To mark the 90th anniversary of the Civil War, José Ángel Mañas re-creates in Zenda, day by day in this section, what unfolded in 1936, perhaps the most pivotal year in the recent history of Spain.
Saturday, October 3, 1936: Wave of refugees
Within seven days of the decree’s publication in La Gaceta de Madrid, every Spanish person, whether an individual or a collective entity, shall deliver to the Bank of Spain, at branches or banking establishments, gold or coins, as well as any foreign currencies or securities of any kind that lie within the national territory and are at their disposal, whether owned outright or held in custody. The holder may choose between receiving payment in pesetas for the gold delivered at the official exchange rate or obtaining a receipt as a guarantee of the deposit made…
Dolores Ibárruri, the Pasionaria, left the Gaceta beside her in the car seat, between her and the bodyguard. It was the measure by which the communists, under the guidance of Koltsov and Rosenberg, had been pressuring the President of the Republic for weeks. At first, Azaña resisted. Yet he finally yielded, and the decree appeared in print that morning. That signified the growing influence the Party held within the government. Pasionaria had never felt such power before, and she relished it.
—Where are we going? —asked the driver, a quiet, hooded-eyed young man, the most prudent of the chauffeurs assigned to her.
The boy had parked in the morning at the doors of the Party headquarters on Serrano to await her. Beside him, upfront, rode one of the militiamen who escorted her. Next to Pasionaria, in the rear seat, another man, sporting a beret, gazed out the window and held his rifle between his legs.
—To the village of Navalcarnero, comrade.
The driver looked ahead. A few moments later they passed in front of the Puerta de Alcalá. For several days now, a gigantic portrait of Stalin on a canvas had occupied the central arch. In Plaza de Cibeles, Pasionaria noted that the anti-aircraft guns were already in place and frowned at the sight of hundreds of refugees crowded beneath the trees on Castellana and Recoletos. Some women cooked on fires laid out on the pavement. The communist car rolled by the Ministry of War and the Bank of Spain, then took Gran Vía, Plaza de España. There they were halted at up to five successive checkpoints. And already on the Extremadura road, as they neared Navalcarnero, they encountered increasingly larger groups.
—Who are all those people? Where do they come from? —asked one of the escorts.
—From Maqueda. They’re fleeing the fascists.
Along the ditches lay heaps of scraps, clothes, harnesses, caps, blankets, cups, plates, and even useless rifles. More debris appeared, and militiamen from the relief forces were also seen leaving Madrid. Some were resting at the roadside. As they progressed, dodging checks, the road became a flood of peasants pulling a mule or donkey, with a woman, a child, or an elder perched on top. Some even arrived with a farming cart full of bundles, the family perched high up, lying on mattresses.
—This is awful —murmured Pasionaria.
Each morning refugees arrived with carts and starving dogs, and they were settled in seized houses in the Salamanca district. Dolores herself supervised the setup in several mansions, where women, children, and old folks were piled with mattresses and chamber pots. But as the flow continued, the latest arrivals camped outdoors in the promenades. For now, with the good weather, this was feasible. But soon the cold and autumn rains would arrive.
The Pasionaria needed to see it herself. From behind the car window, she said nothing, but she sensed that the encirclement of Madrid was closing in more and more.
—That’s enough. We can return to the Party headquarters, comrades —the communist leader indicated.
All the entries of 1936 day by day
Interview with José Ángel Mañas about 1936 day by day