On the outbreak of hostilities
in Spain, Leon
Blum,
the prime minister of the Popular
Front government in France, initially
agreed to send aircraft and artillery to help the Republican
Army in the war
with the Nationalists. However, after coming under pressure from Stanley
Baldwin and Anthony
Eden
in Britain, and more right-wing
members of his own cabinet, he changed his mind.
Baldwin and Blum now called
for all countries in Europe not to intervene in the Spanish
Civil War. The first meeting of the Non-Intervention Committee
met in London on 9th September 1936. Eventually
27 countries including Germany, Britain,
France,
the Soviet Union, Portugal,
Sweden
and Italy
signed the Nonintervention Agreement.
On 22nd February 1937,
the Swedish government proposed a new law to prevent its citizens
from becoming involved in the Spanish Civil
War. It was approved by both Swedish houses on 5th March 1937.
However some Swedes did
take part in the fighting. Most of these joined International
Brigades. When Juan Negrin announced
that all foreign volunteers fighting with the Republican
Army on 25th
September 1938,
would be unilaterally withdrawn, there were 150 Swedes in Spain.
It has been calculated
that 507 people from Sweden fought in
the Spanish
Civil War. Of
these 142 were killed in action, two died of typhus and one died in
a prisoner of war camp.
(1)
Sweden's Non-Intervention in the Spanish
Civil War proposal
passed on 5th March 1937.
§1. If one tries through
gifts, payment or promises of reimbursement or any similar way, or
through threat or abuse of higher rank to make anyone enlist for warservice
in Spain, sentencing, where it will not be sentenced according to
common law, to prison up to 6 months or a fine.
§2. If a Swedish Citizen
enrolls for war service in Spain, punishment with prison up to 6 months
or a fine.
§3. Tickets whose purpose
is to travel to or through Spain can only be sold to the one who has
received special permit to travel to Spain through his Majesty or
through an Office which has been authorized by his Majesty, or to
foreign citizens, who belong to his Majesty's stated country, who
has been authorized by an authorization Office in this country to
travel to Spain. If anyone breaks what has been decided, punishment
with prison up to 6 months or a fine.
§4. About Swedish ships
destined to Spain: it is the Commander's duty to: see to it that the
ship does not take any passenger destined to Spain who does not have
the permit mentioned in
§3 or without hinderance
under
§5, second section in
the Seaman's law and
§10 in the law of Seamen's
working hours; prohibit the crew from disembarking in Spain, unless
service demands; and to see to it that any other person travelling
along does not embark in Spain, unless he has the permit mentioned
in §3. If the Commander neglects this paragraph, punishment will
be by fine.
§5. About Swedish ships
destined to Spain his Majesty has the authority to demand that the
ship should embark from a certain port to let a special authorized
Controlling Officer embark or board, and that above-mentioned Controlling
Officer should be allowed to go along with the ship and, as regulated
in detail, control the cargo and the passengers, and the Commander
is obliged to allow war ships belonging to a country stated by his
Majesty to be investigated, if the Controlling Officer is on board.
If the Commander neglects this paragraph, punishment will be by fine.
§6. What in this law
regards Spain also relates to the Spanish possessions and the Spanish
zone of Morocco
§7. If violation of §2
has been committed outside Sweden independent of what is stated in
Chapter 1, §1 in the penal code, the violation may be prosecuted
here in Sweden. The prosecution should in a case like this be carried
out at the municipal court in Stockholm. Legal court cases of violation
of §4 and §5 as stated in the Seaman's law §89 should
have the same applicability. Other violations of this law than the
one now mentioned should be prosecuted in the common court. The prosecution
is executed by the common prosecutor.
§8. The fines imposed
according to this law should fall to the Crown. If means to pay the
fines are missing, they should be converted according to common law.
§9. His Majesty should
inform necessary stipulations about the application of this law.
(2)
Conny Andersson was born in Örebro, in the middle of Southern
Sweden. He was politically active, much against the will of his foster
parents. In 1928 he joined the Social Democratic Youth Organization.
Conny Andersson studied at a Folk High-school when the Spanish
Civil War broke out.
At New Year 1936/1937 he went to Spain. He participated in the battles
at Jarama
and Brunete.
His ear drums were ruined at Brunete which made the army dismiss him
before summer 1937. The
interview originally appeared in Swedes in the Spanish Civil
War, P.A. Nordstedt & Söners Förlag, 1972.
The
travel to Spain was organized by the Communist Party, all expenses
paid. Special guys were running it, guys with contacts. It had to
be done discretely. We never said that we were going to Spain, just
that we were going away.
On
New Year's Eve my group left Stockholm. It was no doubt that the big
group of politically active people amongst us were Youth Communists.
But I believe that the majority of those who left for Spain didn't
belong to any political party. The recruitment - if one should use
such a word - took place so that guys from Söder (Southern Stockholm),
as well as here and there amongst the sailors, started talking about
Spain whenever they would meet. A lot of sailors would go ashore in
Spanish ports. I'd say that we, the Scandinavians, consistently abode
by the theory that we were, first and foremost, Anti-Fascists. We
claimed, with certain right, that we were fighting in Spain for our
country, our democracy, as well. At the same time we knew this could
be the start of a new World War. And it was up to us to try to stop
that from happening. This was so clear within the Radical Movement
in Sweden. We could read it between the lines and we would hear it
at the lectures - we were on the eve of a new War.
(3)
Gösta "Göken" (the Cuckoo) Andersson was born
in Masthugget, Gothenburg. He worked at a ship as a sailor when the
Spanish
Civil War broke out.
Gösta went to Spain at January, 1937. After some initial battles
he was put into a group of "Partisans". He describes several
of the events in his own book called Partisans. Gösta
Andersson returned to Sweden in November 1938. The
interview originally appeared in Swedes in the Spanish Civil
War, P.A. Nordstedt & Söners Förlag, 1972.
If we had laid anchor in Spain I would've taken off already then.
But we only went to other Mediterranean ports - and then home. I signed
off back home in Göteborg. After that I worked for about a month
and a half at the Eriksberg shipyard. Then I was fired. At the end
of the year, they'd fire most people, to save money, and then they'd
take them on again. But that's not the reason I left for Spain. I've
been fired from a lot of jobs in my days. I met Sixten and Rolf Aronsson
at Interclub, and international sailor's club that existed over the
entire world. We talked about Spain. Then we left.
(4)
Harry Ericsson was born in Gävle, north of Stockholm at the east
coast in Sweden. When the Spanish
Civil War broke out
Harry was trying to find a job in Stockholm. At winter 1937 he took
the train to Copenhagen and further down to Spain. He fought at in
the Thaelmann
Battalion at Gudalajara and Brunete. For a short while
he was sent on partisan missions. The
interview originally appeared in Swedes in the Spanish Civil
War, P.A. Nordstedt & Söners Förlag, 1972.
The group I left with was the first to walk over
the Pyrenees, since the border had been shut. We were in Paris for
four weeks. And then in a little village closer to the Spanish border.
There we hid with a family for an entire week, one German and four
Swedes. We weren't allowed to go outdoors. Then one night, they came
and fetched us and we could continue. Some kilometers from Perpignan
we met a bunch of Americans. First we took a bus, until we were on
the edge of Perpignan. Then a bunch of taxicabs came driving. We had
to jump into them, just a few of us at a time. When we had almost
reached the railway bridge there in Perpignan we had to jump out -
while they drove slowly. Then we had to crawl over the bridge. We
saw some border patrol guards when we'd reached the other side, but
they disappeared. It seemed like some sort of cooperation. We were
given a guide. I don't know if he was a Frenchman or a Spaniard. But
we walked all night over the mountains.
The first frontline I came
to was Guadalajara. I had wanted to get to the fighting sooner, but
had to obey my orders. There was some drilling first. I was put in
the Thälmann Battalion - but not in the third Scandinavian company
- in the eleventh company. There were Swedes, Germans and Danes there.
Back then Herman Wohlin was kind of in charge of it all. You didn't
think so much. You were just there. And Herman, he was like everyone's
father. But the Company Commander was a Captain, Zeokila Anton.
When we came as rookies
to Guadalajara, we were put in the reserves. We didn't get to hold
a rifle even once, as we lay in the olive tree groves. You had to
wait for someone to be killed. Then you could take his gun. You had
your uniform and steel helmet, though. The first few days… it
was so exciting. You had dreamed… but could never have imagined
what it would be like. The only rule was: Make it on your own. You
could play hero, if you wanted, and definitely never show that you
were scared. It was just to walk straight ahead.
(5)
Per Eriksson was born in Kragenäs,
Bohuslän (Swedish west coast - north of Gothenburg) 1907. He
worked as a seaman when the Spanish
Civil War broke out. In January 1937
he left Sweden for Spain. He joined other Scandinavians in the
Thaelmann
Battalion.
He was wounded at the battle of Jarama.
The
interview originally appeared in Swedes in the Spanish Civil
War, P.A. Nordstedt & Söners Förlag, 1972.
The conditions were bad, especially the hygiene,
but it got better later on. We were quartered in a bullfighting arena.
In dressing-rooms, bull-pens... they had placed beds all over. We
also used the old barracks of Guardia Civil. All the locations were
equally bad. The worst thing was the latrine. You had to crowd, stand
and shit in a drain. Sometimes you couldn't help it but you stepped
in the excrement and you got some on you. There were piles of it every
morning. It was completely crowded when thousands of people wanted
to get in and then... at ten-eleven o'clock somebody came and poured
lime on top before they were going to take the crap away. But sometimes
it was left several days. So it smelled bloody awful. And when it
rained and so on and the slush... It was all under and around the
bleachers. We were not used to the greasy food either. Some people
seemed to have dysentery, as they ran all the time. Yes, it was awful
before they got used to the wine, food and olive oil. You nearly throw
up at first. But it went away. Then you ate anything as long as you
were hungry.
Since I had received a
General Certificate of Education, I spoke a little German. Therefore
I was placed as an orderly in the Battalion Staff, to keep contact
with the Scandinavian Company. We came to Morata de Tajuna at night.
It was a little city just behind the frontline. But we had some problems
with the communication. My German wasn't quite good enough. Next morning,
when the company marched towards the frontline, they forgot me at
the Staff Headquarters. Suddenly I was all alone with the Sergeant
Major, Herman Wohlin from Gävle. Then came a bomb attack that
destroyed Morata. Windows, walls… it was all blown to smithereens.
We had had enough time to run down into a cellar. Our kitchen was
bombed as well, but the truck, the cooking wagon, was still usable.
But later we drove it out to the front. We came to the Brigade Staff
Office. There we asked where we could find Battalion Thälmann.
They told us to go left. I walked that way, amongst hills and olive
trees. But I couldn't find our boys. Instead I ran into Battalion
Dimitroff, with guys from The Balkan countries. I followed the Bulgarians
and Rumanians when they advanced. That's when I heard the first noises
from the front. It sounded as though someone was hammering on a roof,
or like the noise from a carpenter's workshop. There was consistent
hammering. They said that Thälmann was out on their right flank.
So I moved right, and finally reached Thälmann's left flank.
The first person I saw was a German Battalion Officer. I think he
was in charge of the First Company. His name was Willi, and he was
walking straight through the rain of bullets. He never threw himself
to the ground, just walked around, straight and tall, pointing with
a stick and commandeering his men forward. It seemed like he didn't
even notice all the bullets flying around him. He was used to it,
as he had fought in the First World War. But later he was killed.
He told me to continue out to the Battalion's right flank, because
that's where the Scandinavians were.
Most of Barcelona's population
were gathered around the big street Diagonal. I think there were a
million people there. The city had been bombed every single hour for
months. But this time the Republican airplanes were up in the air,
patrolling. There was a troop-parade. There were "carabineros"
in their green uniforms, Guardia Nacional and different fractions
from the army, tank-troops… while the Air Force was roaring by
above. Then the International troops came, straight from the front,
in their shabby army-pants and shirts, not at all as well groomed
as the others from the frontline. But then the crowd went wild. People
were cheering and shouting. The women brought their children and handed
them over to the soldiers in the International Brigade. They wanted
to give them the best thing they had. It was a fantastic sight.
(6)
Elis Frånberg was born in the
northern part of Sweden in 1904. In Spain Elis Frånberg fought
with the Abraham
Lincoln Battalion at Brunet and Belchite. The
interview originally appeared in Swedes in the Spanish Civil
War, P.A. Nordstedt & Söners Förlag, 1972.
The heat was indescribable. But the Spaniards had taught me how to
control my thirst. You were supposed to have oranges. They don't eat
oranges like we do, they suck out the juice. I heard of people who
drank wine all the time. That won't quench your thirst. It's madness
- like drinking lager on a hot day. It'll just make you thirstier.
I also managed quite well since I never took off any of my clothes.
I saw the Moors. They would catch Moors. The Spaniards were scared
to death of the Moors, since they were renowned for their brutal torture
methods. But they were excellent shots! And can you imagine: They
wore large hoods and slouch hats. And thick clothes. That's the method.
That's the way to do it. That way you are well protected from the
sun. I would find yanks who had ripped their shirts off. They had
sunstroke and were usually beyond help. They would drink water like
never before. I never drank water.
The
Lincoln Battalion lost a great deal of men that day. The first aid
station was in a small abandoned house behind the groves. During the
day they had raised Red Cross flags. I was told that there were half
a dozen doctors there as well.
When night fell the battalion's Commander, Colonel Merriman, a professor
at the University of Los Angeles , came. He told me to grab some of
the telephone boys and go fetch a man who had been lying wounded and
screaming all day - some hundred metres in front of us on the plain.
We lay in a little depression by a road. But it was hard getting anybody
to go with me.
They'll
have to shoot us before we go out there, they said. We're exhausted!
Well,
you have to, I told them.
Finally
I got two boys with me. We went out and carried the wounded man back.
They carried the stretcher very unsteadily, as they were utterly worn
out. Then a doctor came up to us. I think the kid had some six or
seven bullet wounds in him. The Moors were situated behind entrenchments
in the city, and would shoot at anything that moved. Maybe the kid
had been waving his arms every now and then.
The
Fascists still had control of the church in Belchite. There were probably
underground passages there, because some of our boys would suddenly
fall over, shot, while they were walking down streets several hundred
metres from the church. It seemed as though the Fascists had crawled
out through the passages. Also, there was a company of Franco's surrounded
on a hill. I don't know if the Fascists had any positions in the mountains
themselves, because I never went to take a closer look. But there
were armoured trenches running all around that they had dug. I was
given orders by Merriman to run a wire, one and a half or maybe two
kilometres long. There was hardly enough cable. We had to run the
wire via some trenches the Fascists had abandoned. There I was supposed
to set up an observation post. We crept into the trench, set up the
phone and spoke with the colonel. He said:- Now the tanks are going
to attack. But first we are going to shoot with our artillery at the
hill.
"All
ready here", I said. The trenches we lay in were no more than
two hundred metres from the earthworks around the hill, or cliff or
whatever you would call it. I had a periscope. When I looked through
it I would sometimes see the heads and arms of the boys on the other
side. The first grenade from our artillery hit the very top of the
hill. They asked me on the phone about the impact.
"You
have to lower your aim," I said. The next grenade exploded ten
metres behind me.
"This
is nuts" I said. You hae to raise it again.
"We'll
be done in a minute", they said.
I
saw tanks advancing from two different directions. The sound of the
firing was deafening. Then I saw a white flag being raised from the
Fascist trenches, and I called immediately.
"Now
they're… they're giving up, I said. So you can stop now. With
the bombing."
But
the hard part was that - my boys had left me. I was alone. There was
no infantry there, or anything else for that matter. The whole Fascist
gang came up out of their trenches. They walked down the hill, coming
straight my way. I was unarmed. I had one revolver, but it was a revolver
I had taken from a dead Italian Officer. There was no ammo in it,
even though it hung there in its holster. I had to leave the pit,
go up and meet the Fascists. They could see that my holster wasn't
empty.
I
pointed at the ground and showed them how to lay their guns in a pile.
There was… There was a young boy. More than half of his hand
had been shot off. There were no fingers left. Some of the things.
Outside
of the trenches lay two tanks of wine. The prisoners threw themselves
over these wooden barrels, broke them and drank it all. Because of
their thirst for water… which had almost killed them then. Three
officers came last. They shouted commands and the troop stood in formation.
I pointed at the church. That's the way they were supposed to go.
But at the same time our patrols came and marched away with them.
It was some fifteen or twenty men I had dealt with. I don't know.
They could have shot me any time.
(7)
Gösta Karlsson was born in Hällefors,
Västmanland in 1915. In March 1937 Gösta Karlsson went to
Spain. He fought at Ebro
and was wounded in his face. The
interview originally appeared in Swedes in the Spanish Civil
War, P.A. Nordstedt & Söners Förlag, 1972.
I had never been in any battle before the offensive at Ebro. I shot
a few shots at Ebro in May, but that hardly counts. Then, on the night
of the 25th of July, we rowed over the river in boats. When we reached
the other side, we were fired at. I jumped out of the boat. I could
stand on the bottom. I was going to shoot, but I had got water in
the rifle, and had to quickly remove the bolt to dry it out. Then
I shot some rounds and threw a grenade up the slope. But by then the
Swedish company had already broken through. We rushed forwards. There
were no Fascists left in the positions on the riverside, but they
had left a lot of stuff, like ammunition girdles and leather bags.
We didn't have anything like that. I carried my ammunition in a trouser
leg that had been sewn together. We had used Russian guns first, but
they were later exchanged for Czech carbines. The Poles were given
the Russian guns, so that each company would have uniform equipment.
The offensive continued. You can't remember everything. But I do remember
the Scandinavian Death-hill at Corbera.
One morning we were going
to storm. We advanced towards the Fascist positions, but met heavy
defence from the side. We received contra-orders. We had to retreat
to our original positions. I was in charge of a light machine-gun
together with a Danish guy. When we reached our positions he got a
ricochet in his back. It ripped off a little piece of meat. He gave
me the machine-gun and said: "Goodbye, comrade! I'm done for."
I pulled up his shirt to
take a look. It wasn't that bad. The wound was bleeding a lot, but
we managed to bandage it. Maybe he had gone into shock. It was a Czech
machine-gun. We took care of it for a long time, the Dane and me -
until he was wounded. After that I was alone among the Spaniards.
They had never received any military training. At times, when there
wasn't much fighting, I would sit and train them, taking my weapon
apart and putting it back together. During my time as a conscript
back in Sweden you'd got used to that kind of stuff. But I wasn't
licensed to use any machine-gun when I left home. You had to learn
it all down there."
Yes, if you compare it
to the conscript days. To go from shooting with a wooden plug to the
real thing… it can turn out that way. But I saw it more as a
job, actually. You went to Spain to help, and part of that help, when
you were on the font, was to try and eliminate the enemy. Before we
came to Ebro I was already used to it, having to take aim at people
and shoot. What you remember… is mostly how people around you
would get killed or wounded. I saw eight or nine Scandinavians killed
in one single artillery-explosion. We were going to relieve the others
out on the front. We marched in column, advancing through a grove,
but were discovered by enemy planes, and got all hellfire over us
from the artillery. That's when they died. We were headed over a hill.
In front of it was another hill, lower than the first. That's where
we were going. But we found a cave we could take cover in. There they
couldn't reach us with the artillery fire, and we waited in there
until it calmed down, before we headed for the positions. If you can
really call them positions. There were no trenches. We had to dig
little by little. It wasn't easy. You'd start out with a little pit,
and make it bigger with time… until we had trenches with connections
backwards as well. I was wounded three or four days before we were
going to be pulled off the front. It took place at Sierra Caballs.
I was temporarily outside of the trenches that evening, behind them.
They were shooting with grenade launchers in the dark. I heard the
hum - sort of like birds, when the grenades go by high above you.
But if they hit anywhere close by you don't have any time to hear
anything.
You just hear a sizzle
and then it's over. The grenade hit close to me. I had a burning sensation
in my cheek. I had blood in my eyes and couldn't see anything. I called
for the medics. They came, but couldn't see the wound in the dark.
I took his hand - and took it to my cheek so he could feel the wound.
He bandaged my entire head. The medic… a Catalan… led me
some kilometres backwards to the stretcher carriers. They carried
me into a first-aid tent. I was given a shot. Then they lifted me
into an ambulance. I fell asleep there and woke up in a hospital.
I can't remember where it was situated. I said to a friend: "I
think I've gone blind." But then I pulled down the bandage and
noticed that I could see perfectly clearly. I had been bleeding a
lot, but I hadn't been in much pain. It got worse later on. The piece
of shrapnel was stuck in my right cheek. The wound got infected. My
whole face swelled up, and then I was in a lot of pain. I was in a
convalescent home when they removed it fifteen days later. They were
missing material there. So they took the piece out without any anaesthetic.
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