The Walking Dead

13 February 1937

These have been the worst forty-eight hours of my life. I have little ability to describe them, but can only try. I did not know that the world could be so savage, but now 1 think I have learned the depths of despair.

I should start with our advance. We were moved forward after the Moors crossed the Jarama river on the night of the ninth. It is said they came to the French volunteers' position making no sound to alert our comrades, and that they cut the throats of the defenders, having taken their trenches without warning. I have not slept at all since then. I do not think it possible to sleep in the first-line trenches, or the second or the third, if there is the thought that the Moors can come into our positions and kill us while we sleep.

The British battalion is now under the command of the XV^th International Brigade. We are called the 1^st Battalion, and also called the Saklatvala Battalion — Saklatvala was an Indian Communist who called for the independence of the colony, but I had not heard of him. I write this because what will come later, and must be written, is so awful. I put off what I have to write.

Our brigade commander is Colonel 'Gal', and he is Russian. The British battalion has a new commanding officer, Tom Wintringham, who is a good man but we do not think he has military experience. He has led us since Wilfred Macartney was shot in the leg by the political officer, Peter Kerrigan, who was cleaning his pistol. Under Captain Wintringham we went forward to hold the line and block the Moors, and we were sent to a hill and ordered to defend it to the last. We call it Suicide Hill. It is where I am now.

We were supposed to dig in. It is not possible. The ground is frozen solid and we have no spades and no pickaxes. We make holes with bayonets if we have them or with our hands. The staff officers say we should not give a yard, but they are not with us. All through today we have been under the fire of machine-guns from the Germans, the Condor Legion, and from heavy artillery, and from the bombing attacks of the German pilots. This is a hell place, and we cannot burrow away from it. We are not rabbits and we are not rats. The machine-guns are above us, on a higher hill in the village of Pingarron — the name should be known because from there hell comes and falls on us. In the afternoon, because we had taken so many casualties, volunteers were called for to advance off our Suicide Hill and to attempt to reach the machine-guns.. I did but was not chosen. Ralph did, but he too was not chosen. Daniel was chosen.

We could see him. He ran with those others off our hill and down a slope and started to climb towards those murderous guns. All of their attention was now on this raiding party and we could lift our heads from whatever cover we had and watch. He was hit.

I saw it. He seemed to be spun round and to fall, but then he stood again, and he followed those who were unhurt, and then was hit again. I saw Daniel go on to the bare ground a second time, and I saw also the spurts of earth of more machine-gunfire. Just once he screamed. It was as f, at that moment, the battle had stopped — no bombs, no shells, no bullets, and I heard Daniel's scream, then nothing. Then that moment of quiet was over.

I asked Captain Wintringham if I could look through his binoculars. Daniel did not move. It was finished.

A brave, good life was gone. Because darkness has come, the Moors now will be out in the no man's land between our hill and their machine-guns, and we know what they do. They mutilate the bodies, slash the private parts of their enemy, and they steal anything of value from the dead…It is what they will do, or have already done, to Daniel.

He and Ralph are the best friends I ever had.

We cannot get to him to bring him back and bury him. Ralph and I said a prayer for him. Ralph said it clearly and I mumbled it. I could not control my tears. I thanked God for the darkness that hid my weeping. The prayer, Ralph said, was from Psalm 137, and he has a beautiful voice. It was clear and bold against the guns.

By the rivers of Babylon we sat down and wept

When we remembered Zion…

How can we sing the songs of the Lord

While in a foreign land?

I hope I never forget Ralph's prayer — as I will never forget my friend and brother, Daniel.

The political officer came an hour ago. He said that, we had held the line. He told us that the front was stabilized. We will be pulled back before dawn.

So, we shall have left Suicide Hill when first light comes, and I do not believe I shall ever again see where Daniel lies — and so many others, us and the Moors, who have charged our position, and there are many who are not dead and who moan and cry out.

If I had known what it would be, I cannot say I would have come.

I do not know now why I am here. I do not know now for what I fight. I feel despair, and I dread the next day that comes 'in a foreign land'.

It is so cold — for Daniel it is worse. Ralph and I, when the candle is finished and I can no longer write, will be together, body against body, for warmth, but we cannot warm our brother, our friend.