Chapter 77

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring Oct. 24, 1938

… I visited the Saarinens on my way home to New Bedford. They tried to put up a cheerful façade, but it is easy to see that they are still grieving for their son. There was a fragility in their speech and movements that spoke of the hard and ruthless force of the blow they have endured. I presented them with the mortgage to their farm free and clear of any obligation to the Blezard Valley branch of the Royal Dominion Bank, as we agreed. Thank you for letting me use your power of attorney to pay it back in full.

Oscar always worried about whether or not his parents would be able to keep their farm. I hope that ending that worry repays him, at least a little, for what he did for you, for the rest of his comrades, and for Canada. The Saarinens were overwhelmed with gratitude. I think it brought them some comfort to know that they can pass on the farm to Oscar's brother. Now he can marry his sweetheart. They were kind enough to promise both of us invitations to the wedding whenever it takes place.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan Oct. 24, 1938

Grace returned to New Bedford late today. She is worried about Van, but not as worried as the last two times he went to Spain. It helps to know that he will not be returning to fight. It is true that the Italians are bombing Barcelona on a fairly regular basis, but Van assures her that the bomb shelters there are virtually invulnerable, and he won't hesitate to use them.

… Thaddeus Poole will be running for mayor. Grace wasn't entirely happy about his candidacy, even if he has been a family friend since before she was born. She finds him a little too cautious and conservative in his sensibilities, although she admits that his honesty and integrity are beyond question. Personally, I think caution and conservatism are virtues if not taken to extremes and that my old friend will do a creditable job if elected.

You remember that I allowed Grace, against my better judgement, to reply to the letter that notorious anarchist firebrand Emma Goldman wrote to me. When Grace and I arrived home from the station, a letter from her was waiting in the mailbox. …

Emma Goldman to Grace Mainwaring, Oct. 19, 1938

It was kind of your mother to allow you to answer on her behalf my questions about the Silverdome Mining Company and its payment in stock program. I fully understand her reluctance to do so herself. She is not the first captain of industry to find me and my ideas unsettling.

It seems that you and I also have much to disagree about. You are a Christian. I am an atheist. You believe that government can be a benevolent force. I believe that its absence is a necessary condition for the flowering of individual liberty. You believe in marriage. I believe in free love.

I do agree with you that race prejudice is senseless, but I must admit that your comparison of the lynching by white Americans of Negroes to the killing by anarchist militias of Spanish priests and nuns stung. There is a critical difference, though. American Negroes are an oppressed people. Many of the Spanish clergy are oppressors. The oppressed have the right to strike down their oppressors.

I am willing to concede, though, that many of my fellow anarchists let their justified anger at the church's support for the wealthy and powerful rage far out of control and that some Spanish nuns and priests truly did serve the poor and the sick. The fact that the Communists were also killing them should have been a warning that they were going too far. I thank you for your strong arguments for your point of view and against mine. Questioning by sharp minds such as yours is healthy. It keeps my own mind from becoming rigid and dull.

… I am delighted that my books, My Disillusionment in Russia and My Further Disillusionment in Russia, encouraged you to be wary of communism. You are right to distrust Communist leaders, especially Stalin. He and Hitler are absolutely alike in their belief that the individual should be nothing more than a cog in a malevolent state machine. Substitute the word corporate for state and the view of your average capitalist, for all his pretensions to democracy, is no different. From what you have told me of your family business, neither you nor your mother are an average capitalist.

You are also right to distrust the motives behind capitalist criticism of communism. The great majority of capitalists are indeed more interested in striking out at a threat to their wealth and power than in distinguishing between fact and falsehood. Certainly, if all the evidence were in communism's favor, they would still find it wanting.

What you are kind enough to call my intellectual honesty on the subject has far different origins. My fellow anarchists and I oppose communism because we know that it doesn't work. Capitalists oppose communism because they are afraid that it might. …"

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring Oct. 29, 1938

Alan and Leroy have made a good start on filming the medical services of the Spanish Republic. They have documented the admirable work going on at Barcelona General Hospital and even interviewed Dr. Frederico Duran-Jorda who invented the mobile blood transfusion units for which you raised money and which Dr. [Norman] Bethune used to save the lives of so many of my wounded comrades.

… That new uniform I had made in New York and brought with me to Spain turned out to be of use after all. Today the Republic decided to honor the survivors of the International Brigades with a parade through the streets of Barcelona before we are sent home. Harry Schmitz and I joined some of the remaining Canadian and American members of the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion for the occasion. Harry sends his love to Johann and Ida.

We had just enough time to say hello before the order was given to march down the Avinguda Del 14 Abril. It was more of a stroll. There was very little effort to display military discipline. I was the only one in the Mac-Paps wearing a fresh uniform. However, if the parade had been held right after the battalion was relieved from the fighting across the Ebro for the last time, I would have looked every bit as ragged as everyone else. Nonetheless, the sidewalks were lined with cheering civilians shouting in Catalan, "viu les brigades internationals."

We came to a halt in the Placa de Francesc and stood at a semblance of attention. Several speeches followed. The one I will never forget came from La Pasionaria. I may not agree with her communist views, but on a speakers' platform the woman is electrifying. All of us stood up straighter and forgot all weariness of body or spirit as her words seared the air. "You came to us from all peoples, from all races. … Comrades of the International Brigades: political reasons, reasons of state, the welfare of that same cause for which you offered your blood with boundless generosity, are sending you back, some of you to your own countries and others to forced exile. You can go proudly. You are history. You are legend. You are the heroic example of democracy's solidarity and universality.

We shall not forget you, and when the olive tree of peace puts forth its leaves again … come back. … "

I would like to come back to Spain when there is no war and democracy prevails once and for all. It would be good to stand up in the sunshine and feel it pouring down on the steep, weathered limestone of the Pandols with no fear of snipers. We could go together.

We could listen to the Havaneres singers in the cafes of Barcelona. We could stroll through the Prado and enjoy the masterworks of Goya, Velasquez, and El Greco that are now in crates stored outside Madrid to protect them from fascist bombs and shells. If any of my Spanish comrades return to the villages for which they were so homesick, I could introduce you to them. All of us could toast each other's health, feast on fabada, and be introduced to each other's children. I'm sure that you and I will have two or three by then. …

Afterwards, Harry and I and a few other Mac-Paps went to a café and bought a couple of bottles of cognac. It was cheap, almost as cheap as blood is these days. We toasted our comrades who were not with us. First, we drank to those who had not made the trip down from Ripoll and those who had left Spain after being wounded. We drank to Will making a new life in New Bedford and to Johnny Pike, recovered from his wounds and returned to the merchant marine. Finally, we drained the last drops in our glasses to the rest of our comrades, those who would never leave Spain except as memories, and to the lives the war had taken from them.

Next Week: Offensive on the Ebro. Grace's progress. Reflections at Alawanda