call, out of the darkness came his desperate "Boy, don't be silly, I'm unable to pronounce it". That was too much even for the Frenchman, he convinced himself that the messenger was allowed to say the password instead of Honza, and the changing of the guard could finally be completed.

Not even at war the youth can be denied and therefore it was no wonder that sometimes some of the boys became enthusiastic about some charming Spanish girls. In most cases, however, this only remained a secret sympathy,

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because the young man could not communicate at all with the girl. That was the case of Franta Janda. He was a tall and clever boy, but without any talent to speak Spanish. A few other boys could already speak some Spanish, some of them quite fluently, others only broken and with many mistakes, only Franta was still not able to make any understandable sentence. And it was Franta who was in love with a Spanish girl, named Pilar. For some time he watched her intensely and then took courage and asked one of his friends: "Please, how to say in Spanish I love you?" - "Well, of course â&#x20AC;&#x153;Yo soy un Cazador de mujeres," advised him the "friend" .

Franta thanked and began to repeat with short intervals the sentence, until he learned to speak it without any mistake. Then he and his friends went to the village where Pilar lived and where in their free time people used to come for a talk. Franta could not discuss so he sat silently and only watched the pretty face of Pilar. Then he stepped to her, said hello and excitedly blurted: "Yo soy un Cazador de mujeres." Pilar and everyone froze for a moment, but immediately bursted into boisterous laughter. Franta looked blankly at Pilar, then to the others, and because the laughter persisted, he fled.

However he wondered what had happened and so he later asked the boys about it. To his astonishment the boys bursted into the same storm of laughter as before. Franta stoked them even more with his remark: "Why do you laugh, I did tell it right!". Only later, when the boys quieted, they explained to him that the sentence he said with so much dignity to Pilar means "I am a womanizer".

Franta paled under the impression of this report, clenched his fists and seemed that he wanted to â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;discussâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; this with the "teacher" manually. But he restrained himself and only did not speak with him for a few days.

Luis Netopil (1974)

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ANNEX FIVE Images from the Family Album

The Author

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1916

Ludvik in Prague 1945

1922

Marianske Lazne Fltr: Soviet Officer, American Officer and Ludvik 1945

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1946 Picknick in Marianske Lazne

1946, Marianske Lazne

1946 Marianke Lazne, Ludvik (right) as referee

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Ludvik with Wiilys Jeep in the Mountains. 1952

Ludvik and Vlasta Netopil Around 1950

Vlasta, Petr, Ludvik, Eva 1954

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Petr, Ludvik, 1958

1971 At the Prague Airport with his beloved Beetle

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The House at Stepanska 41, Praha (Photo from Streetview)

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In loving memory of Ludvik and Vlasta

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Czechoslovak Magazine on the Spanish Civil War, 1937

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ANNEX SIX LITERATURE AND LINKS As mentioned in the introduction, there is little information on the Czechoslovak Brigade in the Spanish Civil War. Some websites however are very useful for additional information and for further research and reading.

The relevance of this information is obvious: the Spanish Civil War is not an isolated incident. It is a prelude to WWII, and the book of Ludvik Netopil is a personal account of those years.

LINKS http://webspace.webring.com/people/fc/czechandslovakthings/ Information about Czechoslovakia in WWII, and the years before. Webmaster Richard Glass. Refers also to other sites and sources for additional information. http://webspace.webring.com/people/fc/czechandslovakthings/ WW2_aguide.htm Links to documentation on the Czechoslovaks (before and-) in the Second World War. http://webspace.webring.com/people/fc/czechandslovakthings/ WW2_pioneers.htm On the Czechoslovaks in the Pioneer Corps - formed mainly by Czechoslovak Interbrigadists. https://fcafa.wordpress.com/2010/07/13/czech-pilots-in-thebattle-of-britain/ Link to the documentation and articles on Czechoslovak pilots in the Battle of Britain and flights on Germany. https://fcafa.wordpress.com/2013/12/06/aviation-training-inczechoslovakia-1919-1939/ Link to the documentation and articles on Aviation training in Czechoslovakia 1919 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 1939

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http://ruc.udc.es/bitstream/2183/13353/1/CC-130_art_55.pdf La República Checoslovaca 1936 - «España en nosotros» / Czechoslovakia 1936 - Spain inside us

by Jarmila Doubravová, Western Czech University, Prague THE SPANISH CIVIL WAR AND THE CZECHS WHO TOOK PART IN THAT WAR – below a short part.

Who were the interbrigadists?

They were people who fought in the Spanish civil war in 1936 as members of the International Brigade.

From Czechoslovakia they included people such as General Josef Pavel (1908-1973), a communist official and Czechoslovak politician who became the Minister of the Interior in 1968, and Dr. František Kriegel (1908-1979), a politician, military doctor and member of the Czechoslovak government who was the only political leader who declined to sign the Moscow Protocol (i.e. the assent to the occupation of Czechoslovakia) in 1968.

There were also Dr. Karel Holubec, C. Sc. (1906-1977), a physician and scientist, whose wife received the title Senora Dona from the Spanish King in 1996 (Dr. Holubec studied the effects of the atom bombs used in Japan and the treatment of burns), and Leopold Pokorný (1904-1937), a workers’ union official in his native town of Třebíč, who was killed fighting as an interbrigadist in Spain in 1937; he is buried in Morata de Tajuna.

They were interbrigadists.

They became «Spaniards» in 1968. After the occupation of Czechoslovakia by the Warsaw Pact armies in August 1968, the Czech Government was kidnapped to Moscow to sign the Moscow Protocol.

This was an agreement that the Warsaw Pact armies, and specifically the Soviet Army, had invaded Czechoslovakia following an invitation which was stage-managed by Vasil Bilak, a Central Committee member of the Czechoslovak Communist Party. All the political leaders signed the Protocol, including the president of Czechoslovakia General Antonín Svoboda, with the exception of Dr. František Kriegel. Resilience, refusal to submit to the general opinion and courage were the characteristics of the people labelled «Spaniards».

The same label was applied to General Josef Pavel who was then Minister of Interior and who subsequently resigned from this post on 31 August 1968.

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http://www.usd.cas.cz/wpcontent/uploads/2014/01/Czech_Journal_1-2013_pro_web.pdf Link to a newly established Journal for Contemporary History of Czechoslovakia http://www.mrhindshistory.com/the-munich-crisis.html Lessons from recent History, including the Munich Crisis, Spanish Civil War and the rise of the Third Reich http://www.mrhindshistory.com/the-munich-crisis.html Lessons from recent History, including the Munich Crisis, Spanish Civil War and the rise of the Third Reich https://www.flaginstitute.org/pdfs/Sebastia%20Herreros.pdf Well illustrated article on the Interbrigade, its visual charactery and propaganda by Sebastia Herreros http://www.asisbiz.com/Battles/Spanish-Civil-War.html Link to Photo archive on the spanish civil war, with a lot of propaganda posters https://www.google.com/culturalinstitute/exhibit/the-spanishcivil-war/QRWI5SN-?hl=en&position=14%2C0 Excellent Illustrated Documentary Exhibition on the Spanish Civil war http://collectif-smolny.org/article.php3?id_article=2034 Site with in depth information on the Spanish Civil War, with links to books and archives. http://www.expats.cz/prague/article/the-czech-republic/czechpilots-wwii/ link to the role of the Czechoslovak Forces in WWII http://troploin.fr/textes Site that links to critical essays on Communism, World Politics and Society.

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Republican Propaganda Posters of the Spanish Civil War

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http://troploin.fr/node/82 The Dubious Virtues of Propaganda: Ken Loachâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Film: "Land & Freedom" Downloadable pdf. Very interesting for back ground information. https://dps3639.wordpress.com Digital Platform of Dutch fighters in the Spanish Civil War, under the auspices of the International Institute for Social History, Amsterdam â&#x20AC;&#x201C; initiated by Yvonne Scholten, Hilversum.

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Czech Leaflet of 1938 on the Czechoslovak participation in the Interbrigade.

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Books, Films and other publications Jiri Nedvêd Czechoslovak Volunteers, the International Brigades and the Spanish Civil War, 1936 – 1939 Thesis / Dissertation 2008, University of Prague https://is.cuni.cz/webapps/zzp/detail/61993/ In this book mr. Nedved made an in depth study on the Czechoslovak participation in the Spanish Civil war, and the role of the Communist Party. The link above allows you to download and read the complete book in Czech, but with an English Summary, which follows here.

This thesis deals with the Czechoslovak volunteers of the International Brigades during the Spanish civil war 1936-1939. The maj or aim of the paper is to work up this topic wi thout the ideological obj ecti ves, which were until recently qui te common in the Czech (or Czechoslovak) writing about the volunteers. It is specially focused on those aspects, which were in the communist historiography the most distorted ones (e.g. the attitude of Soviet Union and the international communism to the Spanish war, the role of KSČ etc.). Therefore it is based primarily on the foreign scientific literature and the archive research. The first two chapters briefly discuss the history of the Spanish civil war and its international context as a necesarry background for the following analysis of the International Brigades. The former is concentrated on the inner (“Spanish") roots of the conflict and its development, more closely on the relations between the leading forces within the loyalist zone and on the dual role of Spanish communists. The latter then treats the international aspects of the civil war, which were of the main importance for its conclusion. It shows different attitudes of the major world Powers, both the intervention of the fascist dictatorships on the Francoist side and the nonintervention concept of the Western democratic countries. Particularly attention i t paid to the policy of the Soviet Union and Comintern towards Spain and reinterprets their aid to Republic with regard to the newly published documents..

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Josef Hruza Pod zhavym slunzem Madridu.

Acta Universitas Carolinae, 1973, Prague.

Publication written by the friend and comrade of Ludvik Netopil, we were not able to find.

Zbylo Nás Devět (Nine of us left), by Jiří Osolsobě.

Naše Vojsko, 1989, Prague. On a batallion of Czechoslovak Pilots in the RAF, Great Britain.

Fanny Schoonheyt, een Nederlands meisje strijdt in de Spaanse Burgeroorlog, Yvonne Scholten Meulenhoff, 2011

Fanny Schoonheyt (1912-1961) is de enige Nederlandse vrouw die in de Spaanse Burgeroorlog heeft gevochten. Ze verwierf er in korte tijd faam als ‘het dapperste meisje van Barcelona’ en ‘de koningin van de mitrailleur’. Een opvallende keuze voor een meisje dat ervan droomde journaliste te worden en om die reden naar Spanje was gegaan. Ze had een paar jaar gewerkt op de redactie van de Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, met onder meer Victor van Vriesland en mr. J. Huyts, volgens het journalistieke roddelcircuit een Russische spion. In Spanje krijgt Fanny een hoge functie in het leger en komt zo in contact met de laTere moordenaar van Trotski. In 1938 wordt ze op geheime missie naar Parijs gestuurd, waar ze ook een pilotenopleiding volgt. De nederlaag van de Spaanse Republiek brengt haar als vluchtelinge naar de Dominicaanse Republiek en Curaçao. Daar bouwt ze een bestaan op als fotografe Fanny Lopez en verzwijgt ze haar verleden: zelfs haar dochter wist niets van haar bijzondere krijgsverrichtingen.

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In 1936 George Orwell went to Spain to report on the Civil War. Instead he joined the militia of the P.O.U.M. - Party of Marxist Unification - to fight against the Fascists.

In this now justly famous account of his experience, Orwell describes the bleak and comic aspects of trench warfare on the Aragon front, the Barcelona uprising in May 1937, his nearly fatal wounding just two weeks later, and his escape from Barcelona into France after the P.O.U.M. was suppressed. As important as the story of the war itself is Orwell's uncompromising effort to sort out the partisan politics that plagued the Republican cause. His analysis of why the Communist Party sabotaged the workers' revolution and branded the P.O.U.M. as Trotskyist provides a key to the outcome of the war and an ironic sidelight on international communism.

In 1937 Ernest Hemingway traveled to Spain to cover the civil war there for the North American Newspaper Alliance. Three years later he completed the greatest novel to emerge from "the good fight," For Whom the Bell Tolls. The story of Robert Jordan, a young American in the International Brigades attached to an antifascist guerilla unit in the mountains of Spain, it tells of loyalty and courage, love and defeat, and the tragic death of an ideal. In his portrayal of Jordan's love for the beautiful Maria and his superb account of El Sordo's last stand, in his brilliant travesty of La Pasionaria and his unwillingness to believe in blind faith, Hemingway surpasses his achievement in The Sun Also ises and A Farewell to Arms.

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Hotel Florida, Amanda Vaill Madrid, 1936. In a city blasted by a civil war that many fear will cross borders and engulf Europe—a conflict one writer will call "the decisive thing of the century"— six people meet and find their lives changed forever. Ernest Hemingway, his career stalled, his marriage sour, hopes that this war will give him fresh material and new romance; Martha Gellhorn, an ambitious novice journalist hungry for love and experience, thinks she will find both with Hemingway in Spain. Robert Capa and Gerda Taro, idealistic young photographers based in Paris, want to capture history in the making and are inventing modern photojournalism in the process. And Arturo Barea, chief of the Spanish government’s foreign press office, and Ilsa Kulcsar, his Austrian deputy, are struggling to balance truth-telling with loyalty to their sometimes compromised cause—a struggle that places both of them in peril.

Beginning with the cloak-and-dagger plot that precipitated the first gunshots of the war and moving forward month by month to the end of the conflict. Hotel Florida traces the tangled and disparate wartime destinies of these three couples against the backdrop of a critical moment in history: a moment that called forth both the best and the worst of those caught up in it.

In this noir landscape of spies, soldiers, revolutionaries, and artists, the shadow line between truth and falsehood sometimes became faint indeed— your friend could be your enemy and honesty could get you (or someone else) killed.

Years later, Hemingway would say, "It is very dangerous to write the truth in war, and the truth is very dangerous to come by." In Hotel Florida, from the raw material of unpublished letters and diaries, official documents, and recovered reels of film, the celebrated biographer Amanda Vaill has created a narrative of love and reinvention that is, finally, a story about truth: finding it, telling it, and living it—whatever the cost.

Hotel Florida: Truth, Love, and Death in the Spanish Civil War McMillan, 2014

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De Spaanse Burgeroorlog, Rudolf de Jong Bert Bakker, 1963

EUROPE IN EXILE During World War II, London was transformed into a European city, as it unexpectedly became a place of refuge for many thousands of European citizens who through choice or the accidents of war found themselves seeking refuge in Britain from the military campaigns on the Continent of Europe. In this volume, an international team of historians consider the exile groups from Belgium, France, the Netherlands, Poland, Norway and Czechoslovakia, analysing not merely the relations between the plethora of exile regimes and the British government in terms of its military and social dimensions but also the legacy of this period of exile for the politics of post-war Europe. Particular attention is paid to the Belgian exiles, the most numerous exile population in Britain during World War II. Martin Conway is Fellow and Tutor in Modern History at Balliol College, Oxford University.Jose Gotovich is Director of the Center for Historical Research and Documentation on War and Contemporary Society, Brussels.

This book gives an interesting historical back ground of what happened to exiled people and armies, such as the Czechoslovak Forces â&#x20AC;&#x201C;and with it the Interbrigadists from Spain- that moved from France to Great Britain.

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Land and Freedom / ¡Tierra y Libertad!

Film by Ken Loach, 1995 1936. Historical drama. Young British man goes to Spain to fight with the Interbrigade against the fascists. With a few friends he ends in the revolutionairy militia of the POUM, lrf by Captain Vidal.

Life in war is hard, and they have not sufficient weapons.

Wounded he recobers in a hospital in Barvelona and decides to join the Communist Peoples Army.

Mourir á Madrid, De wereldbekende documentaire film van F. Rossif, 1963.

In deze film wordt ingegaan op de ontstaansgeschiedenis van de Spaanse Burgeroorlog aan het eind van de jaren '30. Terwijl de katholieke kerk het volk opriep te strijden voor de overwinning en priesters de soldaten zegenden, schreef de linkse dichter Lorca vlak voor zijn gewelddadige dood: "Als ik sterf laat het raam dan open." De film geeft een beeld van het verdriet en de verschrikking van een in tweeën gescheurd land.

Shots van onschuldige doden in de straten van Guernica, de vluchtelingen op weg naar de noordelijke grens, de lange belegering van en bombardementen op Madrid, de Baskische priesters, samengebonden, op hun weg naar executie.

Een film waarin het lijden van de mensen naar voren komt.

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Mourir á Madrid / Histoire 1931 : après la dictature de Primo de Rivera, la République redonne espoir aux Espagnols. 1936 : la gauche, unie sous la bannière du Front populaire, remporte les élections générales. Les opposants adhèrent en grande partie à la Phalange, dont Franco devient le chef en 1937. Menée par le «généralissime», l'armée se soulève. C'est le début d'une guerre civile qui va déchirer le pays durant trois ans. Le clergé espagnol, ainsi que l'Allemagne et l'Italie, apportent leur soutien aux troupes franquistes.

Les Républicains, quant à eux, ne bénéficient que de l'appui de l'URSS et des Brigades internationales. En 1939, les nationalistes triomphent au prix d'un million de morts et de 500 000 exils...

Mourir a madrid En 1963, alors que les relations entre l’Espagne de Franco et le camp occidental sont en pleine normalisation, Frédéric Rossif décide de rendre hommage à l’espérance perdue des républicains. Au regard de l’historiographie actuelle, son film présente des lacunes : les divisions internes au camps républicain sont atténuées - voire même passées sous silence, notamment les exécutions de milliers de républicains et de communistes « non conformes » sur ordre de Staline, ou le massacre des anarchistes catalans (lire à ce sujet Hommage à la Catalogned’Orwell).

Mais son Mourir à Madrid reste une grande œuvre épique et romanesque, un témoignage unique contre les grands massacres du XXe siècle. À ce titre, c’est un chef-d’œuvre.

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The Music of the film Mourir á Madrid was released on single record too.

The Dutch Communist Publisher ‘Pegasus’ produced ‘Songs of the Spanish Resistance’, 1939-1962, with several songs from the Spanish Civil War.

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POSTAL HISTORY A special source of information is provided by publications on the Postal History of the Spanish Civil war, and after that of the Czechoslovak Forces in France and Great Britain. The Postal History reflects the actual history colored by personal messages and the organisations that have been involved. So far known no special Czechoslovak Stamps or cancels have been issued in Spain for the postal service. This is significantly different from the Czechoslovak Legion in Sibera (1918-1920), or of the Czechoslovak Forces in Great Britain or in the Middle East (1940-45).

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An example of the Postal History on the Czechoslovak participation in the Spanish Civil War can be found at: http://www.exponet.info/exhibit.php?exhibit_ID=547&lng=EN Filatelistické Zajímavosti Korespondence Účastníkû Španělské Občanské Války, by Zdeněk Hrnčíř (2007)

Postal History Publications The postal History of the SPANISH CIVIL WAR 1936-9

By Ronald G. Shelley, 1967.

Czechoslovak Army and Airforce in Exile, 1939 – 1945

By W. A. Page, 1994 (Consolidates Re-Issue) Ed. by the Czechoslovak Philatelic Society of Great Britain Military Cards of the Exiled Czechoslovak Forces in France and Great Britain, 1939 - 1945, by V. J. Krajicek and W. A. Page, 1999.

Ed. by the Czechoslovak Philatelic Society of Great Britain Free Czechoslovak Forces in France, 1939 – 1945,

By Richard Beith, 2013 Ed. by the Czechoslovak Philatelic Society of Great Britain The Czechoslovak Armoured Brigade in Ferance and their Return Home, by Richard Beith, 2014.

Ed. by the Czechoslovak Philatelic Society of Great Britain Link to the Czechoslovak Philatelic Society of Great Britain http://www.cpsgb.org.uk/

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Examples of letters to and from Czechoslovakia Military cancelled, and censored. With kind permission of Juan E. Page

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The examples of page 131 and 134 illustrate that there were supporting organisations in Czechoslovakia and that the official representation of Czechoslovakia in Spain like Embassyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s and Consulates were in full operation during the Spanish Civil War.

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SPAIN-CZECHOSLOVAKIA [INTER-NATIONAL BRIGADE] 1937(Mar 23) Coloured hand painted picture postcard showing Happily Dancing Couple to Morovia cancelled Valencia 30c meter in red & with boxed S.C.C. / 25 Mar 1937 / 111 h/s of International Brigade in black with another strike alongside overlaid by boxed Visado / Por la / Censura Militar h/s in red.

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Commemorative Issue of Czechoslovakia of 1986, celebrating 50 years after the participation of the Czechoslovaks in the Spanish Civil War. As in 1966 this issue illustrates the political (State) opinion of its time.

After 1989, after the Velvet Revolution, this is drastically changed and resulted in the removal and rewriting of the Communist History of the past 41 years.

Another effect of this change was that the permanent collection on the Spanish Civil War of the Holesov Museum was completely removed.

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Acknowledgements and Epilogue This publication is the first of a series of four books of Ludvik Netopil as web-editions.

From the Spanish Trenches is also available in Czech with the title: ZE ŠPANĚLSKŶCH ZAKOPŮ, by LUDVIK NETOPIL This edition will be followed by his book about the participation of the Czechoslovak Interbrigadists in the Czechoslovak Forces in Great Britain and in the Pioneer Corps, 1940 – 1945.

This book will also appear in Czech.

All books are to be found at http://issuu.com/csph Email: Czechoslovakia.Netherlands@gmail.com Special thanks goes to: Richard Beith for consults and contacts, Richard Glass for valuable web information, Juan E. Page for expert information on the Postal History of the Spanish Civil War. Yvonne Scholten for her kind insisting to work on this project.

This publication is the result of close cooperation by the team: Petr Netopil (Fürth, Germany) Eva Netopil (Prague, Czech Republic) David McLean (England) Eckart Dissen (E=mc² Publishers, Amsterdam / Haarlem 2015)

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