The Bridegrooms of Death

Finding out more about the Spanish Legion. Mum told me that Grand-Dad belonged to them, I think she must have got it wrong. They were nutters! Their patron saint was Christ of the Good Death, they called themselves the Bridegrooms of Death, they had/have this insane tradition of Esprit De Corps beyond everything, plus some BS about never retreating or surrendering, and even when my Grandaddy was involved, had a reputation for being, er, ferocious. Some general, favouring the evacuation of Morocco in the 1920s, was offered a breakfast of eggs and nothing else by the Legion. Yes, they meant eggs as testicles. Yes it was a deliberate slur upon his manhood by a bunch of Macho Hardy Boy Goths.

My granddad as part of this bunch? My granddad who, years later, was imprisoned by both Communist and Nationalist forces in the Spanish Civil War, because he denounced them both ('A plague o' both your houses!') for the cruel absurdities they were? The Communists captured him and were going to kill him, but stayed his execution thanks to his friends' claim that he was a doctor*. Then, later, the Nationalists captured him, knew of his views and also imprisoned him. Why didn't they kill him? He had been loud, and they weren't kind to dissenters.

I think I may have my answer.

As a veteran of the Rif wars, he could have commanded some respect, but as an ex-Bridegroom of Death, he might well have had much more. In the years after Granddad left (assuming Mum hasn't mistaken his military past) the legion changed greatly, to come out in support of Franco, himself an ex-legionnaire. The legend of the supposed unbreakable camaraderie within its ranks remained persuasive. Legionnaires were supposed to assist each other whenever, whatever, and forever. If there were ex-legionnaires among GrandDad's captors, that might well have got him jail time rather than bullet time. And even if there were none, the imagined battle connection with Franco might have done the trick.

I'll never know, I guess. He was always a figure of folk stories, gathered round him like fireflies in the dark. I wish I had had the chance to know him better. After years of war, battle, prison, poverty, this bridegroom died in peace of old age, surrounded by his family. That's what I call a Good Death.

* A fib. He had studied for a Ph.D type qualification (nothing to do with matters medical) and didn't finish it.