RUNNING THE SPANISH BLOCKADE

New Zealand Listener, Volume 7, Issue 166, 28 August 1942, Page 8

RUNNING THE SPANISH BLOCKADE

'HILE Fascist ships were patrolling the coasts of Spain when fighting was at. its bitterest, when the streets of the seaports of Spain were full of homeless men,) women and children, there were some British ships that ran the blockade, bringing food to starving Spain and bearing away as many refugees as the small deck space would allow. Here is an account of the experiences of one of the men | who, first in one boat and then in others, set out again and again to support the cause which they believed to be just.

(Written for "The Listener" by

THOMAS

E. DARBY

was fighting for its very existence. From the east it was cut off, blockaded by armed trawlers, cruisers, and destroyers. Through this we had rushed for the shore with the noise of Franco’s cruiser guns in our ears. The Stanbrook, on which I was engine-room rating, arrived first in port, with "Potato" Jones on the Marie Liewellen just behind and the Seven Seas Spray and others following after. Once more we could land at a Spanish port and hear the cheerful "Coma Esta amigos y camarados?" (How are you, comrades and friends?) of the Spanish militiamen who greeted us. They crowded round our ships, armed with any and every weapon they could raise, shot guns, single and double-barrelled rifles picked up any-where-sone had a 1914 French Martini, but there were no tommy-guns and very few machine-guns in the town. Small hungry children crowded round the boat and we let them come on board and gave them food. And the toughest old salts turned away when they saw the hunger and the joy with which the children held out their hands for something to eat. First Air Raid That night I experienced my first air raid. Some of us were in a little café in the town discussing politics over Spanish wine when the alarm sounded. We wanted to stay to see the fun but we were marshalled by the Republican guard to the dug-outs. With great foresight the Republican Government had spared no expense in building a fine system of underground shelters deep into the hills and under the city. Large notices "Al Reffugios" (to the shelters) were posted at the street corners and this is where we were led. All the same, we came up to watch the fight. Fifteen German Heinkels and Italian Capronis were flying over, dodging five little Republican fighters that were dipping and circling in their attempts to bring down the big bombers. One was brought down but the others released ig heavy cargo of bombs and made the north Asturian seaport, It was clear that Bilbao would not stand up to the battering she was receiving very much longer. We unloaded our cargo of potatoes and then took on our

human cargo of refugees, one thousand five hundred girls, women and old men, clinging to their few possessions as they filed past the guard with their identity cards. The majority came from good Asturian families, though some were street girls from Madrid. They crowded the decks, the holds, even the engineroom and the stokehold, One thousand five hundred people on a ship of one thousand five hundred tons! Before we could get out the destroyer Almirante Cervera and the cruiser Canarias began a bombardment of the town so we were delayed, but under the cover of a dark night we crept silently but without lights between the enemy ships, and so up the coast to Bordeaux where our refugees passed quietly down the gangways to the French camps where they would have a temporary security at least. We loaded up with grain and foodstuffs at Avonmouth and then went back. Bilbao had fallen, so our _ skipper, "Toughie" Prance, headed us for Santander, the next Asturian port to Bilbao. Our old friends the Canarias’ and the Cervera were there with lights full on. At the command from the Scottish engineer "Give her all you've got," the engines were opened full out, and we raced for our lives between the brightly lighted Franco warships for Santander and arrived just as dawn was breaking. Santander was in confusion as the Franco forces were advancing on the town and the Asturian miners were dynamiting (Continued on next page)

Memories of the Civil War

(Continued from previous page) everything before they retreated. Syndicalists were burning a few of the churches here and there and bitterly denouncing the priests as traitors to the Spanish cause. Other bodies, such as the General Workers’ Union and the United Brothers of the People, were remonstrating with them for using just those methods for which the Fascists were attacked, and perhaps bringing down more recriminations on Republican heads. Again we managed to get out, pick up a cargo of foodstuffs at Rotterdam and make back this time to Ribadesella, as Santander was expected to fall at any time. We got up the river scraping our keel at several places and were astonished to find " Potato" Jones with his much larger boat tied up there. Here we took off another load of one thousand five hundred refugees. Out in the Country TI had’ the chance at this port to see something of the Asturian countryside. My brother and I walked out inland and stopped at cafés chatting with the people. In one café a bunch of militiamen had just returned from the Oviedo front. They told us to sit down and drink. They were curious about the British attitude toward the Spanish war and plied us with questions. I told them that many of us were deeply convinced of the justice of their cause, but we were not responsible for the British Government’s foreign policy. One fellow, a captain from Mexico, a good "looking fellow six feet tall, showed us his silver mounted walking stick, red with bloodstains. "With this," he said, "T have led men over the top shooting the Fascist dogs and then bashing their brains out with this weighted stick." It was a beautiful evening as we made our way back to the port. In the distance we could hear the rumble of the desperate battle for Santander that was going on. Some of the militiamen walked back with us, and as they went they sang Spanish songs of love and of war and of the tragedy of Spain. I felt that this was not only Spain’s tragedy but the beginning of a tragedy that would shake the whole world. "Ten Minutes, or | Blow You Up!" ‘We took that load of refugees to France and then our skipper, "’Toughie " Prance, brought us right back. If ever there was a man convinced of the justice 6f Spain’s cause he was that man. He decided to go to Santander for orders, Fascists or no Fascists. About thirty miles from Santander one of Franco’s armed merchantmen approached and asked us our destination. Captain Prance replied that he had no cargo aboard and was going to Santander for orders. ‘"I know where you are going," Franco’s man replied, "follow me." When we drew ahead of his boat he signalled to us to stop until he had caught up. This continued until the evening. "We are done now," said one of the men. "They can sink us after dark and no one will be any the wiser." We didn’t feel too happy as we looked at that armed merchantman, with guns fully manned and trained on us. Suddenly, out of the blue, the British cruiser H.M.S. Camperdown raced up. With the megaphone to his lips the

commander asked in his best Oxford accents, " What the devil do you mean by taking a British ship outside the three-mile limit?" "She is my prisoner," replied the merchantman. "Tl give you ten minutes to get to hell out of here, if you’re not out I'll blow you out." The crew of the Stanbrook cheered lustily as the merchantman beat it, All the same Santander fell soon after and we blockade runners stood out to sea helpless, prevented by the navy on orders from Whitehall from going further. Men, women and children swam out to sea, and some were picked up by small boats and brought out to us. Bombed and Filmed Another experience that I will not forget in a hurry was the occasion when we were attacked by Fascist planes. They dropped about six bombs. Two missed and the rest dropped amidships and blew the bulkhead of our for’ard quarters right in. The sailors escaped but three firemen were killed. With a number of others I was injured and knocked unconscious. When I came to I found that I had a twisted iron locker and some boxes and shrapnel on the top of me, and around I could hear the groans of my comrades, My brother had a tracer bullet in his foot but was otherwise all right, though the firemen on either side of him were dead. The bridge and the midships was blazing like a bush fire. None of us had boots or socks on and so could hardly bear the heat of the blazing decks. The Norwegian non-intervention officer was walking slowly down the deck. He died on the wharf. A roll was called and three men found to be missing. I went down with two others to look for them. We found them under a huge heap of debris and got them ashore where the Scottish ambulance looked after them. Meanwhile the Republican *planes were battering the Fascists overhead and they shot the ’plane that got the Standwell. The crew, German and an Italian, bailed out and were taken prisoner, and interrogated. Months afterwards in London I accidentally ran into an " Aid to Spain Programme " and saw, all in the same film, not only myself and my pals in the hospital being interviewed after the incident, but also these same pilots who had shot us up. Other Memories These are just a few of the things that we saw and experienced. There were many others. There were also the people whom we saw. La Passionara, the woman Communist, seemed to be in every port before its fall ready to arouse new enthusiasm in the people. I took a camera shot of her speaking at Cartagena on one of the Republican cruisers. At Valencia I was in almost at the last when Franco was entering the city; the consul put us on one of the last ships to leave. But perhaps I temember best just what were my feelings when some of us were interviewed by the well known reporter Sefton Delmer. "Some of the crew are finished with Spain, are you?" he asked. But my brother and I both replied without hesitation, "While Spain fights on, so will we."