Love from the Other Side

by Claire Plaisted

  Thomas regarded her thoughtfully. “I had a plan. I’d be a barrister, and adjudicate the law. But I watched as the law was routinely violated by Germany, and now Fascist Italy, and now destroying Spain in the process. My England chooses to ignore threats. In Paris, people drink and watch the shows. Meanwhile Herr Hitler girds for war. This civil war is but a harbinger of the future. I cannot abide inaction.”

  Gabriela felt comforted. This young man had a fire in the belly. She tried to throw him off balance. “Have you felt the chill winds?”

  Thomas replied, “I have only observed Pablo blessing himself when a breeze blew through.”

  Gabriela considered this. “So, what do you make of risking your life in a foreign country?”

  Thomas smiled. “I’ve already consigned my Soul to God before I ever embarked on this mission. If I remained a student, no doubt I would be called to service in several years. I choose to meet my fate, whatever it is to be, at a time and a place of my choosing. I relish the Freedom to choose. Too many people of my generation fail to do so.”

  Gabriela considered this for a long time, then replied, “I would like you to become the leader of my squad. I am the liaison with the brigade, but that takes me away from the day-to-day operation.”

  Thomas yawned, and said, “Let’s sleep now. Big issues with the morn.” They curled up next to each other. The sentry averted his eyes. Best love while fortune allows.

  The morning brought some feedback from their actions. Nationalists had shot one hundred residents of Mungia on the road travelling east.

  Gabriela said, “this will not be dismissed, there is a plan.” Pablo and Thomas looked at each other. Unspoken was the agreement, ‘let’s engage!’

  Pablo’s squad went east along the foothills, staying out of sight but close to the road. Thomas’ squad went north, cutting off a secondary road that the Nationalists might use. There was no southern exit. The sharp escarpments were not passable. The Nationalists transported cannons, machine guns, and troop transports in the hundreds. The Republicans were hopelessly outnumbered, even given the element of surprise.

  It was just then when a slow-moving albatross of the air appeared. It maintained a high altitude, well beyond the Nationalists gunnery range. It dropped three bombs, effectively closing the mountain-bound route. The Nationalist forces, trapped, were shot to pieces.

  Thomas asked, “who planned this?”

  Gabriela replied, “I did.”

  Thomas acknowledged her with a thoughtful nod. “There are to be no set piece battles then. All will be guerrilla operations.”

  “Of course, where did General Franco come from? An organized army. He committed high treason by using forces under his command to assail a constitutionally-formed government. I hope to see him hang, but that’s a remote possibility. We are receiving some arms support from several nations, but no one has agreed to fight for us. Except for you.”

  The dusk had fallen, and they looked to find food to eat. Thomas regarded her, as they mutually tore into a stew.

  “You must consider, I am worldlier than you. That is not an insult. What I suspect will happen, is that the Soviet Union will get involved. As far as English support, that’s never going to happen. All European powers are skittish at the thought of another continent-wide war. Of course, there’s no predicting the Americans. Not the government. But if there’s an opportunity to legally uphold the law while shooting people, the Americans will be in on it!”

  Gabriela’s features darkened. “I just want the Fascists gone from Spain. I have no thought for the world.”

  Thomas gently said, “I have no family in England. My parents orphaned me when a drunk driver killed them on their way home to me. I was present at his trial. He had been a war hero, who could not deal with peace. I forgave him.”

  Gabriela’s forlorn smile touched him. “Wait until you conduct more ops. You will learn never to forgive yourself.”

  The raids continued, always advancing towards the east, and the Pyrenees. For the Basques, it was their weapons supply line. For General Franco’s Nationalists, it was a sideshow. His main objectives were in play, and the Basque resistance was a known quantity. He had plans to deal with them. Hitler’s Condor Legion would play a critical part.

  Pablo said to Thomas, “the Russian weapons supplied come with their own complications. Different states of maintenance, but most importantly, different calibers!”

  Thomas replied, “we must gain an arms casting firm!” Pablo’s team captured one such. Soon, their bullets could supply all weapons.

  So, the Civil War dragged on. The Americans did arrive, in the form of the American Abraham Lincoln Brigade. The German and Italian support for General Franco’s Nationalists overwhelmed the Russian support for the Republic, while Great Britain and France watched, as their ineffective governments let all die equably.

  Pablo and Thomas’s squads had been joined now by other field units. They were a very effective force, considering the fact that they were outgunned and outmanned. It was during this campaign that Thomas started feeling the chill winds of the fallen. He characteristically told no one. Once, during a beer drinking session after a successful op, he smiled at Pablo, Gabriela, and Miquel Fernandez, leader of another squad. He asked, in all innocence, “I have often wondered why we never feel chill winds from those who have fallen opposing us.”

  Pablo looked to Gabriela, and Miquel watched, knowing to stay out of this discussion. Pablo said, “You are in the land of the Basques. The Souls of those who wish us ill have no place here. They will roam somewhere, but here their loss of life is nothing at all for us!”

  The Basque advance to the east continued unabated. Gabriela was concerned.

  “Our thin sources of intelligence tell us that the opposition is weak. Taking the east and consolidating our power here will not win us the war, but it will eliminate a threat behind us. Once done we’ll begin our advance southwest.”

  Pablo picked up on this narrative. “We’ve received a shipment of serviceable weapons from Mexico. To evade the arms embargo, they were shipped from Poland to Mexico to Bilbao. A significant number of B.A.R.’s were included!”

  Thomas raised his voice and said, “I can shoot two at a time!” This drew general cheers from the assemblage.

  Gabriela was with him that night. She said, “I feel fey, as if I’m talking to people I will never see again!”

  Thomas comforted her, saying, “If we are to die, we’ll die in the cause of Freedom. None need write our epitaphs. God will know.” Thomas continued. “My Soul remains with God, and nothing of the death-dealing we’ve done will change that. There may come a time when my Spirit breaks, but looking at what vile acts the Nationalists have done in the name of God only strengthens my resolve.”

  Gabriela replied, “I speak not of death-dealing, of that I’ve had my fill. I think it best to consider that we had best die during this fight, as we will never fit back into polite society!”

  Pablo was flummoxed. The three of them were in a church, and he raised no objections as Thomas Clarke and Gabriela Sanchez were ‘married’ in an abandoned Church.

  Their faux ceremony did not slow their advance. They had managed to isolate a significant Nationalist force. The Nationalists had given way to their initial assault. The heavily-reinforced Republican force took advantage and decimated the Nationalists. The leaders of the assault did not drink in celebration, but they relaxed for a time, unaware of any impending threats.

  Mr. and Mrs. Clarke, along with Pablo, decided to leave the sideshow. Pablo had his doubts. “They were rolled up too easily! These were poor folks who never were political!”

  Thomas shared his view, as did Gabriela. “We are being led, she snarled!” Pablo and Thomas considered this.

  “If we are,” Pablo intoned, “it is unlike anything they have done yet. We are wise to withdraw. It may yet be a trap. But retreating to Guernica, where we’ll receive first aid, food, and much needed rest, doesn’t sound like a
trap. It sounds like some well-earned rest.”

  Thomas said. “From Guernica, we shall be reinvigorated! The fight in the northeast shall be rejoined!”

  So, the Republican squads withdrew to Guernica. They were still front-line units. There was no such thing as replacement squads. No such luxury.

  The spring of 1937 was dawning, despite the blood. Thomas took the time to pick some flowers, and proceeded to decorate Gabriela’s’ hair. Pablo complimented her, “perhaps we’ve another weapon at our disposal now!” Thomas defended her, replying, “My Love is a weapon that only wounds my heart!”

  They looked forward to Guernica. It was a pro-Republican city, and as such had the first-aid they needed, the food their forces required, and, more important than that, the intelligence they sought. It was late April, and the 1937 campaign was about to commence. Republican and Nationalist forces had fought hard. The Republican campaign the most hard-fought of all

  April 26, 1937 featured a clear blue sky, having been washed by a gentle spring rain the day before. Gabriela and Thomas lingered in the garden of a Monastery. Thomas took a knee once again. “Will you be my bride? I accept you, and I can only hope you accept me, with all of my imperfections! I come highly-recommended, by Father Davis of Oxford!”

  Gabriela smiled, then scolded him gently. “I was wondering when you might get around to it! I suppose you haven’t planned a ceremony!”

  Thomas said gently, “Oh I have, but all details are a secret! After all, my Love is a rebel leader!”

  The bombs started dropping then. Gabriela, Pablo and Thomas knew what to do. For many civilians, they died in panic. In a sub-basement, the trio decided on the limited options they must have. The Condor Legion were using German Heinkel 111E medium bombers, for which the Basques had no answers.

  The three of them were plotting when a magnesium bomb hit them. They were blinded, not killed, or so they thought. They were rendered unconscious. Slowly arising from the aftermath, they ignored the entreaties of their medics. As vision returned, they saw the battlefield. It was not good. The city had been reduced, in their absence, to complete ruins. No one could have prevented this. It was a war crime of the first order. Hitler’s Nazi ‘Condor Legion’ had bombed a city to complete destruction.

  Pablo replied, “there is nothing within our ability to retaliate.” Thus, began a prolonged period of hesitation and mysticism on the part of Herr Hitler. When he thought about the east, windows opened, to the east. When he thought about Calais, his adjutants smiled. When Normandy was discussed, his aides shook their heads. “Defenses too strong” they intoned.

  The garrisons of Franco’s supporters did not feel comfortable at night. Frequent chills and breathing difficulties set in. The veterans consigned the night watch to the young Spanish ‘fascists’. They were frequently found dead at their posts, bound at attention in their rigor.

  There were many such stories, for I’ll not call them tales. I am Pablo’s son; he still roams the world, I believe. If he does then Gabriela and Thomas do as well. Given their quest for freedom, I am sure they must be busy, haunting many.

  In War, people die. In Love, people survive, in the hope they engender for their sons and daughters. But that is another story! Another story of Love from beyond the grave.

  Pipers Hallow

  By Claire Plaisted

  He stood on the small hill overlooking the village where the massacre had happened. Slowly he pulled his bagpipes towards him, taking a deep breath, he started to play a lament to engage those who’d lost their lives. The haunting melody sang out across the land. The souls of the weary soldiers watched on before ascending into the skies above, grateful for his guidance.

  The sounds of the bagpipes made the locals cover their ears and wince at the ungainly sound bellowing out over the centuries.

  The lone piper can still be heard today—if you listen carefully.

  The Massacre at Sandbach, 3rd September 1651

  The battle of Worcester was over, the Scottish had lost, bone weary and in retreat they marched forever forward, moving through towns and villages. A thousand cavalrymen led by General David Leslie, plodding onwards. Town after town getting closer to the border of Scotland all the time, praying for rest and food.

  “Where are we to stop?”

  “At nightfall,” General Leslie replied.

  “The men can’ne take much more.”

  “They’ll make it laddie.”

  “What’s that noise?”

  “A market by the sounds, mayhap we’ll stop here and rest.”

  They marched down the main street towards the market rounding the last house to find village folk selling their wares on the common land.

  “Looks like we be in luck laddie,” General Leslie smiled, nodding to the folk.

  “Bloody English,” he snapped back.

  “Aye, though not all are bad.”

  Dusty, faces filled with grime, bedraggled clothes covered in blood, they moved forward. Soon they’d wish they hadn’t.

  IT WAS THE 3RD SEPTEMBER 1651. Sandbach was holding a two-day fair, the whole village celebrating the coming harvest. The sun shone down, warming them, cheering them while others sold their wares. There was singing, dancing, eating, children dodging in and out of the crowds, between legs, a few pickpockets going for gold.

  The day started early for the September fair. Each household had been busy baking, sewing, weaving and getting their wares ready to sell. Cows, hens, pigs, rabbits and pheasants all caged or tied to poles, ready for the cooks from the big houses to buy for their masters’ dinner table. It was a beautiful day.

  Betsy cooked breakfast over the fire while Henry rounded up their children making sure they were dressed and clean.

  “Go eat child,” he laughed, chasing his eldest into the house. His youngest mewled in his cot, he leant over with a smile, making the lad chuckle.

  “Betsy, you need to feed him, and he stinks.”

  “Aye love, you sit yourself down and feed, I’ll deal with him shortly.”

  “Prayers,” said Ed.

  “Bow your heads now,” said Henry, a devout protestant.

  Prayers done they began to eat. Betsy picked up the baby, putting him to her breast where he suckled hard.

  “We need to keep the children quieter or Mother will complain,” said Betsy.

  “Not sure I like this lack of fun the Lord Protector wants,” mumbled Henry, his mouth full of food.

  “You speak treason. Keep your thoughts to yourself.”

  “Aye wife and you keep your manners. I’m head of the house,” he glared.

  “Tis time for the market, we need a good spot. We have much to sell.”

  “Aye, we have that, you been busy with your needlework,” he smiled once more. “Nowt to pretty I hope?”

  “Of course not, just letters I copied from the bible.”

  “Let’s look at you all?” The children lined up outside the house. “Jump on the waggon and we’ll be off to the commons.

  The chill was moving off the air, the sun warming them. They sang hymns quietly as they moved towards the centre of the town.

  Other families were gathering, smiling and happy, setting up their wares on the common land as was permitted by their High Lord. The children ran around together, enjoying the sun and games they were allowed to play.

  Ed tumbled into his dad, nearly earning himself a cuff around the ears, ducking he scampered away towards the main road. He peered down the road, seeing dust been kicked up. His sister arrived by his side.

  “What you looking at Ed?”

  “Dunno looks like men marching this way.”

  “We should tell da,” she grabbed his hand, they wove in and out of the adults arriving at their da’s stall.

  “Da, men coming, come look see.”

  “Busy lass, stop mithering me.”

  “They look like soldiers da.”

  Henry looked up, yelling for his wife. “Betsy, get your arse over here, I need you
to look after...” he looked over his shoulder in the direction his daughter had pointed, his mouth dropping open in shock. He’d seen the Scottish cavalry, their weapons at their sides, their menacing dirty faces worrying him as they drew closer to the fair. They didn’t approve of the Scots. “Get the children and run to the town hall girl, we got trouble, we need to inform the Lord Radclyffe,” he said, picking up his staff.

  “What trouble you dreaming up...” she screamed, seeing the mean looking cavalrymen for the first time. Grabbing her children’s wrists, she dragged them away, her eyes full of fear. Yelling to everyone to run for their lives while the men turned, grabbing anything they could use as weapons.

  The town of Sandbach were Parliamentarians’ who were on the side of Oliver Cromwell the Lord Protector of England. When Henry realised who these bedraggled men were, he yelled out to the rest of the townsmen to grab arms. The two sides clashed, fighting, maiming, killing, scared of the evil look in the Scottish devils’ eyes. The cavalry whose only thought was to pass through soon realised they were in a bad situation. They continued to move forward, on to the cobbles, closing in on the lord manor. They fought like the devil, killing and maiming those who attacked them. Many fell and captured, weary and sore. Screams arose from horses as the fighting escalated. Townsmen continually scattered, re-grouping, continuing to fight as the slaughter grew. Blood ran thick on the market common and the nearby cobbles as the fight went past the Saxon Crosses. Horses ran, crushing people, rearing up in fright as they were struck by staffs and tools which the townspeople fought back with.

  Time passed, until the Scots finally retreated the way they’d come. Over a hundred were taken prisoner, locked inside St Mary’s Saxon church. Many locals and Scots were killed leaving the commons red with blood, not a blade of grass to be seen. Dead horses, and farm animals, bodies of women and children who got in the way, looking up to the skies with sightless eyes. Moans and groans from the injured as they staggered around for help before collapsing from their wounds.