| French Concentration Camps |
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| A French Concentration Camp in Prats-de-Mollo holding Spanish Republican militia having left Spain in defeat in 1939. |
They were received as though they were tramps. We saw them in the distance marching towards us, with their rifles over their shoulders, still with a mile or more of Spanish soil between them and the frontier which represented the death of all their hopes - rifles of Madrid and Guadalajara, of Belchite and the Ebro - rifles of so many despairing victories... There were five of us helpless onlookers, two Englishmen, Matthews, and an elderly Frenchwoman from the League of Human Rights... The soldiers were now approaching the bridge. They knew what the contingent of the garde mobile signified. As the first of them laid down his rifle I saw Matthews turn away his head. 'I can't bear to watch it,' he said. But I watched steadily, and I hope to be understood when I say that I have never felt such close feelings of comradeship for any army as I felt for those defeated soldiers of Spain... |
| The Barcares Camp. |
| A general view of the Barcares Camp. |
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| Text to follow |
| Spanish Refugees and republican militia in the Argeles Camp washing in the cold waters of the Mediterranean 12 February 1939. |
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| ...There was something of tenderness in the man's attitude as he bent down over the rifle which he was relinquishing to the 'friendly hands' of France. Before moving on he picked it up again, and for the last time ran his hand caressingly over stock and bolt, and barrel. And this was too much for the garde mobile who stood facing him. He snatched the rifle from him, and it looked to us though he was afraid that he was going to shoot. The came the search. The Spaniards were asked what was in the haversacks and ditty-bags they carried and they answered that in surrendering their rifles they had given up all the arms they possessed. But the French tapped disdainfully on the haversacks and demanded that they should be opened. |
| Militia eating a bowl of soup on their arrival to the Angeles sur Mer Camp on 6 February 1939. |
The Spaniards did not understand. Until the last moment they persisted in the tragic error of believing in international solidarity. 'Madrid, capital of anti-Fascism, stronghold of courage high as mountains, and of faith deep as an abyss!' But here there was another kind of abyss. The dirty road on which the disarmed men sttod was not merely the frontier between two countries, it was an abyss between two worlds. Under the eyes of the Prefect and the generals, the men of the garde mobile took away the bags and bundles containing the Spaniards' personal belongings and emptied their contents into a ditch filled with chloride of lime. I have never seen eyes of such anger and helplessness as those of the Spaniards. They stood as though turned to stone, and they did not understand... Underclothes and fragments of food were scattered in the ditch. The first of the Spaniards was still standing there, his face pale with shock. The garde mobile turned to the next, while the Prefect and the generals chatted together, puffing cigarettes. And then Herbert Matthews, with a gesture that I shall never forget, bent down and began to pick the tings up. The Prefect frowned and sent a lieutenant to tell the guards to show a little more courtesy. The he lit another cigarette. Matthews straightened himself and tapped the Spaniard on the shoulder. 'Lo siento,' he said... Part of text from The Owl Of Minerva by Gustav Regler from the book And I Remember Spain-A Spanish Civil War Anthology edited by Murray Sperber. |
| Republican defeated soldiers being led to the concentration camps. |
| Le Perthus. One of the numerous piles of weapons confiscated by the French from the Spanish Republican Militia. |
| Wounded Repubican soldiers crossing the border into France at Le Perthus. |
| Defeated Republican soldiers resting on the road between La Preste and Prats de Mollo. |
| Spanish Republican Militia crossing the frontier into France at Le Perthus. |
| The things seen during the last days of our retreat from Spain, and the experiences undergone in the concentration camp of St Cyprian, near Perpignan, I shall never forget... The last few days spent in Spain, working close to the front, yet within sight of the Pyrenees, were utterly ghastly. Poerating work was done, and efficiently, just inside houses by the roadside. In innumerable instances, we came upon families of refugees wounded whilst fleeing to safety. We cared for them and kept them with us if they were seriously wounded... On the late evening of the 8th we received orders to go into France. Although sad at leaving our Spain, we all realised that this had to be and looked forwrd to a rapid reorganisation in France which would result in our going back to another sector of Spain to carry on the struggle against Fascist aggression. But we were soon disillusioned... We were led to believe that France had opened her frontiers |
| Concentration Camp Lillian Urmston |
to receive our soldier refugees and wounded, thus preventing a complete massacre. We expected sympathy and humane treatment. We had neither. The vigilance of hundreds of armed guards made sure that all people entering France entered the concentration camp. Ours was a stretch of sandy desert land, surrounded by the usual formidable barbed wire. Wounded men were even without treatment for about six days. We were not allowed to tend our sick comrades. One small spring supplied water for about 15,000 to 20,000 |
people. Food was not supplied until the fifth day... Men attempting to dodge out to buy bread and send letters were treated brutally by the guards. Our comrades received bayonet wounds at the hands of these soldiers of the French army. My friends turned to me and said: 'Would we be treated like this in England?' And I wonder, would they? Spani(sh) soldiers told our men to return to Franco Spain and then they would get away from all this. Our soldiers felt deeply about this, and called out to those men who were collected to be sent to Barcelona, deploring their conduct. Then the camp resounded with 'Viva la Republica! Viva nuestra Independencia!' Extract from Lillian Urmston Concentration Camp from the book Voice of Women edited by ?????? |
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