Estampas de la Revolutión Española
The Offices of Propaganda of the NATIONAL CONFEDERATION OF WORKERS and the ANARCHIST FEDERATION IBERIAN, in their fervent desire to show the world the epic moments of their REVOLUTION, have undertaken the publication of these scenes from the Spanish Revolution, a happening which has opened the doorway to a future of a greatness both spiritual and material.
Dedication – La Lucha Sigue
When I started this project I wasn’t thinking about current events, but about preserving and sharing this interesting book that has been lying about since I was a kid.
As I was transcribing the text, I began to think of the struggle going on today, and I want to dedicate this project to the people who are out on the street, getting into good trouble to end the abuse and racism that still permeates our poor troubled country.
I dedicate this project to the people on the street, struggling, as John Lewis said in his final message,”to help build what we called the Beloved Community, a nation and world society at peace with itself.”
Brothers in battle
The machine guns are spraying the front with death. The proletariat are fighting in the red of the sunrise against the blackness of the past which still spurts flame from enemy rifles. There is nothing so sublime as this comradeship of the trenches, nothing that could fill us with greater hope
A political upheaval upsets his boyish games and pastimes. With interest he surveyed the heroic struggle that was played before his eyes, the struggle of a people for life and liberty. Drawn to the combat by the general enthusiasm, he joined the fighters and handles the rifle with a joy and fervour that bodes well for the Social Revolution,
Proudly he marches to the combat, his head held high, his muscular frame eager for the fray. He does not fear his foe, he could not fear him, he goes forward knowing well that he is justified and that his cause is just. The Liberty of the Proletariat.
They Shall Not Pass
They shall not pass. As long as a single drop of blood remains in her veins. They shall not pass. She does not put the slightest value on her life and is ready to sacrifice herself in the service of humanity and her comrades. Those hands which formerly were busy with the needle and thread now grasp a deadlier weapon. They shall not pass. Never.
Triumphantly the soldiers of the people marched forward. On every face there is but one thought reflected. The certainty of Victory. Every heart swells with the thought that the eyes of the world are upon them. Let nothing halt your attack on land or sea until the enemy be crushed.
The Last Embrace
They grew up in the same suburb, they shared their hours of leisure. Then, when they had reached man’s estate, the war found them side by side. Shouldering their rifles they marched to face the enemy, and side by side they played a more dangerous game until an unlucky bullet laid one low. With arms bronzed by the sun his friend laid the inert body on the stretcher, and there pressed his hand for the last time.
Ever since he reached man’s estate he has been handling the shovel. Day after day on the footplate of the locomotive he has been feeding fuel into the maws of the hungry furnace. His life was one of clockwork regularity – then one day a shot halted his iron horse – he changed the shovel for a rifle and left to defend the rights of his people.
Robust worker of the new world that is being born, lasting defender of the Revolution. Your sicle – arm and implement – is the symbol of a new society. Success to you Comrade.
METALLURGIST: The rifle warms the hands, anger burns the heart. Your pupils seek the assassins of your brother in the factory. In this vibrate muscles of steel there is a fighting force. Every change will drop an enemy. And when one unknown hero falls, he will lie there cold as the steel that dominated the force of victory.
Under that tragic mask of the brave who have fallen a heart still beats. It is the heart of the great common people, and in it still lives immortal history of these fallen, this grotesque mask only covers what appears to be dead.
He Saw Him Fall
When his chum fell, riddled by the enemy’s lead, he saw his eyes glaze in death, then seizing the rifle from the stiffening hands he stood proudly erect and shouted: I shall avenge you.
Storm troops. The rat-tat of the machine guns keep them behind the parapets, the waiting seems endless. At last the hour of attack! The first over the top drop in their tracks, but the battering ram is in action: Forward.
A hero. Wide of brow, a steady gaze and square of jaw, and nerves of steel to any danger. This is the figure which typifies personnal courage, blended with intelligence and audacity.
A New Dawn
The sun, finding a path through the broken roof, floods the temple with its purifying light, changing the gloom and bringing a message of hope to what was once the kingdom of obscurity.
Clench Fists Held High
See them Comrades. They are off to the front, above them unfurled is the Red banner. How cheerfully they go. Perhaps death awaits them round the next corner. But they fear nothing. From above the motor lorry bristling with rifles there rises a clenched fist. Saluting the morning with its will to win.
Aunt Ducie remembers the war
My parents had this book. It never occurred to me to wonder where they got it, or when, or why. When it came out in 1936, mom was 14 and dad was 18. Now they are long gone and I can’t ask them. I thought I might get a clue from Aunt Ducie’s memoir, The Road Goes Both Ways.
Ducie, mom’s older sister, had been married two years when it came out. She discusses the Spanish Civil War in her memoir.
1936 brought a civil war to Spain. An International Brigad composed of volunteers from many countries went to Spain, hoping to defeat Franco and slow the spread of fascism.
We knew a number of young men who joined the brigade; some did not come back. Danny was one who did not return. He was a member of our YCL group. We knew him well, we saw him often and yet knew nothing about him. When he was ready to leave for Spain he asked Dave to do him a favor. It was then that he told us he could neither read nor write and had no family. He asked us to give him a number of self addressed envelopes which he would mail to us periodically. When they stopped coming we knew that he was never leaving Spain. Danny wanted someone to know and perhaps to mourn. We did mourn him and the others who never came home.
Remember the war against Franco?
That’s the kind where each of us belongs.
Though he may have won all the battles,
We had all the good songs!
– Tom Lehrer, The Folk Song Army