PREAMBLE
This is the story of one of my ancestors, who was one of the losers of the Civil War. He fought with the Republican forces for three bloodly years. Then he lived through years in the terrible Francoist prisons. During all his life he remembered his sufferings, apart from the idea of becoming the red ones, as if they were demons. His sad story is usually remembered in family meetings.
ANTONIO GÓMEZ, MY GREAT-GRANDFATHER
My great-grandfather, Antonio Gómez García, was born in 1912 in Linares, in the Andalusian province of Jaen. He was a very tall youngster and very popular with local girls. He met the love of his life, Ramona, at a young age and started a long lasting relationship. They got married and formed a family. First, he became a military ‘Guardia de Asalto’, similar to a guardsman, and then he was assigned to the city of Madrid. The young couple were caught up in the civil war right there where he took part in the bloody Battle of Madrid. In addition, he spent a few months in the front line of fire defending his Republican ideals. During the last months of the war his wife gave birth to a son in Madrid. It was Pedro, my grandfather.
At the end of the war, the Francoists arrested him because he fought in favor of the II Republic. He was declared a rebel and was charged with various bloody crimes. Hence, he was sentenced to death. But luckily a cousin of his was a very important bishop, and he managed to replace the death penalty with imprisonment. He managed to lower the penalty in exchange for doing forced labor for the construction of the fascist sanctuary called Valle de los Caídos, Valley of the Fallen. When he left prison, he suffered a 10-year inner exile in the Castillian town of Cuenca, as he was not allowed to go back to his native land. There he was known as ‘Antonio the Red’, just remembering him he belonged to the illegal group of citizens who had fought for democracy and against totalitarism. It was during this time when the two more children were born there, Vicente and Antonio. Unfortunately the little girl they had, called Marie, passed away during her childbirth. She was buried in a shoebox. I ought to say that this is the reason why my mother is also called Maria.
After the years of hardship in which the members of the Civil Guard broke into the house after kicking the door to arrest him so many times, both he and his wife were able to return to Linares. He started working as a miner in the famous La Carolina Mines, in which tons of lead were extracted, which caused him a lung disease that made it difficult for him to breathe and forced his death in 2002.
I have known a little about his life because my aunts and uncles have been telling me since I was a child. It has become a kind of beloved family memory, as everybody in the family is very proud of his fight and determination. Unluckily, I couldn’t meet him as my yayo Pedro is no longer here. I’m sure there are still more stories that I could have told, but they have been lost in the well of history, the same with the unfortunate stories of so many Republican soldiers who suffered from the war and post-war hardships.
