My War in Two Armies: Part 6 of 10 - Covert Crossing of Spain

Owing to the different rail gauge in Spain, passengers have to change trains at Canfranc if they wish to proceed further. There was a long wait in the station - which at the time of its opening in 1928 had been hailed as the largest and most beautiful in Europe - while Spanish customs and police checked the remaining passengers. The driver told me to stay out of sight as far inside the locomotive as possible while he went to have the contents of his bag examined by the customs. He returned shortly and said that all had gone well so far.

The engine was then uncoupled from the coaches and the driver took it to the shed outside the station. He was to spend the night in the village of Canfranc and would return the next day to France. We left the engine in the shed and made our way along the track until we came to a road which led to the village of Canfranc. He took me into a small café where he was hoping that I may obtain some Spanish money from the proprietor. We ordered some wine and the driver had a few words in Spanish with the proprietor. The latter however, was not prepared to help, since it appeared that he had had some trouble with the authorities recently for changing money. The driver then said he knew of another place where he expected to obtain pesetas; he told me to wait in the café and that he would return as soon as possible. I settled myself at a corner table and waited. There were only a few customers having their last drink of the day and no one took any notice of me although it was quite some time before the driver reappeared with 60 pesetas in notes which was all he could get hold of. This he said would cost me 300 francs which I was glad to give him, as I could not have got far without the Spanish money. I bought a bottle of wine to help me on my journey as I knew that a certain amount of walking would be involved.

The driver informed me that there were no trains at this time of night from Canfranc to Saragossa, in which direction I should have to go to get to Barcelona or Madrid. In any case valid identity papers would have to be produced at the booking office before one could buy a ticket. There was therefore no alternative but to walk from here to the next station south of Canfranc which was Jaca, a distance of about 15 miles. The café proprietor was good enough to draw me a rough sketch of the road and of the position of the railway leading from Canfranc to Saragossa, showing where Jaca was situated.

It was getting late and I had no choice but to tramp to Jaca taking advantage of the night to avoid inquisitive police. After thanking the driver for his kind assistance, I started off from the café at 11pm. I reckoned that by averaging about three miles an hour, I should reach Jaca by approximately five o’clock the next morning, allowing for the occasional rest and the possibility of taking the wrong turning.

I was glad to get away from Canfranc, a gloomy place encased in mountains, and to feel that I was now on my own for the rest of the journey. It was a clear but moonless autumn night, the mountain air was fresh and I felt that I could walk the distance without much fatigue providing I did not lose my way. The main road led through the village of Canfranc, about a mile and a half from the station, and followed a long twisting valley at the bottom of which was a torrent, the Aragon river, which ran parallel to the road almost all the way to Jaca. On the other side of the river, about a mile away, the railway also followed the same direction as the road. There was little chance of losing one’s way if one kept to the main road although signposts were rare. The noise of the torrent and the occasional train helped to confirm I was on the right road although neither could be seen in the dark night.

I met very few people on the way and as it got later the road became completely deserted. It was a sparsely populated area with no traffic from which I could perhaps have got a lift, but as I was unable to speak Spanish this would have been difficult anyway. I occasionally checked my general direction south with the aid of the Polar Star, but fortunately I encountered very few other roads which might have caused me to doubt my way. It was a rough and stony road, twisting down hill most of the way, and as the night got darker and colder the distance and loneliness seemed greater.

Towards the early hours of the morning I had got beyond the Pyrenees; the district was still hilly but the sound of the river grew fainter. The stillness was interrupted occasionally by the rustle of the wind in the trees or the bark of a dog on a remote farm. I made a couple of halts by the roadside to have some food and wine, on the second occasion I tried to get some sleep but found it much too cold and had to keep on walking.

At about 5 o’clock in the morning I arrived in what appeared to be small town which I took to be Jaca. I looked in vain for a signpost but was able to confirm my assumption from a notice posted on a wall. There were no signs of any activity at this early hour. My feet were sore and I had had enough of walking so I took a rest on a bench on the road side on the outskirts of the town. I would wait here until someone came from whom I could inquire the way to the railway station. At this stage I felt, and no doubt looked, like a tramp but I was satisfied to have reached Jaca without losing my way.

An hour or more must have elapsed before the first passer-by appeared from the direction of the town. I strolled up to him and asked “¿Donde esta la estación?” and to my surprise the man understood. Although I did not catch the meaning of his reply, the direction in which he pointed was all I wanted to know. The station was a mile and a half down a side road some distance away from Jaca. When I arrived I found the booking office was still closed and only a couple of railway officials on duty. I decided to wait in the neighbourhood until people arrived before entering. After a while the local folk started to arrive, most of them were peasants carrying long walking sticks and many had rugs flung over one shoulder in typical Spanish fashion. I concluded that it must have been a market day in the next town as there was soon quite a large crowd swarming into the small station. Some of them were forming a queue in front of the booking office.

I thought it was time to make a move and I followed the people into the station to see what was happening. It was pretty crowded and noisy in the booking hall but still no signs of any tickets being issued. The queue overflowed onto the platform, and more people were arriving in mule carts loaded with live chickens and baskets of garden produce. I looked around the station for a timetable but there did not appear to be any trains for Saragossa due for some time; in fact there were only two trains a day going in that direction. I was beginning to feel that there was little hope of getting on the first train with such a multitude in the station. It was however essential that I should not miss the second train, as I could not remain in Jaca another day with only my 60 pesetas and hardly enough food.

Two and a half hours had passed since I arrived at the station and by now the ticket queue had extended right round the station building, still waiting for the booking office to open. I noticed a number of Civil Guards who also appeared to be waiting for the train; about a dozen of them armed with rifles.

When at last the ticket office opened the noise and excitement increased, but the issuing of tickets did not last for long and it was soon announced, to everyone’s consternation, that no further tickets would be sold. I was surely more disappointed than anyone since I had been the first to arrive at the station. I was afraid to stand a long time in a queue because of the risk of someone starting a conversation in which I would have been unable to take any part, in spite of the fact that these local people seemed quite friendly and harmless. I remained an the station to watch the train come in; when it arrived I was surprised to find that it consisted of only two coaches drawn by diesel engine. It had hardly stopped when there was a general scramble to get in, but only a quarter of the people managed to find places. When the train had left the crowd took the road back to Jaca, and I wondered how many of them would return for the next train which was not due until five in the afternoon. It was now 8.30am and I was feeling very tired, having had no sleep since my last night at the hotel in Pau. I decided to find a suitable spot for a sleep as there was nothing else I could do until early afternoon. I walked down the road away from the station and soon came across a lane where I found a convenient place with thick grass. I lay down and was soon fast asleep.

I woke up several hours later feeling much refreshed. After having a sandwich or two I wandered back to the station where, this time, I was able to buy a ticket to Saragossa much to my relief. I waited on the platform for the train and when it arrived it was much longer than the previous one. It was a mixed passenger and goods train; some of the coaches had an open verandah at each end. I had no difficulty in getting on and thought it would be quieter to travel on the open platform although this meant standing. The journey to Saragossa took some five hours with several stops on the way. It was uneventful and fortunately there was no checking of identity papers even though there were a number of soldiers and civil guards among the passengers. The train drew up in the large station of Saragossa at about 10pm. Here again the platforms were crowded due to the infrequent train service.

My next problem was to find out whether I could continue to either Madrid or Barcelona. According to the timetable I found it was possible to get to Barcelona the same evening, but when the train came in it was made up of first and second class coaches only. The next train was not until 8.30 the next morning.

My original intention was to make for Madrid, but I had difficulty in finding out the service from the timetable and would have had to make verbal inquiries which I was not prepared to risk. I went to the booking office but found it closed for the night. This meant spending the night in the station which I should have to do in any case as there were no further trains until morning. The booking hall was still full of people who evidently intended to wait there all night. It was a mixed crowd of civilians and soldiers who, when sufficiently tired, dropped off to sleep on the floor or on their luggage.

As early as 5.30 the next morning queues were forming in front of the three booking office windows. I did not know how much the fare to Barcelona would be but hoped I still had enough money. The queues grew longer and I had to inquire which was the right one for buying a ticket to Barcelona. A policeman was controlling the crowds and since I only had to say the word “¿Barcelona?” pointing to one of the queues, I went up to him and put the question as casually as possible. He pointed to the longest queue, which extended outside the station into the street. After an hour’s wait, I discovered I was in the wrong queue after all and that a fourth queue, which had now began forming, was the correct one. My turn at the booking office came at last and having asked for a ticket I found I only just had the right amount of money except for five pesetas change and a few cents which was handed to me in the form of postage stamps. With a feeling of relief I went on to the platform where the Barcelona train came in soon after.

Having got into a coach, I did not intend to do any more standing as on the previous journey. There were a number of vacant seats and I selected one next to a priest. The coaches were of the saloon type, with an open verandah at either end.

After we had been travelling for a while, the priest said something to me in Spanish, whereupon I had to tell him the best I could that I did not speak that language. He appeared to understand and then asked whether I spoke French and from then on the conversation was in French which he spoke very well. He informed me that I should arrive in Barcelona at about 9 o’clock in the evening, a long time for such a relatively short distance. Some two hours later the priest told me that he had arrived at his destination and he left the train at a small country station. I hoped that no one else would come to occupy his empty seat, but if so I would pretend to be asleep.

It was a slow tedious journey with many long stops on the way. I ate the remains of my food and finished the bottle of wine after which I wondered when and where I should get my next meal. Occasionally I went out on to the open platform to stretch my legs. On one of these occasions I had a disconcerting moment when, on returning to my seat, I noticed a man in civilian clothes coming in my direction and asking passengers for their identity papers. He was close enough to be able to keep an eye on my movements, so it was impossible to escape this inspection without him noticing me. I decided that I would show him my British Emergency Certificate which I had obtained from the American Consulate in Marseilles. When my turn came, he requested my papers and at the same time produced his own badge of office from behind the lapel of his jacket. I handed him my certificate which he took and scrutinised carefully for some time before he returned it to me with a nod and, to my relief, without any questions. I was extremely surprised at having got off so easily and could only deduce that he did not understand English, but that seeing the American Consulate’s stamp on the document, he might have presumed that I was American. I now felt that I stood a good chance of reaching Barcelona without trouble, unless of course there was a further check-point which I thought was unlikely.

The rest of the journey was uneventful, except for the fact that I had to buy a bottle of lemonade, costing one peseta, during a stop at a station, as I was feeling very much more thirsty than hungry.

As the train approached the Mediterranean coast so the country lost its arid appearance; the green fields and olive groves of Catalonia replacing the infertile canyon-like scenery of the Aragon province.

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