A Child of the Spanish Civil War

[oneighty]

and how I have come to remember her. I cannot recall her name or the name of her little village, her childhood home.

I first met her in Barcelona where she was a self employed woman of the streets. We became friends and together visited the countryside surrounding Barcelona. There were times we would not walk together as the Spanish men would scream at her and threaten her for being with an American Sailor.

The ship I was riding left Barcelona and some weeks later visited a tiny fishing village west of Barcelona. Ashore there I heard my name called out. It was she, the lovely girl from Barcelona. This village is her childhood home and she rushed me off to meet her family. I sat in their modest home eating mystery foods and drinking red wine. It became clear to me my friend was the major source of income for her aging family.

One day I could not find her in the usual places. I learned she had been arrested for being with an American Sailor. She was gone for several days.Upon her release from captivity she told me of her mistreatment at the hands of the police. It was not beatings they did. They did no physical harm which one could see.

Later we were sitting at a seaside Cabana sipping warm wine. A chief from the ship joins us. The Chief expresses an interest in my lady friend and she accommodated him on the sandy floor of a nearby tent. Upon returning to the table and to the wine the Chief handed her some money. Pointing to me she told him "Give it to him." The Chief was furious but nevertheless handed the money to me. I smiled my thanks. When he left I gave the money to her. She had earned it.

She laughed at her joke. I laughed with her, that sad, lovely and precious child of the Spanish Civil War.

In her eyes I can still see her tears.

180

[JitterbugPerfume]

1. War and poverty

will make people capable of unspeakable things

for survival

[brainpan]

2. Thought-provoking story

Very sad story.

[flordehinojos]

3. San Pol de Mar?

... a tiny fishing village west of Barcelona.

:)

[oneighty]

4. I cannot recall

the name of the village. Perhaps my shipmate from those days might know. I will ask him. It was 48 years ago. She would be old now as I am.

Our minesweeper tied up directly to a concrete break wall adjoining the main street. On the main street were a couple of tiny bar rooms. (For want of a better name) In one I ate fried green pepper and drank wine. It was likely the finest fried green pepper in the whole world.

As this type of minesweeper (MSO) often did it broke down and we stayed in the village for a delicious two weeks waiting for repairs.

Thank for your question.

elgordo aka 180.