ABSTRACT
The crowd roared. We stood at the top of a long steep ramp leading down into the stadium. Eager hands grasped the wheelchairs of some of the International Brigaders to guide their descent into the arena. We had entered through dim passages like footballers arriving for a cup final, but not one of the Brigaders could have been prepared for the warmth of the reception when they emerged into the light of the Sports Palace in Madrid, where a concert had been prepared in their honour. We were in Spain for the week of events commemorating the sixtieth anniversary of the Spanish Civil War. Already the occasion was touched with sadness for me because I had hoped to be there with the woman who had been the initial inspiration for this research, Frida Stewart. She had wanted to return because the Spanish war had been of crucial significance in her life, a catalyst for her political beliefs. She had died a month before, and I had been asked to scatter some of her ashes on Spanish soil.
