The two young men strolled casually to the town centre from the pelota wall with racquets over their shoulders. Hot and buoyant at his success, Eder teased Petri about how slow his friend had been at returning the ball. Petri had been distracted because he was seeing Osane by the main fountain at lunchtime. They usually only met when family were present but today was market day and they could see each other alone on the pretext of shopping for their respective mothers. The lovesick teenager knew he must remember the olives and zopako soup bread. The young woman with the long black curls and elfin face was the only girl he had ever loved and in his mind planned their future together. He glanced at his childhood friend several paces ahead and thought that life was so good to them all.
Old Igon finally finished displaying his pottery and ceramics. His leathery face had been a fixture on market days for as long as peoples’ memories. His attention was continually interrupted by locals keen for conversation. If he did well today he would buy the shawl his wife Erlea wanted for the summer evenings.
Alexandra Fernandez, the mayor, stood on the town hall steps. A tall and imposing figure, he surveyed the market scene spread out in front of him. He loved his town and it’s people. They were honest, determined, passionate, hardworking folk. He was filled with a sense of pride at having overseen so much of their lives over the years. He spotted Gorka, the butcher, haggling with the priest who was attempting to purchase several venison pies. Alexandra knew that both would acquire their own bargaining success. They always did.
Father Aboriategui was young for his appointment but had developed a maturity beyond his age in dealing with his charges especially problems of a family nature. His Worship was distracted by the band starting to play. It was always Jokyn with his tabor pipe, his brother Sendor with a small accordion called a trikiti and Zigor who had once played his baroque guitar at famous festivals but now only locally because of arthritis in his knuckles. Together they weren’t the most accomplished musicians but entertained with traditional favourites ensuring a modest audience and even more modest donations.
Stalls displayed farm goods of all types. Vegetables, fruit, game, salt fish and various meat products in one area with lace, hand knitted goods, religious trinkets and bone jewellery nearer the centre. Permeating the atmostphere were the smells of cooked meats, Maritako Tuna Stew and savouries like Chorizo and Blood sausage all interspersed with the fragrances of assorted herbs, wild flowers and garlic.
The colourful and vibrant cavalcade of residents and visitors flowed together in an untidy rhythm throughout the market place. Men in loose fitting trousers with long waistcoats each with the obligatory Txapela or beret, usually in red. The women and young girls with their clean olive complexions wearing long skirts and patchwork blouses topped with brightly coloured Zapi’s, a type of kerchief. The hustle and bustle of the day slowly became a quieter and more leisurely experience. Items were casually purchased, food and drink consumed with leisure. The conversations were convivial, lively and flippant. Gossip was exchanged with promises not to be repeated and deals struck with a hand shake. An atmosphere of subdued excitement, joy and purpose enveloped the whole scene. A typical market day in a typical Basque town, displaying the ordinary lives of ordinary people.
As the sellers started to pack their wares some infants waiting for parents played hide and seek amongst the stalls with the vendors chastising them with a pretence of anger. Manuel, a tall muscular boy, kicked a football against the side wall of the museum. His dream was to emulate his hero, Athletico Madrid forward Jose Urquiola. Little Josepe held his older sister Berezi’s hand. He was a slight sickly child but always included by the others in games played. Berezi’s friend Ecuzki pulled her shoulder and pointed into the sky. They peered into the distance and saw the black dots thinking at first it was a large flock of crows coming to roost. Gradually a low rumbling sound filled their ears and the black dots expanded into sinister shapes. These were not crows but Condors.
Who would imagine that the symbol of wisdom in the sky could be desecrated by evil men into a symbol of death.
It was late afternoon on April 26th 1937.
The day Rugen came to Geurnica.
Facts
Condors were the name of the German Air Legion who carried out the attack at the request of the Spanish nationalists.
Rugen was the German name of the official military operation. It translates as Reprimand
Father Aboriategui was a real person who prayed with townsfolk in his church during the raid. He and many others survived.
Picasso was outraged at the atrocity. He produced a provocative painting depicting the horror.It was displayed at the 1937 World Fair in Paris.
In 1997 the German Government officially apologised for the attack.
Spain have never officially acknowledged it ever took place.
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