Chapter Eight
From the Journal of Honey Sutton February 18, 1937
Toppy came in for her hairdressing appointment today. She asked if I couldn't be a little friendlier towards Grace. "Grace isn't an enemy. She's the woman who looked after Hub and Henry after Jack died and you had to leave New Bedford to find work."
"I'm grateful, but these days it seems that everything she does hurts my family."
Toppy looked at me like I was a stubborn child. "Have you noticed that Henry is actually making progress in getting his schoolmates to call him Henry since Pritchard stopped calling him Fat at every opportunity?"
"Yes. Henry said he stopped because Rebecca insisted."
"And why do you think Rebecca did that?"
"Because you asked her to and she's grateful to you and Dr. Henken for finding that specialist in phobias to treat her mother."
"And who do you think suggested that I ask Rebecca?"
I could have kicked myself for being so dense. "Grace. I had no idea."
Toppy let me off easy. "Well, Grace never has been one to toot her own horn."
I met Grace later that day on the sidewalk. I was leaving the beauty shop early to do a little grocery shopping. She was on her way to CRNB to prepare for the evening shift. I wanted to thank her for what she did for Henry and tell her how much I appreciated her friendship no matter what our disagreements.
However, I thought of the Republican attacks on the church and Hub moping around because both the priesthood and Laura Bridgeman seem out of his reach. I just couldn't make myself do more than exchange polite small talk. God, give me the strength to do better. Family shouldn't be separated like this.
Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring February 24, 1937
The battalion had its first taste of fighting yesterday. My squad advanced a short distance through trees across an open space and into a vineyard. We had to throw ourselves to the ground behind any cover we could find when our front was swept by machine gun fire. Oscar Saarinen took a bullet in the leg and had to be carried back to our lines.
Lying in the dirt and keeping very still I couldn't help thinking of my grandfather on the rare occasions when he had a little too much cognac. He would tell harrowing stories of the Peninsula Campaign and Gettysburg that gave me nightmares. I remember him saying that a soldier has three enemies on a battlefield. One, the soldiers on the other side, is flesh and blood. The other two, fear and death, are not.
Of these enemies, the worst of them all is fear. You can fight soldiers and you can cheat death, but fear is in you and can only be endured. I thought that I understood my grandfather, but I was wrong. There is no education like a hail of bullets whizzing over your head because someone behind you drew fire by calling for help for the wounded. . .
May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan February 25, 1937
Grace is overjoyed to finally be receiving letters from Van on a somewhat regular basis. She is glad that Van has so many reliable companions. However, the news that the battalion is likely to be leaving Villanueva De Jara soon worries her. There is nowhere to go from there but the battlefield.
I try to keep Grace busy with secretarial work when she isn't at CRNB which isn't hard. A mining company doesn't run itself. Grace has proven a capable and conscientious secretary and an attentive pupil for my lessons about the workings of the family business. She even manages to be polite to Mr. Graham and Mr. Bridgeman at board meetings.
. . . I have to agree with Maisie that Dr. Norman Bethune and his companions were nothing short of heroic in their efforts to aid the helpless refugees who were so barbarically shelled, strafed, and bombed by the fascists on the Malaga to Almeria road. Such courage is needed in the face of the savagery which Franco began to cultivate over ten years ago in his war against the Riff in Morocco and is now bringing to full flower.
Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring February 27, 1937
. . . I think of your lovely face and even lovelier spirit as we wait for the hour to attack. I wish we were living the life we planned when we were courting, building a business and raising a family together. I should concentrate my attention on what's to come, but all I can think of is that I love you so very much. If I should die today or live a hundred years, I will always love you.
Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring February 28, 1937
Half my company are lying dead among the splintered olive trees [censored] or wounded in the field hospital behind our lines. Mackie Cohen was torn apart by shrapnel. I have just learned that Charlie Donnelly was killed by a bullet through the temple less than thirty yards from the enemy lines. I wonder which I'll miss most, Mackie's humor or Charlie's verses. Without laughter and poetry, life isn't worth much, is it?
. . . It is nothing less than miraculous that Harry Schmitz, Will Lane, Johnny Pike and I made it through without a scratch. [It is a mystery how so frank an account of the disastrous attack by the Abraham Lincoln Battalion on El Pingarron escaped the crackdown ordered by Brigade Command on all news of the event. I can only suppose that because it was written and mailed the day afterwards, it made it through the censorship before the orders were issued. Ed.]
From the Journal of Honey Sutton March 3, 1937
I wasn't pleased that I had to hear from Ollie Jefferson that there was talk at the local Canadian Legion post a month ago of revoking Max's membership for his support of the Spanish Republic. Fortunately, most of the members served with Max in the Great War and understood that he didn't approve of Communism, so the idea never came to a vote. Even so, Max should have told me rather than try to protect me from worry. I'm his wife and that means that I'm supposed to share his troubles.
I just wish that my former sister-in-law weren't the primary cause of so many of them. You would never think that someone so goodhearted could cause so much mischief. After what Van did to Grace, even though his efforts to atone are clearly sincere, I sometimes doubt if he's really worth raising so much chaos in New Bedford. Still, I can't help wondering what I would be willing to do if it were Max fighting in a foreign war.
May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan March 6, 1937
The look of absolute joy on Maisie's face when she saw her mother's old piano safely ensconced in the basement was worth all the trouble it took to repair and transport the thing without her knowledge. So was Eddie Jackson's glowing pride in his daughter's musical talent. I had my doubts when Grace first proposed the idea, but the end result has more than vindicated her.
It has been a long time since either of us has seen Maisie so happy. With the extra door at the bottom of the basement steps and the room soundproofed like the studio at CRNB, she can pound out her awful modern rhythms to her heart's content.
Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring March 12, 1937
You have all my sympathy for the loss of so many of your comrades. I was there with Sally Brewster when the telegram arrived with the news that her brother, Richard, had been killed at Passchendaele, but I doubt even that awful experience compares to seeing friends die before your eyes. I wish I could hold you and comfort you in your grief.
I thank God you are alive and unhurt. The letter you wrote just before the attack terrified me. I read it at the mailbox and stood there stunned until Honey walked up to me. She asked if something was wrong and I answered her. She said gently, "I know we don't see eye to eye about this war, but whoever wins or loses, whatever the rights or wrongs, I hope Van is alright and that he comes back to you safely when it's all over."
I felt tears flowing and didn't care who saw them. Things have been easier between Honey and myself since.
Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring March 15, 1937
. . . The fascists, some of Franco's Moroccans, attacked our lines yesterday. They managed to take a section of frontline trench [censored.] [The La Pasionaria Battalion and the British Battalion were stationed in trenches to the left of the Abraham Lincoln Battalion and bore the brunt of the attack, Ed.] but failed to break through. In crossing no man's land, they exposed their left flank to us, so we poured fire into it. We continued until the survivors were in the captured trench or fled back to their own lines.
At this point, two crazy Englishmen decided that they were going to retake the lost section of the line. Some of the Lincolns, myself included, followed them when they picked up some sacks of grenades and began to hurl them into the trench occupied by the Moroccans. Every time the Englishmen did this, the Moroccans scrambled over the top into no man's land to keep from being blown up.
Not all of them got out in time. My comrades and I put our rifles to our shoulders and gave the ones that did a taste of what they gave us in the attack on [censored.] It was like shooting grouse only grouse are far smaller and can fly very fast.
So, it went until the Englishmen reached a point where the trench was blocked by a dead mule. One of them, a fearless ex-boxer named Jock Cunningham, tried to climb over the obstacle and was cut down by a burst of machine gun fire. His death ended the counterattack. [Jock Cunningham survived his wounds, but they were obviously severe enough that Mainwaring mistakenly believed them to be mortal. Ed.]
We have built cross-trenches to box the enemy in. Some Moroccans are still in a section of our trenches, but it doesn't look like they are going to be able to do anything but sit tight. [The Moroccans were later forced out of those trenches by the Italian volunteers who made up the Garibaldi Battalion. Ed.] Harry, Will, Johnny, and I are unharmed. This time it was the enemy's turn to bleed. At first, I was very proud of myself and my comrades. However, it is hard to take any satisfaction from the moans and occasional cries of pain from the wounded.
From the Journal of Honey Sutton March 16, 1937
I was glad when Grace told us during Sunday dinner that Charlie Donnelly received a semblance of a decent burial even if it did take ten days to find and retrieve his body. Henry should have shown better judgement than to blurt out, "ten days! He must have stunk something . . . "
Max, May, and I shushed him at virtually the same time. Unfortunately, the damage was already done. Grace was white as a sheet and I could see helpless fear in her eyes.
It had obviously occurred to her that what had happened to Charlie Donnelly could easily happen to Van. When Max told Henry afterwards that he shouldn't be so impulsive, he understood that he had behaved thoughtlessly. He was genuinely sorry that he had upset his aunt.
Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring March 24, 1937
You wouldn't want to kiss me if you were with me now. The garlic our Spanish replacements chew is very effective in preventing dysentery, but it doesn't do much for the breath. Of course, when you've lived in a trench for weeks, it's hard to find a part of the body that doesn't stink.
I have made considerable progress in learning Spanish. It helps to have actual Spanish speakers to practice on. It really is a beautiful language and a useful one. It allows me to say things like this to you. Tu eres mi luz del amor. Eres la estrella constante que siempre me guiara casa.
May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan March 26, 1937
Grace continues to work out quite well as my secretary. My only complaint is with her fascination with the experiments in collective industry and agriculture being carried out by the anarchists in Republican Spain. Apparently, the mines there are owned by the workers themselves and run by democratically elected workers committees. So are most of the factories and farms.
I asked her if she really believed that an economy can work without management or private property. She replied that she didn't know, but it might be worth an experiment or two to find out.
Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry April 1, 1937
… It was a year ago today that I first met Van. I can still see that silly grin he was wearing as he bolted across the street towards me. I think of all the smiles he gave me after that and wish with all my heart that I could see another. I think of the naïve small-town girl in her cozy little world that I was then and I don't recognize myself.
I have learned things I wish I hadn't and done things that have hurt people who are dear to me. The great big world to which I spent so many years longing to escape has come to New Bedford and threatens everything I love. The glamorous fantasies I used to enjoy have been replaced by a frightening reality. I know I'm being gloomy but having your husband in three battles in the space of a month isn't the sort of thing that lightens your mood.
I am not the only one who sees that the world is growing more dangerous. Laura Bridgeman returned the copy of Adolf Hitler's book My Battle [the American edition of the first English translation of Mein Kampf ed.] that I lent her. She looked stunned as she thanked me. I sympathized. I still have a hard time believing that such a power-hungry egomaniac is in charge of an entire country.
Van explained to me and I explained to Laura how the political establishment in Germany arranged for Hitler to be appointed Chancellor. After that, a combination of lies and force was all it took to intimidate the Reichstag into voting him absolute power. The will of the German people, who refused to vote the Nazi Party a majority in any competitive election, was systematically ignored.
Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring April 6, 1937
Yesterday, Harry received three letters which came as a relief to him. It had been two and a half weeks since the last time he had mail. One was from his parents, a sunny greeting reassuring him that everyone was well. It contained news of his sister, a teacher at a Negro elementary school, and his older brother, a Pullman porter. Another was from his cousin, Gottfried Schmitz.
This one came as a surprise. Neither Harry nor his parents had heard from Gottfried since he fled Germany for France two years ago to escape arrest for his work with the German Communist Party. Apparently, Gottfried joined many of his fellow anti-Nazi Germans in the Thaelmann Battalion late last fall, just after the siege of Madrid. He survived Las Rozas where the Thaelmanns paid a high price in blood in an effort to halt a fascist offensive. He was also at their victory at Trijuete a month ago when the Republic defeated Franco's Guadalajuara offensive.
One of his comrades, on returning from the hospital after being wounded at Trijuete, had told him that according to one of our wounded from February there was a Negro miner from West Virginia named Schmitz serving in the Abraham Lincoln Battalion. Could it be one of the American cousins he had mentioned? Gottfried had written the letter to find out. Before writing a reply, Harry read his third letter. This one was from his sister and revealed that things were not as rosy for his parents as they let on. …
Next Post: Questions in New Bedford. Leave in Madrid. A visitor in the trenches.