Chapter Twelve

From the Journal of Honey Sutton April 10, 1937

Today, the new Foreign Enlistment Act forbidding Canadians to serve in foreign armies was adopted by an order-in-council. Hopefully, it will discourage the talk Hub has been hearing from a couple of his classmates about wanting to go to Spain to fight in the International Brigades. Hub assures me that it's probably no more than talk. I hope he's right. I'm sure Hub has too much sense to join his friends if they try to volunteer, but I'm just as glad that there isn't much chance of any of them succeeding if they do.

Max wouldn't help them. He is too honest not to keep his promise to the Rev. Grange and others not to recruit. He made that promise with Grace's knowledge and on her behalf, so I don't think that she would break it either. Even so, her connections to the Canadian Committee to Aid Spanish Democracy and the Communist Party would make it easy for her to help any New Bedford boy join the International Brigades.

That fact is not reassuring. Max and Hub are still worried about what might happen if the fascists win in Spain. For myself, I can't believe that anyone, even Hitler and Mussolini, could look at what this war is doing to Spain and consider for a second bringing such a catastrophe to the rest of Europe. It might have been condescending of Max to say that he didn't think that Hitler and Mussolini were as kind-hearted as I am if it hadn't been so obvious that he was genuinely frightened for the future.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry April 12, 1937

I had a difficult encounter with Lawrence Bridgeman today. He asked to talk to me after the board meeting. We stayed behind in the meeting room after the others had left. He told me that he didn't want me talking to Laura or lending her any more books. He accused me of filling her mind with dangerous ideas and turning her away from her religion.

He couldn't understand that his daughter has a right to learn about the world she's living in. Nor could he understand that she might have questions about her religion's place in that world. In his words, "anything she wants to know about those things, she can learn from her parents and her priest. We care about her and have her best interests at heart."

"I don't question your love for her or your wife's. Fr. Fitzroy is a good man. Laura should trust that all of you will do your best for her."

"I'm glad you see it that way. You understand what I'm saying."

"I do. However, Laura shouldn't agree with you-or me-blindly. To do that would be to renounce conscience."

Mr. Bridgeman bristled. "Where do you get that idea?"

"There's no such thing as conscience if we aren't free to ask whether something is right or wrong. Laura is asking those kinds of questions. You should be proud that she cares what the answers are."

"I am and maybe you don't mean her any harm. I just don't want her to be hurt if she finds the wrong answers."

With that he turned and walked away. I couldn't blame him for his concerns. I don't believe in blind disregard for authority. However, I can't help thinking that a little more questioning of authority in Germany and Italy by the last couple of generations could have saved this world a great deal of grief.

On a more cheerful note, Marjorie Jefferson asked me to say hello to you. I had lunch with her on Friday. Little Jacob was with her. He is so adorable with his cute gurgling and wide eyes even if he did drool all over the collar of my new jacket. Adopting him has proven to be one of the best things Marjorie and Ollie have ever done.

When I think of how flighty and self-centered Marjorie was when we were all together in high school, I can hardly believe how caring and responsible she is as a mother. Ollie's devotion to his new son is less of a surprise. He always was one of the nicest guys you could ever hope to meet. Jacob is lucky to have them.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring April 14, 1937

Things here are settling down here. These days, instead of machine guns and artillery, most of the noise is made by the enemy's loudspeakers urging us to desert and our loudspeakers urging them to do the same. … Harry and I have passed some of the time by good humored argument for Will's benefit over which is the better economic system.

Harry proclaims the virtues of Communism but is honest enough to concede that the dictatorship of the proletariat shows few signs as yet of the withering away which is supposed to produce the workers' paradise. I preach the glories of capitalism while admitting that in its present form it has a bad habit of rewarding duplicity and greed more generously than honesty and hard work. Poor Will must feel like he has a couple of angels perched on his shoulders whispering into his ears. Harry and I agree to disagree over which of us is the bad angel.

Five days ago, Harry and I finally got passes to visit Madrid. Harry is still worried about his parents and feels a little like a heel for enjoying himself while things are so bad for them. He shouldn't. He has done everything he can for them from this side of the Atlantic. I doubt they would begrudge him the chance to forget his troubles for twenty-four hours. His comrades and I managed to persuade him of this or at least pester him enough to make him give in just to get us to quiet down.

. . If our section of the front is quiet these days, there is more than enough bombing and shelling going on in Madrid. The local fascists seem to be determined to reduce as many buildings as they can to rubble and as many human beings as they can-soldiers and civilians alike-to corpses.

On arriving, Harry and I immediately made our way to the Hotel Florida which is currently overrun by correspondents and soldiers on leave like ourselves. We met a couple of comrades from the Thaelmann Battalion. One of them, a gloomy-looking private named Erwin Blattner, knew Harry's cousin Gottfried and goggled at Harry. Apparently there is a family resemblance that even their different skin colors can't disguise-same tall, powerful build and same gently rounded jawline. Erwin agreed to convey Harry's greetings to Gottfried and to tell him to be on the lookout for Harry's letter to him.

. . . The most prominent journalist at the Hotel Florida is Ernest Hemingway. The great author can be a bit of a windbag when it comes to war which he considers a supreme test of manhood-at least when no bloodthirsty bulls are available for sword and cape work. For myself, I have found war to be a supreme test of speed. If you don't hit the ground fast when the enemy has you at his mercy or keep up a constant fire when you have the enemy at yours, things can get nasty for you. Sometimes they get nasty even if you do.

Still, I wish I had my copy of The Sun Also Rises with me for him to autograph. He may not be a profound thinker, but he is a terrific writer. Strutting and crowing aside, he is also a generous host if you belong to the International Brigades. His hot water is always available for a much-needed bath and his liquor and cigars are quite good.

Afterwards, Harry and I weren't sure whether or not to see the new Chaplin picture Modern Times at the Capitol and risk the shellfire that comes down the Gran Via like clockwork at the exact time the movie lets out. Then Harry chuckled and asked if I remembered the Chaplin imitation Mackie Cohen did back in Villanueva de Jara. I did. I couldn't help but chuckle a little myself thinking of how perfectly Mackie did the ridiculous walk. I'm sure that I was wearing a broad grin as I said to Harry, "He always did love a good laugh."

Harry folded the newspaper in which he had been seeking the film listings and gripped it in his left hand. Like a couple of complete fools, the two of us began to walk towards the Gran Via. Modern Times was a delight. Harry and I spent a wonderful ninety minutes trying not to fall out of our seats laughing. Then we waited in the lobby for the shelling to stop. Afterwards, I left Harry on the street trying out some of the Spanish I taught him on a pair of cute Madrilenas whom I later learned were a pair of secretaries from the Interior Ministry. Returning to the Hotel Florida, I secured a comfortable chair in the lobby for some reading and a good night's sleep'

Next Post: Youthful idealism. A visitor to the trenches.