A few weeks ago, at the height of the controversy about British participation in the Balkan war, Correlli Barnett, the military expert, wrote a letter to the newspapers advising all concerned, especially - by implication - meddlesome, muddleheaded British Cabinet Ministers, to mark the example of their predecessors in office at the time of the Spanish Civil War. Since no British interest was directly involved and since no obvious merit could be detected in either of the parties engaged, the Cabinet of that period applied a policy of non-intervention from the start and stuck to it. The implication was that from the British standpoint the policy was a roaring success. However, Barnett failed to mention one matter which might have upset his non-intervention balance of profit and loss - the Second World War, which followed soon after.
Some of us are old enough to recall how that Spanish controversy felt at first hand. It was the most significant ideological argument of the 1930s. Before the outbreak of war in July 1936, it looked as if the fascist regimes in Italy, Germany and Austria were to be allowed to sweep all before them without any effective resistance, with the elected rulers of the supposedly democratic states in London and Paris looking for every excuse to avoid a military response. But this was the only kind of action which would have impressed Hitler in Berlin or Mussolini in Rome or, most recently, the fascist machine guns used in Vienna to wipe off the map one of the finest social achievements of the age.
But Spain was different. The newly established government in Madrid was democratically elected. The administration in Madrid, combined with the recently established republican president, represented the Spanish people more faithfully than ever before. When, so shortly after the election, they found their legitimate authority challenged by a military conspiracy, they resolved to defend themselves and their democracy. Military rebellion had often played a conspicuous part in Spanish history; doubtless the successes of Mussolini and Dollfuss had encouraged Franco to embark on his adventure. He thought he would be parading through the streets of Madrid in a few days. Instead, he had to wait three years.
How the people of Spain and their new government conducted themselves, and how the rest of the world reacted, is the story which Paul Preston tells in presenting nine skilful portraits of particular combatants or non-combatants in that momentous three-year period. At first glance, it may be supposed that he is subscribing to the Correlli Barnett doctrine, expressed by the then Foreign Secretary, Samuel Hoare, as a 'faction fight'. The ironic title may help to fortify the suspicion; is he not suggesting that some of the most fervent comrades conducted themselves in the most uncomradely manner. But we must turn to clear Preston's name. He is not searching for any fresh excuse for surrender. He is a true historian and he loves Spain, as did one of his particular chosen heroes in this volume, Indalecio Prieto.
Prieto played a most honourable part in the whole story. He helped to construct a truly democratic socialist party, playing an essential role in the creation of the democratic republic, both in the 1930s and again in the recreation of Spanish democracy in the 1970s. Without the Socialist Party and Prieto's stamp upon it, neither achievement would have been possible. He has often been the victim of communist vilification and deserves his rehabilitation here.
And before communist sympathisers jump to the conclusion that Preston is unfair to them, let them reserve their judgments till they have read his final glowing portrait of La Pasionaria. The woman who stirred the world from its slumbers has, as Preston illustrates, made her own contribution to the new spirit of reconciliation in modern Spain.
One significant portrait is missing: Dr Juan Negrin, who succeeded Prieto in his leadership of the socialists. Journalists who had the chance, as I did, to meet him during his exile in London, could not mistake his qualities. If he had been able to take over the premiership earlier, he might have been better able to save the whole enterprise. Perhaps Preston should write a whole book about him.
One chapter is called 'The Discreet Charm of Dictator Francisco Franco'. Charm of a sort was there but it concealed a ruthlessness which could shock even the emissaries of Hitler and Mussolini. However, his methods won approbation from English aristocrat circles; they could admire his prowess on the hunting field and his diplomacy. His admiration for his own survival never faltered, and this feature of his character becomes all the more odious when it is recalled that the bloodletting was almost exclusively Spanish. Maybe that's where Milosevic learnt his way of charming the Hurds, Majors and Carringtons.