The stillness is rudely broken by the droning of an engine. The planes are coming. I can
hear the whining getting louder and louder. Everyone begins to panic. I’d hoped and prayed to the
Blessed Maria that the war would spare our town but now it is here. Chaos rules the market place.
Mama grabs my arm and together we are running along with the crowds of people all heading for
cover.
“Teresa, run to the Taberna. We need to find Papa. Quickly. ” cries Mama.
The crowd scatters and seeks safety in every direction. The nearest place to run is
to the Vizcaya bank across the market place, to hide inside its cellars and be protected by its
strong stone walls. Directly behind the market, the Arrien Restaurant is also vast enough for a
few hundred people to shelter but it has no cellars. Some are running in that direction. Others
are heading west to the school, or to the railway station on the east side. They are running to the
bars, the shops and down towards the Hotel Julian, pushing each other, pulling their wives and
children along. I see countless people running towards the edge of town, probably heading for the
countryside, the hills, the fields, their homes maybe. Screaming and desperate, declarations and
prayers to God are quickly drowned by the sound of the plane above us.
I stumble, falling onto the cobbled street losing my grip on Mama’s hand. The crowd splits
and passes on either side of me as I try to get back onto my feet. I tuck my arms close to my body
to try and protect them from being trampled. I feel as if I am an island in a sea of madness.
Suddenly, I hear an almighty boom thousands of times louder than any thunder I have ever
heard. Terror fills me and I gasp for breath. A priest’s hand reaches down and grabs hold of my
arm, pulling me upwards to break the surface. I am no longer able to see Mama. She must have
been pulled away by everyone else in the crowd. I look up at a plane flying above the town as it
passes over my head. I see its two engines and hear their deep droning noise filling the air. It has
black crosses on the underneath of the wings. It is the German Air force, I’m sure. The plane turns
slightly to the south revealing its tail, half painted white with a black diagonal cross, and in front of
the cross, still on the tail I see what looks like a picture of a white eagle with a bomb in its claws.
I can see the big bombs raining down from the belly of the plane emitting an ear-splitting
shriek as they plunge downwards towards the buildings below. One, two, three, four, five, six. I stop
counting. My hands cover my ears trying to drown out the noise but it isn’t working. The bombs are
hitting the ground somewhere in the direction of the railway station. Billowing smoke rises high into
the sky. The thudding inside my ribs feels as though my heart is stopping, like I am being kicked in
the chest. It coincides with each bomb that finds a target.
“Dear God, have mercy on me,” I murmur as I stand in the middle of the street, lifting my
hand and blessing myself in the form of the cross whilst at the same time trembling from head to
foot.
The earth rumbles and the air is filling with dense black smoke all around me. The walls of
houses and shops are falling to the ground, collapsing into mounds of stone and rubble and iron.
Dirt is flying high into the air. Grains of grit and choking smoke are filling my nostrils. Almost every
building in the street towards the railway station, Calle de la Estacion, is reduced to piles of dust
and debris. The drone of the plane fades into the distance and as quickly as it arrived it is gone.
“Are you hurt, child?” A woman shakes me. Her voice cuts through my shock, jolting me
back to face the reality of what is happening. I am staring into the face of a woman, probably in
her thirties. Her clothes and hair are grey from the dust which is filling the air. Crumbling buildings,
rubble, the twisted metal wrecks of motor cars and delivery vans are blocking the streets. For a
moment everything is silent. I feel as if I have lost my hearing. This is only a dream. It has to be a
bad dream and surely I am about to wake.
“I… I… I need to find my Mama,” I say, and I turn and walk away from her.
Nothing looks familiar any more. Piles of rubble are smouldering from the now charred
wood which until twenty minutes ago held the houses together. People are coming outside from
their hiding places now that the plane has gone, walking about in silence looking dazed at the
sheer devastation in front of them. I am walking passed an injured man clawing at a pile of bricks.
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