Early the next morning we found ourselves at the San Pedro de Cardeña concentration camp, where we were welcomed by hundreds of prisoners from other International Brigades who were also being held captive. This came as a shock to many of us, as we all expected to be executed at the point of our capture or shortly thereafter. Little did we know, we were being held at the camp to await our exchange. At the time we were completely unaware of the fact that the Republic also had hundreds of Italians held captive, and therefore hadn’t even considered an exchange. Instead we believed the rumors circulating around the camp that we would either be court-martialed, given lengthy prison sentences, or executed in due time.
San Pedro de Cardeña was on the site of the first Benedictine monastery in Spain, but had been left abandoned since 1922. When the Republican government in northern Spain fell, Franco converted San Pedro de Cardeña into a concentration camp for his prisoners. What distinguished San Pedro from other camps was the fact that it was not considered a punishment camp, but instead a camp where an effort was being made to win the support of those held captive there. For this reason, the living conditions and general treatment of the prisoners was superior to many of the other concentration camps. However, it was still a prison camp nonetheless.
Upon first entering the camp we were herded into a large barn filled with prisoners, where we were delighted to be greeted by many of our fellow American comrades who had also been captured. Being welcomed by them gave us a sense of comfort and calmed our nerves, which were running rather high as we began to soak in our current situation. We were informed that there was a total of 300 International prisoners at San Pedro de Cardeña. Half of them were British, making up the majority, and about fifty Americans made up the second largest group.
A comfortable sleep that night was out of the question due to lack of sleep space in the crowded barn. However, it was my nerves about what would happen to us the next morning that kept me up half the night. The next morning I awoke groggy and confused as to where I was, but several guards yelling Abajo! Abajo! quickly brought me back to my reality. We were ordered to line up in front of the barn and then marched toward a massive stone building beside a church. Inside we received our breakfast; a ladle full of flavorless soup that only slightly eased our aching bellies. After breakfast we were brought back outside and lined up in front of the church with the rest of the International prisoners. For the next twenty minutes a priest stood before us and gave a lecture, praising fascism and explaining why it was preferable to democracy and communism. This was followed by the singing of the fascist anthem, “Cara del Sol,” by several officers. A salute to Franco concluded the ceremony, or what I interpreted as our initiation into San Pedro de Cardeña, and we were brought back to our quarters. Lunch and dinner that day was a small serving of boiled white navy beans and a piece of stale bread; the staple meal that we would be served every day for the next several months. That night as I lay on the cracked stone floor shoulder to shoulder with two other American prisoners, I let out a long sigh of relief. We had made it through our first day at the camp, and although I had no idea what the future held or how many nights I would spend here on the cold floor of this crowded barn, I felt lucky to still be alive.
The next day we were registered into the camp, officially becoming prisoners of war to the Franco regime. We had to present our name, age, nationality, birthplace, and military unit we had served to the camp officers. Based off of this information they placed us on respective floors of the 3-story barn, where we were to remain unless ordered otherwise. We stayed in our quarters for the majority of the day except for mealtimes, which were the same as the previous day. And so another day passed, and then a week, and before I knew it we had been there a month. Each day the same as the next. Friendships among prisoners were formed, our physical strength slowly returned thanks to our daily servings of beans, and the fear of being executed slowly dwindled with each passing day. Yet despite our rising spirits, we could not change the reality that we were in a fascist concentration camp, nor could we completely abolish the fears of what each day might bring. Staying clean proved to be an impossible task as the camp failed to provide us with new clothes, towels, toilet paper, or even soap. As a result fleas and lice soon followed, leaving us constantly itchy and annoyed. Circulating rumors about our pending fate became our daily form of entertainment. Each day we wondered whether we’d hear news of our execution or maybe even our freedom, but no news ever came.