We Shall Pass was a story that danced in the back of my mind for years before I finally put metaphorical pen to paper.
With Catherine Skira Sagnier – We Shall Pass ‘presentation’ at Galeria Patrick Domken in Cadaqués.
Set among the British Battalion of the International Brigades during the Spanish Civil War, the novel uses politics not as a puzzle to explain, but as a framework to explore something more intimate: love across class divides in 1930s British society.
Robbie Gillan is an unemployed Scottish dockworker whose best friend, Jimmy McGee, dies from the blow of a police baton during a hunger march to London. After a fistfight with the mortician at St Stephen’s Hospital, Red Cross nurse Alice Sheridan helps Robbie escape—and unexpectedly gives him the considerable sum of £5 he needs to follow his dream and travel to Spain.
Alice’s twin brother, Simon, walks out of Oxford after a bitter argument with their father—a senior figure in the British secret service. Simon gets the night ferry to France and also makes his way to Spain. Uncertain of her deeper motives, Alice follows, joining a Red Cross team in an ambulance she’s persuaded her mother to finance.
The people of Spain had elected a Republican coalition promising equal rights for women, a minimum wage and a free health service. The Church, monarchists and the military saw this as an outrage. In July 1936, General Franco led his soldiers out of their barracks and into war against their own people.
Those same tensions echoed in Britain. Robbie and Simon represent opposite sides of that divide. Between them stands Alice. I set out to write a novel about two men—a worker and a toff—thrown together in a foreign war. But what emerged was something more layered: a story of love, class and idealism. And the belief that through commitment and mutual respect, a fairer world might just be possible.
Writing We Shall Pass in the Dark
It’s often said that once you create characters, they begin to make their own decisions. That was certainly true here. I became more of an observer than a guide, especially as Alice Sheridan took the story by the reins.
It starts innocently enough—at a country house party, Alice climbs into a young suitor’s motor car and insists he teach her to drive. But this moment of flirtation becomes foresight when she takes the wheel of an ambulance on the frontlines of Spain.
Robbie, meanwhile, remains burdened by the emotional restraint of his class and upbringing. He cannot voice what he feels. So it is Alice, at the end of the second day of the Battle of Jarama—surrounded by blood and bravery, death and grief—who reaches for his hand and leads him to a quiet place beneath the olive trees.
She drives the story, and perhaps because of that, she’s still not finished. So persistent is this fictitious young woman that she’s now demanding a new arena for her talents—in the gathering storm of World War II. And who am I to deny her?
oOo
WE SHALL PASS is available from indy publisher Luath Press – click HERE.
And all the Amazons – click HERE.
Alice Does Alicante ?
A richly told tale of real people caught up in a time and place in which they live, love, hope, suffer, and endure amid a time of tribulation and tragedy. Bravo, Cliff!
sounds wonderful – let Alice take control now
Already looking forward to the reading the sequel and discovering what Alice does next….!
Having recently read We Shall Pass, I wanted more. I wanted the story to continue. Like one of the volunteers, I found myself embedded in the hills looking on at the terror of war – I didn’t want more of that for it was all too stark and terrifying. Having read neither Ernest Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls or George Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia, I had not had a proper introduction to the Spanish War. You could argue it is a genre in itself., such is its pivotal point in the C20th between the Two World Wars. Indeed, Clifford opens the story much like a black and white British war film, with recruits marching on London from Scotland and throwing us into scenes of civil unrest that ever so briefly bring our romantic leads together. In fact, if it had been a film made back then you might have made the mistake of having seen it already, starring Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard, such is the period it invokes – of fleeting love, misty eyes and words unsaid. But like a good Sunday afternoon weepy, Clifford weaves together the threads, “like a basket so they could never be parted” (quote) but of course like all good weepies (spoiler) they are. With incisive insight of the bloody battles that took place, I found it both historically informative and graphically gripping. Descriptions of arriving in Spain burst the story into strong primary colours and of being thrown into fierce sunlight and intense heat that you couldn’t help but feel that by just going there, you were a hero. Clifford managed to capture that unlikely mix of odds and sods that cared so deeply about the threat of right-wing fascism that they were prepared to give their lives and enlist without any formal training. This strikes a strong accord, for the same sentiment has crept back into our consciousness and consciences more recently – how like some evil dormant serpent, its ugly head can suddenly rear up and poison what we hold so precious and dear – a free, just and peaceful society for us all. It is what makes We Shall Pass a timely read, and a poignant reminder to never take anything for granted. I for one, fell in love with Alice – a piece of prim and proper posh totty with a heart of gold, who I can picture on the big screen. We Shall Look Forward To More.
Here’s a book-ended little tale prompted by Clifford’s work and fine novel set in Spain’s civil war.
Seventy year ago, as 16-year-old Dartmouth cadets, four of us regarded ourselves as the Four Musketeers. One summer holiday three of us, led by Cadet Menzies, got a lift in a rattling RAF Lancaster Bomber (Known as a collection of nuts and bolts flying in loose formation) from St Mawgan to Gibraltar and set off inland to explore Spain. Menzies had an aunt near Malaga – a Marjorie Grice-Hutchinson: Here’s what Wikipedia says about her.
“In 1951 she had married Baron Ulrich von Schlippenbach, who was a farmer and owner of a large farm estate near Malaga known as San Julian. As Baroness von Schlippenbach, she worked in the local community to establish a school for 120 poor neighbourhood children. She remained a keen observer of local life and an authority on the Andalusian countryside and its institutions.
Her ‘Malaga Farm’ was published in 1956 and her 1962 ‘Children of the Vega’ was written at the request of the Ministry of Education in New Zealand, which used the text in its schools to describe the life of children in a Mediterranean community. From 1979 she had an association with the Department of Economic History and Theory at the University of Malaga and in 1984 she donated the farm to the university. It is now used as a centre for scientific research and a
botanical garden.”
We found the farm’s office in Malaga. I still remember the address: Moreno Carbonero 6.
At the big ranch we met the husband, the Baron. Iron grey crew cut, red face, monocle.
During our stay we learned that he’d flown a three-engined bomber in the civil war. We got the impression he’d been given the farm afterwards by Franco for his service. (An aside: It was said that when Franco died one of his ministers told the others “Franco is dead.” They replied “Yes, but who’s going to tell him?”)
I’ve just done some research and found that the German three-engined bombers were Junkers JU52s. They were the main planes of Hitler’s Condor Legion. They were the ones that bombed Guernica. (Another aside. In Nazi-occupied Paris during WWII Picasso’s great painting of that atrocity was on show. He was beside it when a German officer asked “Did you do that?” Picasso snapped back “No. You did!”)
About forty years after our visit to Malaga, I was working for the BBC and interviewing Spain’s King Juan Carlos. Franco had overseen his education, so I asked what he’d been taught. Juan Carlos replied that he’d asked the dictator to show him how he ruled but Franco had said no, when your time comes you’ll do it your way. Not everyone agrees but after he became king, he appeared to do that to great effect when a bunch of army officers invaded the Cortes (the parliament) firing wildly and trying to start a military coup. That night the young king went on TV and announced that he was not with them and the army should go back to its barracks.