Going Back
In July and August 2007 Bea, Michael, Jone, and I went to Oñate, first flying to Barcelona to see relatives and then driving through Aragon and Navarra to the Basque Country. On the way we stopped at some places I had visited in "the old days": Belchite, the Monasterio de Piedra, the Monasterio de Leyre, and Pamplona. I wrote about my second trip to Belchite upon returning to Charlottesville and posted it on a blog site along with photographs taken by Jone. I reprint (reblog?) it here for anyone who might be interested.
Revisiting Belchite
Last month I took my family to visit Belchite, a small town in Aragon that was the scene of at least two battles in the Spanish Civil War. The American volunteers of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade were there, and their Commander, Robert Hale Merriman, a Nevadan and University of California professor disappeared there during a confusing night attack.
It was a hot, dry day, and the breeze sometimes smelled of the goats penned at one side of the old town. We walked the main street, Jone taking many pictures of the ruined buildings, while Bea picked up pieces of blue-painted plaster that had once been interior walls. The same blue could be seen on many walls in rooms that are now exposed to the weather. I noted the absence of a monument to Franco’s government that I had seen on a previous visit, a small square cemetery delineated by a low whitewashed wall topped with an iron fence. The wrought iron cross that was the centerpiece still stood alone; either it had been moved or the surrounding tombs and walls had been flattened.
The neighboring new town was quiet and sleepy, and we did not venture in for a look. But as we pulled away from the old town in our air-conditioned rental car we stopped to ask directions of two campesinos, seemingly the owners of the goats, and probably of an orchard as well, because they sent us on our way with a bag of freshly picked figs.
I had been in Belchite once before, and I include here a journal entry from that day.
Belchite August 9, 1977
Exactly forty years ago at the end of this month, a battle was fought in this town. When the struggle was over the town was left in ruins. And unlike the hundreds of other pueblos destroyed in the civil war, which were cleaned up and rebuilt, Belchite was left. Left as it is, while the inhabitants built a new Belchite alongside the ruins of the old.
I was walking down the main street, gaping at the half-walled structures with roofs gone and stairs going nowhere. Suddenly a man rode up from behind on a bicycle, singing a Republican song. He stopped and asked if I knew about Belchite.
“I’ve read about it”, I said. He proceeded to show me around.
“Right here, the military hospital”, he said, pointing out a narrow three-story house. He pointed back up the street. “See that window? Two machine guns there, Republicans. Controlled the main street.” We quickly climbed a hill to a modern looking monument. “350 comrades in there, in a hole.” Returning to the street he showed me a house where an International Brigade troop was keeping prisoners. He pointed out a side street, now buried in rubbish, where a sentinal was shot in the eye. “Muerto.”
The old plaza is grass and rubble, the ayuntamiento a foundation, nothing more. In the church tower a large gouge near a window where a bomb had exploded. In the outside wall of the apse you can see the butt of an unexploded antitank shell, buried securely. Another unexploded shell was just discovered, sitting near an irrigation ditch waiting for the Guardia Civil to disarm it.
They told me you can get up into the church tower, although they’ve never gone up. I will be back in the morning to take a couple of pictures. Then on to Teruel.
Teruel, August 10, 1977
Got up at 7 a.m. and went to shoot some photos in old Belchite. I climbed the tower, with much fear, not knowing what shape it was in. I was calmed at the sight of an empty pack of cigarettes - others climb up.
At 9 a.m. caught the bus to Montalban. Arrived too late to make connections - only the start of my bad luck. I did manage to hitchhike into Teruel in two rides…
The journal goes on about the rest of my trip, and the weeks after when I was working with Boise State University’s Basque Studies Program in Oñate. The last entry in the notebook is for November 3, and there are later notebooks.
This year I told Michael about the unexploded shell lodged in the church. Most visitors probably miss it. I took him to the back wall and we stood ten feet away, looking for the bomb. I knew it was there in the wall, but it took Michael’s keen eye to see it among the bricks.
Belchite in July 2007
After 70 years Belchite is still a witness to the destruction of war.
Traces of blue paint still exist on the now exposed interior walls.
One of Belchite’s two ruined churches from the inside. Belchite seemed to have been a prosperous agricultural town, judging from the still visible decoration.
My daughter Jone’s digital images are much better than the slides I took 30 years ago.
Revisiting Belchite
Last month I took my family to visit Belchite, a small town in Aragon that was the scene of at least two battles in the Spanish Civil War. The American volunteers of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade were there, and their Commander, Robert Hale Merriman, a Nevadan and University of California professor disappeared there during a confusing night attack.
It was a hot, dry day, and the breeze sometimes smelled of the goats penned at one side of the old town. We walked the main street, Jone taking many pictures of the ruined buildings, while Bea picked up pieces of blue-painted plaster that had once been interior walls. The same blue could be seen on many walls in rooms that are now exposed to the weather. I noted the absence of a monument to Franco’s government that I had seen on a previous visit, a small square cemetery delineated by a low whitewashed wall topped with an iron fence. The wrought iron cross that was the centerpiece still stood alone; either it had been moved or the surrounding tombs and walls had been flattened.
The neighboring new town was quiet and sleepy, and we did not venture in for a look. But as we pulled away from the old town in our air-conditioned rental car we stopped to ask directions of two campesinos, seemingly the owners of the goats, and probably of an orchard as well, because they sent us on our way with a bag of freshly picked figs.
I had been in Belchite once before, and I include here a journal entry from that day.
Belchite August 9, 1977
Exactly forty years ago at the end of this month, a battle was fought in this town. When the struggle was over the town was left in ruins. And unlike the hundreds of other pueblos destroyed in the civil war, which were cleaned up and rebuilt, Belchite was left. Left as it is, while the inhabitants built a new Belchite alongside the ruins of the old.
I was walking down the main street, gaping at the half-walled structures with roofs gone and stairs going nowhere. Suddenly a man rode up from behind on a bicycle, singing a Republican song. He stopped and asked if I knew about Belchite.
“I’ve read about it”, I said. He proceeded to show me around.
“Right here, the military hospital”, he said, pointing out a narrow three-story house. He pointed back up the street. “See that window? Two machine guns there, Republicans. Controlled the main street.” We quickly climbed a hill to a modern looking monument. “350 comrades in there, in a hole.” Returning to the street he showed me a house where an International Brigade troop was keeping prisoners. He pointed out a side street, now buried in rubbish, where a sentinal was shot in the eye. “Muerto.”
The old plaza is grass and rubble, the ayuntamiento a foundation, nothing more. In the church tower a large gouge near a window where a bomb had exploded. In the outside wall of the apse you can see the butt of an unexploded antitank shell, buried securely. Another unexploded shell was just discovered, sitting near an irrigation ditch waiting for the Guardia Civil to disarm it.
They told me you can get up into the church tower, although they’ve never gone up. I will be back in the morning to take a couple of pictures. Then on to Teruel.
Teruel, August 10, 1977
Got up at 7 a.m. and went to shoot some photos in old Belchite. I climbed the tower, with much fear, not knowing what shape it was in. I was calmed at the sight of an empty pack of cigarettes - others climb up.
At 9 a.m. caught the bus to Montalban. Arrived too late to make connections - only the start of my bad luck. I did manage to hitchhike into Teruel in two rides…
I was able to climb to the top of this tower to take photographs in 1977. In 2007 I decided against going up again.
The journal goes on about the rest of my trip, and the weeks after when I was working with Boise State University’s Basque Studies Program in Oñate. The last entry in the notebook is for November 3, and there are later notebooks.
This year I told Michael about the unexploded shell lodged in the church. Most visitors probably miss it. I took him to the back wall and we stood ten feet away, looking for the bomb. I knew it was there in the wall, but it took Michael’s keen eye to see it among the bricks.
The unexploded antitank shell lodged in the church wall.
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