Amalia Barrajón López

This photo was taken during the battle of the Ebro. My grandfather, Vicente López Nieto, is on the left. Next to him is a comrade holding a beret with hand grenades in it. My grandfather fought in Franco’s army on the Ebro front. He was wounded and was sent to a hospital in Bilbao. He was part of one of the last classes to be called up since he was born in 1917.

He was born in Hinojosa del Valle a village in the province of Badajoz (Extremadura), his family were farmers, and also had sheep which were mostly cared for by my grandfather, who was a shepherd. He spoke about the war very little, mostly repeating that it was horrific and shouldn’t happen again. He was given a number of medals for bravery in combat, I know those documents existed but I can’t find them anywhere now, my parents tried to locate them through the army but were told that many documents from the wartime were lost, this even though he fought with the winners.

What he most remembered were the various cities of Spain that he saw because leaving the village when he was seventeen was incredible. He was wounded twice, once in the throat, and the bullet left through the shoulder blade, miraculously he didn’t lose his voice or mobility in his arm, but my grandfather never sang the same again. I was fascinated by that small hole in his back. It was a miracle he lived because he was given up for dead but he began to move his hand and was saved because of it, this was during the battle of the Ebro, he was evacuated to a hospital in Bilbao to recuperate, he had photos with the nurses who took care of him and my grandmother always acted as if she were jealous. The other wound was in the leg, they gave him one of his medals because he carried a wounded comrade to safety on his back.

As I said, he didn’t talk about it much, when asked if he was afraid, he said, yes, a bit but one had to carry on and survive and never think about death. Since he hadn’t done his military service before because he wasn’t old enough, after the war they sent him to Africa to do his three years of compulsory military service. When he returned, he continued his life as a shepherd, married my grandmother, they had been sweethearts since they were twelve. Then they had their children and came to live in Madrid. My grandfather was an even tempered and quiet man who never got upset and it was almost impossible to see him get angry. He worked a lot and when you said this to him and asked if something was wrong he replied not to call death, only do what you have to and see what happens.

When I was young, the “hole” in his back where the bullet entered through the throat and left through the back drew my attention, miraculously it had no consequences for his voice or the mobility in his arm. What else can I say, he was the best grandfather I could have had.