The Spanish Civil War

by Hugh Thomas

  The communist party had continued, in the summer of 1937, to press for unification between socialists and themselves, and a working pact between the two parties was made public on 17 August. This repeated the war aims of Negrín’s government, adding the sinister comment that the extreme revolutionary Left should be purged. But this, and another, later, declaration, by all five Popular Front parties on 10 October, made no other concession to the communists. At the end of October, Negrín ended the discussions about prospective unity, saying that such a rigid framework was more suitable to nationalist, than to republican, Spain. This rebuff was not offset by the communist success in November in establishing, by a moderate programme, an alliance of all the youth movements, including the anarchists (the Alianza Juvenil Anti-Fascista—AJA). The socialists could not object, since their youth had long ago been swallowed up. Though the new body had no policy, its very formation was an indication that the anarchist youth had learned a lesson in the May riots. They were no longer the spearhead of an unofficial opposition. (The collapse of Asturias had also destroyed the schismatic branch of the united youth there.)

  On 1 October, the Cortes met for one of their six-monthly meetings held to preserve the form of democracy. Ghosts dominated: twenty-eight of the members had been murdered in the early part of the war in the republican zone, at least double that number had been shot by the rebels, and probably one hundred of the members elected in 1936 were pursuing rebellion against the republic only too successfully. Many republican deputies, like Marcelino Domingo or Albornoz, were abroad either as ambassadors or in exile. Among the two hundred or so present were several radicals and only one member of the CEDA. Portela Valladares, the weak Prime Minister during the elections of 1936, attended. He had first rallied to Franco and escaped death at the hands of the anarchists. Now he described how Franco had tried to persuade him to declare a state of war after the elections. He was an ambiguous man, and his speech on this occasion did not enhance his reputation. The communists, who claimed 300,000 members, apart from the PSUC (about 64,000) and the united socialist-communist youth, suggested new elections, though without much enthusiasm. Certainly, their parliamentary representation did not reflect their strength.

  The most serious criticism of the government came from those members of the CNT who still hoped to forge a syndicalist state out of the civil war. They concentrated, however, during the autumn and winter of 1937–8 on preserving what independence they possessed rather than expanding it—above all, to maintain their reduced numbers of agrarian collectives. Congresses of the CNT discussed what was to be done, both in September 1937 and in January 1938. Although suggestions for reform were canvassed, covering all aspects of the republican economy, most ideas put forward sought the improvement of the existing state of affairs; the millenarian aspect of anarchism had almost vanished. What was left seemed no more than a federalist movement, without effective national organization, which gave general, if grudging, support to the government. Under the influence of the realistic ex-secretary-general of the CNT, Horacio Prieto, anarchists were persuaded to accept the idea of nationalization of large industries and banks in exchange for collectivization of small ones, and on the land, as well as the ‘municipalization’ of local services. But they did not go as far as Horacio Prieto wanted, and form a political party emanating from the CNT, as the socialist party emanated from the UGT.1 The occupation of Aragon by Lister’s troops had, meanwhile, been followed by similar, but less successful, efforts to destroy collectives in La Mancha and in Castile, generally undertaken by the communist troops of El Campesino. There was also an ugly incident in Barcelona, in September 1937, when new inter-party fighting was only just avoided when the armed forces tried to take over the headquarters of the rationing syndicate, where arms were still hidden: 8,000 bombs, hundreds of rifles, machine-guns, millions of cartridges were discovered.2

  In the winter of 1937–8, many collectives persisted, even in Aragon, in republican Spain, though rumours were incessant that they were all about to be abolished. But their confidence had gone. Anarchist newspapers still criticized government and communists. ‘Today, more than in the time of the dictatorship [of Primo de Rivera]’, someone signing himself ‘An Atheist’ wrote in Campo Libre, ‘mediocre, drunken and arrogant men announce that they are absolute masters of Spain.’1 Another issue of the same paper placed the communists on the same plane as Machiavelli and Ignatius Loyola.2 ‘From Christ to Durruti’, ran another article, ‘political power, no matter what its name, has satisfied itself by murdering the preachers of doctrines.’3 During the winter, the censorship became increasingly rigorous; Solidaridad Obrera was banned for several days simply for placing white spaces instead of a censored article: no paper was supposed, by word or omission, to indicate the censor’s activity. To most anarchists, the leadership of the socialist party seemed identical to the ‘other Marxists’, the communists. The old UGT, on the other hand, was different, and collaboration between them and the CNT was good at local level. The shoemakers’ collective at Lérida, the chocolate cooperative of Torrente in Valencia, the flour mills of Valencia itself, the general collectives at Jativa or Mas de las Matas continued to function and, if there were no pressing government interest, did so as independently as at the beginning of the war.

  The Institute of Agrarian Reform reported in late 1937 that 5.8 million acres of land had been expropriated by reason of abandonment of political responsibilities; 4.8 million acres, for reasons of ‘social utility’, the 1935 law being put to use, ironically, by the republic; and 3 million provisionally occupied. This was a total of nearly 13 million acres or almost a quarter of the cultivable area in the republican zone.4 According to one report, 100,000 more acres of cereals were sown in 1937–8 than in 1936–7, but hands were lacking to bring the harvest in. The same report said that the tractors were not being managed properly: the government’s capacity to help was limited by the failure of peasants to declare the number of machines which they possessed, for fear of confiscation.5 But the government never found the means to persuade or to force the collectives or the peasants to deliver, rather than consume, the fruits of what seems to have been sometimes a higher production.

  As 1937 drew to its end, there were more rumours of attempts to arrange a compromise peace. Angel Ossorio y Gallardo, republican ambassador in Paris, was said to be in touch with monarchists in that city. Angel Díaz Baza, Prieto’s friend, maintained relations at Hendaye with Troncoso, the nationalist military governor of Irún.1 In practice, however, Franco had never any intention of making concessions. One other contact was through the Red Cross. Dr Junod, helped by the British Embassy at Hendaye, succeeded in arranging the exchange of small groups of prisoners. But this hardly made any inroad upon the thousands now in Spain. Even most of those who had taken refuge in foreign embassies in Madrid at the start of the war were still held there. In January 1938, most were transferred to Valencia with the embassies concerned and, a little later, 500 persons who had taken refuge in the French Embassy were sent away. There remained, however, over 2,000 prisoners left in embassies in Valencia.2

  Most anarchists regarded Negrín as the living symbol of counterrevolution. Yet, despite the surviving disorders and disquiet within, Negrín’s government had achieved a degree of unity which was itself a revolution in Spanish history. Negrín’s aim was to create a strong state, capable of holding out, if not of winning the war, against another of the same strength. He also sought to restrict agrarian collectives; reduce workers’ control and replace it by state management; encourage owners of capital and the petty bourgeoisie, and compensate, ultimately, those whose capital had earlier been confiscated. Land reform was continued, but the ministry of agriculture gave no credit or technical help to agrarian collectives, unless they had been recognized by the state. This was a reasonable social democratic solution to the problem of Spain at war. Negrín was fighting for democracy and liberty, even if he came to rely on communists (many of whom were only fair-weather communists)
to support him. Those who were fighting for revolution, of whatever character, never forgave him. Nor did those who fought for Catalan or Basque separatism. Thus, he had many enemies—not least those indicated by Colonel Prada, the able and realistic last commander of the Army of the North, to Azaña: ‘The trouble with this war’, the colonel said, ‘is that almost nobody tells the truth of what he sees and knows, while many responsible people are actually incapable of rendering account of what they have seen.’1

  44

  After the capture of Asturias, Franco’s plan was to attack Guadalajara, and then move on to Madrid. This plan never matured. The Generalissimo’s plans were discovered. According to one recent account, a republican spy apparently disguised himself as a shepherd, crossed the lines and copied down the plan in the enemy command post.1 Whether or no that it true, the republic instead launched their own offensive, at Teruel, on 15 December, a week before the Guadalajara attack was due to begin. Teruel was chosen since it was thought not to be strongly held; its capture would give a shorter line of communications between New Castile and Aragon, and threaten the road to Saragossa. Like Belchite, Huesca, and Saragossa itself, Teruel was also a town which had fascinated the republic since the start of the war. Prieto perhaps hoped to use the capture of Teruel as a position of strength, from which to try and arrange an armistice. The attacking Army of the Levante was under Hernández Saravia. He had reorganized that army almost from scratch, for, when he had taken up the command, the republican lines were twenty miles from those of the enemy, he himself had no car to take him around, and there was nothing to eat at headquarters. The different units were casually billeted on the pueblos of lower Aragon and lived off them.2

  Hernández Saravia’s army in December totalled about 100,000 men, composed of the 18th Army Corps under Colonel Fernández Heredia, one of the regular officers who had helped to defend Madrid in 1936, the 20th under Colonel Menéndez, another old member of Azaña’s prewar ‘black cabinet’, and the 22nd under Colonel Juan Ibarrola, a Basque officer of the civil guard who had hitherto fought in the north. A devout Catholic, Ibarrola worked well with the communists as many conservative army officers did. His Army Corps included Lister’s 11th Division, selected for the first attack.1 The Russian General Stern (Grigorovich) was as ever the adviser for this campaign, and played an important part in its execution.

  Teruel is the bleak, walled capital of a poor province, with a population of 20,000. Each winter, it records the lowest Spanish temperature of the year. The town is celebrated for the glum legend of the Lovers of Teruel, which often attracts those who desire a melancholy theme for a short ballet. This gloomy history was a suitable background for the atrocious battle of Teruel, which lasted for over two months.

  On 15 December 1937, with snow falling, and without artillery or aerial preparation (so as to avoid giving notice of his intentions), Lister began his attack. He and Heredia set out to surround the town.2 This they did by advancing immediately to the ridge on its west side known as La Muela de Teruel—Teruel’s tooth. By the evening, the encirclement was accomplished. The commander of the garrison at Teruel, Colonel Rey d’Harcourt, withdrew his defences into the town. On the 17th, he gave up attempting to maintain a foothold on La Muela. Franco, however, did not decide until 23 December to suspend the Guadalajara offensive with which his German and Italian advisers urged him to continue. But the Generalissimo decided that he could not afford the political failure of abandoning a capital of a province. The attack had been a surprise in nationalist Spain: however much the communists might fear espionage, there was little of it in the region of Teruel that was of any service.1 But, as at Brunete, Franco was determined not to make any concession to his enemy: thus he mounted a frontal counter-attack, on a narrow front.

  30. The battle of Teruel, December 1937–February 1938

  By Christmas, the town had been penetrated by the attackers, while the 4,000 defenders (half were civilians) had established themselves in the civil governor’s office, the Bank of Spain, the seminary, and the convent of Santa Clara. These buildings were clustered in the south part of the town. Ciano babbled on 20 December: ‘The news from Spain is not good. Franco has no idea of synthesis in war. His operations are those of a magnificent battalion commander. His object is always ground, not the enemy.’2

  Franco’s counter-offensive to relieve Teruel could only begin on 29 December. Colonel Rey d’Harcourt was telegraphed to ‘trust in Spain as Spain trusts in you’, and to defend at all costs. After a day of artillery and aerial bombardment, Generals Varela and Aranda, the experienced Africanista of the drive on Madrid, and the ‘hero of Oviedo’, with newly organized Army Corps, known as ‘of’ Castile and ‘of’ Galicia, advanced. Their supreme commander was Dávila. Beneath the two generals in field command were the famous Navarrese brigades, now converted into divisions. They were protected by the Condor Legion, whose personnel by this time had begun to weary of the constant changes of front.3 The republican lines were pushed back, but did not break. Inside the town, Rey d’Harcourt maintained his resistance. On New Year’s Eve, with the weather worsening, the nationalists made a supreme effort, reaching La Muela de Teruel in the afternoon. The city could now be easily shelled, but the republicans maintained their defence until visibility was non-existent. The roads and the engines of all machines of war froze. Teruel, maintaining its reputation for bad weather, registered a temperature of 18 degrees below zero. Men who, at Brunete, had cursed the remorseless sun of Castile, now went down with frostbite. The nationalists probably suffered the most from cold since their lack of a textile industry reduced the warm clothes available. The sewing ‘women in the service of Spain’ had not made enough winter clothing. A blizzard lasted four days, leaving behind four feet of snow and cutting both armies off from their supply depots. Six hundred vehicles were snowbound between Teruel and Valencia. In the meantime, fighting continued inside the city itself. Prieto had insisted that civilians among the nationalists should not be harmed. This excluded the use of large land mines. Nevertheless, the republicans flung grenades into the ruined cellars of the buildings in which the shivering defenders clustered. By New Year’s Day 1938, the defenders in the convent and hospital of Santa Clara were dead. On 3 January, the civil governor’s residence fell. The remaining defenders now had no water, few medical supplies, and little food. Their defences were piles of ruins. Yet they maintained themselves till 8 January, when the weather still prevented a nationalist attack. The artillery had, however, begun again, with heavy snow on the ground. Colonel Rey d’Harcourt, with the bishop of Teruel at his side, later surrendered. A simple soldier, he was accused by the nationalists of both military errors and of treason. His surrender seemed too rational an act for the mood of Franco’s new Spain. But he had resisted longer than might have been supposed humanly possible. After his surrender, the civilian population of Teruel was evacuated. The republicans became the besieged and the nationalists the besiegers. As for the bishop, Prieto wished to have him escorted to the frontier and freed there: a majority of the cabinet were against that humane proposal and both he and the colonel were held in gaol.1

  On 17 January, Aranda and Varela sought to capture the high ground around the city. Heavy Italian artillery prepared the way for the advance. After an hour’s fighting, with overhead combats between Fiats and Russian fighters, the republican line broke. On the 19th, for the first time, the International Brigades under General Walter were flung into this battle.2 Slowly the republicans continued to retreat, and the heights of La Muela were lost. But on 25, 26, and 27 January, Hernández Saravia launched holding counter-attacks all along the front to the north of Teruel. There was much war-weariness and even rebelliousness among the republican combatants; some fifty men, of whom three were sergeants, were shot for rebellion on 20 January by the commander of the 40th Division, Andrés Nieto, at Rubielos de Mora.1 On 7 February, a nationalist attack began north of Teruel towards the River Alfambra, where the republican defences were weak, since their
main army was concentrated in the city of Teruel. This battle lasted two days. The front was pierced by three attacks. Monasterio’s cavalry swept all before it in the most spectacular cavalry charge of the civil war, perhaps the last great cavalry action in the history of war.2 Aranda and Yagüe, the latter with a reconstituted ‘Army of Morocco’, advanced with equal swiftness. By 7 February, the victory was complete, and achieved before Hernández Saravia had managed to send any reinforcements. In these two days, the republic lost 500 square miles, 7,000 prisoners, 15,000 other casualties, and a vast amount of material—munitions, arms, and ambulances. Those who were not cut off fled in disorder, and were machine-gunned from the air as they did so.

  The last battle for Teruel began on 17 February. Yagüe on this day crossed the Alfambra and, advancing south along its east bank, cut off the city from the north. On the 18th, he and Aranda began a movement of encirclement, like that carried out in December by the republicans, several miles from the city.

  By 20 February, republican road and rail communications to Valencia were threatened on both sides. Teruel itself was being penetrated by other nationalist units. Hernández Saravia gave orders for withdrawal. Most of the republican army was out of danger before the retreat was cut off, but again they left behind much material. 14,500 prisoners were taken. In these battles, the nationalists had only a slight aerial advantage, so far as figures are concerned: the republicans had 120 fighters against 150 nationalist machines; 80 bombers against 100 nationalist; with other aircraft balanced about 100 to 110. But rebel morale, willingness to take risks, and training remained superior to that of their enemies.