After spending months reading and organizing my uncle Barton’s memorabilia, interviewing family members and friends, visiting his former homes and schools, and reading a copious number of articles, books, and archival material on the Spanish Civil War, I believed that I was prepared to write a book. Although I thought I was truly immersed in the aforementioned material, I now realize that had I not decided to go to Spain, my book would have lacked the necessary passion and depth that it deserved.

With a briefcase filled with letters and newspaper articles, my husband and I began our trip in Barcelona. After discovering several places where Barton had been, we drove the same route as he repeatedly traveled through the Pyrenees Mountains to the town of Puigcerdà, where he was the administrator of several orphanages. We found several of the orphanages, which are now hotels or private homes and the current owners graciously, invited us for a visit, refreshments, and on occasion, a meal. Two of the orphanages are pictured below:

We then went to the mountains around Gandesa where Barton went missing two weeks after his twenty-third birthday during a confrontation with the Fascists. Later, we spent time in Madrid and discovered where Barton had lived and worked in his attempt to valiantly save several thousand children as he transported them away from this war-torn city to safety in Valencia.

Our memorable visits to these Spanish towns and cities as we followed in Barton’s footsteps, provided a vivid backdrop for my uncle’s amazing experiences during this country’s civil war. Each of his letters and articles sprang to life in creating a complete picture of what actually happened, adding another dimension to my uncle’s character and those people with whom he interacted on a daily basis. It seemed like I was viewing him through powerful binoculars that penetrated back three-quarters of a century. I could feel the depth of his frustrations, and heartbreaks, while I sensed the joy of his accomplishments. After visiting the orphanages, I was brought to tears as I visualized Barton’s vivid description of the memorable day of his departure from the Puigcerdà colonies to join the International Brigade. In a letter to his parents written in mid-March, 1938, Barton wrote:

I’ll never forget the day I left. All morning they [the children] sat around in sort of weepy groups, and they’d call to me as I went past—“no te vayas, no te vayas” (Don’t go, don’t go)…several minutes before I was to leave, they all gathered at the door, sobbing quietly—I stopped to kiss them all goodbye. They didn’t move, but huddled together sobbing. Then I got into the car, and as the engine started, the sobbing broke into a great wailing…They were on both sides of the car—sobbing, wailing, shouting “no te vayas” and beckoning in that peculiar Spanish manner that means “Goodbye—come back again.” We drove around the curving driveway, and as we reached the gate I saw the children who had cut across the lawn. They were wailing and screaming, and I’ll never forget those distorted faces.

If any of my readers want to find their roots or write a family history, it is very important to travel to the country where your ancestors lived. Not until then, can you actually create a complete picture of their lives. When you visit their towns/cities, homes, libraries and public buildings and talk to the locals, you can truly develop an understanding of the time period, culture, and emotions that shaped your ancestors’ lives.