Fighting Basques

Fighting Basques: Three Basque-Navarrese families from California in World War II

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This article originally appeared in Spanish at El Diario on October 9, 2019.

A young Etchepare in a French uniform in 1928. Photo courtesy of the Iturriria family.

“Echoes of two wars, 1936-1945” aims to disseminate the stories of those Basques and Navarrese who participated in two of the warfare events that defined the future of much of the 20th century. With this blog, the intention of the Sancho de Beurko Association is to rescue from anonymity the thousands of people who constitute the backbone of the historical memory of the Basque and Navarre communities, on both sides of the Pyrenees, and their diasporas of emigrants and descendants, with a primary emphasis on the United States, during the period from 1936 to 1945.

THE AUTHORS
Guillermo Tabernilla is a researcher and founder of the Sancho de Beurko Association, a non-profit organization that studies the history of the Basques and Navarrese from both sides of the Pyrenees in the Spanish Civil War and in World War II. He is currently their secretary and community manager. He is also editor of the digital magazine Saibigain. Between 2008 and 2016 he directed the catalog of the “Iron Belt” for the Heritage Directorate of the Basque Government and is, together with Pedro J. Oiarzabal, principal investigator of the Fighting Basques Project, a memory project on the Basques and Navarrese in the Second World War in collaboration with the federation of Basque Organizations of North America.

Pedro J. Oiarzabal is a Doctor in Political Science-Basque Studies, granted by the University of Nevada, Reno (USA). For two decades, his work has focused on research and consulting on public policies (citizenship abroad and return), diasporas and new technologies, and social and historical memory (oral history, migration and exile), with special emphasis on the Basque case. He is the author of more than twenty publications. He has authored the blog “Basque Identity 2.0” by EITB and “Diaspora Bizia” by EuskalKultura.eus. On Twitter @Oiarzabal.

Josu M. Aguirregabiria is a researcher and founder of the Sancho de Beurko Association and is currently its president. A specialist in the Civil War in Álava, he is the author of several publications related to this topic, among which “La batalla de Villarreal de Álava” (2015) y “Seis días de guerra en el frente de Álava. Comienza la ofensiva de Mola” (2018) stand out.

The bertsolaris Fernando Aire Etxart “Xalbador” from Nafarroa Beherea and Mattin Treku Inharga of Lapurdi arrived in the United States in June 1960 to participate for a month in the Basque festivals of La Puente, Bakersfield (both in California), and Reno (Nevada), as well as the festival hosted by the French association Les Jardiniers Français de San Francisco (California), which was brought together, among others, a large number of Basques and Bearnais. On June 19, to the dismay of the artists and their compatriots and before an audience of 2,500 people, the power to their microphones was cut off during the performance of the two berstolaris at the Les Jardiniers event. Some said it was intentional and while others called it an accident.

Be that as it may, the reaction of the youngest in attendance, mainly of Nafarroa Beherea origin, was immediate. They decided to establish, before the end of June, their own organization under the leadership of Claude Berhouet, a native of Donazaharre (Nafarroa Beherea) and owner of the Hotel de France in the city of San Francisco. The Basque Club of California was born. Its bylaws include its purpose and objectives: “to promote the well-being of all people in the Basque region of France and Spain by birth or descent, and to promote their social, recreational, intellectual, cultural, physical, and moral well-being.” Among the founding members of this new Basque diaspora association was Baptiste Etchepare, a veteran of the US Army of World War II (WWII). Born in 1908 in Mendibe, Nafarroa Beherea, he immigrated to the United States at the age of 23. At the time of his enlistment he was working as a lumberjack in Standard, California. Life in the barracks was not strange for Baptiste as he had served in the French army before emigrating. He obtained US citizenship at Chanute Air Force Base, Illinois, in 1943 with the “slight” anecdote that his name was officially changed to “Baptis Etche.” He was discharged with honors on October 10, 1945 with the rank of Private First Class and received the Medal of Good Conduct.

Just before the end of the war, Baptiste married Mary Rita Iturriria Gamboa, born in Patterson, California, in 1919, to Nafarroa parents, José Ignacio “Joe” Iturriria and Josefa “Josephine” Gamboa, from Erratzu and Sunbilla, respectively. As a result of the Great Depression, after finishing high school Rita decided to leave her hometown for San Francisco, where she met her future husband at a dance in 1942. Then the war broke out and the sunsets darkened as blackouts were imposed due to fear of air raids by the Japanese imperial forces, a situation that Steven Spielberg captured in his film 1941. Still life went on.

Baptiste Etchepare and Rita Iturriria in San Francisco in 1944. (Photo courtesy of the Iturriria family.)

After the war, Baptiste worked as a truck driver and after a few years the family moved from San Francisco to the nearby town of Millbrae, where they raised their sons James and Robert. While the couple spoke Basque, the main language in the house was English. Rita — whom the co-author of this blog, Pedro J. Oiarzabal, interviewed in 2015 within the framework of NABO’s Oral History Program “Memoria Bizia” [1] — described the world of her childhood and youth, mostly agricultural in small towns that has largely disappeared, in which the emigrants, both Basque and Navarrese from both sides of the Pyrenees were gradually integrating socio-economically into American society through great effort, sacrifice, and self-improvement. Basque and Navarrese emigration to California had flourished from the mid-19th century to the mid-20th century. WWII became perhaps one of the most important elements driving the incorporation of non-Anglo-Saxon immigrant communities into postwar American society.

Rita’s father immigrated to the United States in 1912, at the age of 23, and her mother arrived in 1916 at the age of 19. Her parents met in Los Angeles, California, where they worked on the same citrus ranch owned by a Basque family. After Rita’s parents married in 1918 in Los Angeles, they moved to Patterson in 1919. Her father and his childhood friend from Erratzu, Juan Felipe Maya Salaburu, established a dairy farm in 1919. Rita’s three younger siblings were also born in Patterson and raised on their parents’ dairy: Graciano “Gracian” was born in 1920, Manuel John in 1921 and Felipe “Philip” in 1922.

Rita, like many of the children of non-English-speaking migrant parents, typically only knew their parents’ language until they were in school. She remembers how in her house they only spoke Basque, although her siblings had a bit more luck going to school since she was able to teach them some English. Even as a child she learned Portuguese to be able to communicate with her Portuguese neighbors.

During WWII, the family business suffered a major setback. The federal government confiscated their cows, under pretext, and they were slaughtered in order to feed the troops. The war not only dragged Rita’s boyfriend into military service, but also her three brothers and the son of her father’s partner, Joseph John Maya Gortari, born in Patterson in 1922. His parents, Juan Felipe Maya and Amalia Pía Gortari Ylzauspe from Azpilkueta, Nafarroa, had emigrated to the United States in 1910 and 1914. Joseph was working on the family farm when he enlisted in the Air Force on September 30, 1942, serving at Marfa Air Force Base in Texas.

Joseph Maya with his father Juan Felipe and sisters, from left to right Frances, Janet and Mary, at their home in Patterson in 1944. (Photo courtesy of the Maya family.)

Six days earlier, his childhood friend Manuel Iturriria had also enlisted in the Air Force. However, Manuel was sent to England, where he served as crew chief and tail gunner on a bomber in the European theater of operations. Manuel barely survived the downing of his plane in which the rest of his crew died. They were too close to the ground to be able to use the parachutes, so Manuel waited until the plane was low enough to jump before crashing. He was injured in the jump, but survived. He had participated in more than twenty missions. Manuel and his brother Gracián, both stationed in Europe, met in England before being repatriated to the US from France. Gracián had enlisted in the army in August 1942 and participated in the invasion of Normandy on D+1 (the day after D Day). Finally, the youngest of the Philip brothers was drafted into the army in July 1946 as a replacement after demobilization of the troops with the end of the conflict. As the third child and with two brothers who were already serving in the military, he was not sent abroad. Asked about the end of the war, Rita concluded: “We all survived.”

Manuel Iturriria in his Air Corps uniform. (Photo courtesy of the Iturriria family.)
Gracian Iturriria participated in the invasion of Normandy on D Day+1. (Photo courtesy of the Iturriria family.)
Philip Iturriria served to his country at the home front. (Photo courtesy of the Iturriria family.)

After more than two decades in the country, in 1955, Baptiste returned with Rita to Europe for the first time to visit his relatives. Her husband’s parents had already passed away. “I think we’re brothers,” one of his brothers told Baptiste. Everything had changed. Baptiste passed away in 1988 at the age of 80, Manuel in 1999, Philip in January 2008, and Gracián seven months later. Joseph Maya died the youngest in 1985.

Rita Etchepare with her children, James (left) and Robert, at the Basque Cultural Center in August 2019. (Photo courtesy of Pierre Etcharren.)

Rita was honored in August of 2019 at the Basque Cultural Center in South San Francisco on the occasion of her 100th birthday. Rita represents a world that has vanished. She is the living memory of a generation, her parents’ generation, that was forced to leave their homes in search of a better life, like the one they gave her. Both generations established the pillars that sustain the Basque-Navarrese communities of today and the organizations that germinated with them. Away from any self-exclusive ideological conflict that dominates the Basque and Navarrese political panorama, the Basque-Navarrese diaspora in the US lives its multiple and complex identities in an immigrant society with great ease, without questioning the fact of being Basque or Navarrese as incompatible concepts. It is especially this WWII generation that chiseled the contemporary diaspora and helped build a country that would become one of the great super powers on the planet. The debt to them remains unpayable, and that is why it is urgent to make their stories visible. That and no other is the objective of our blog: to bring to light the stories of this generation.

Collaborate with ‘Echoes of two wars, 1936-1945.’

If you want to collaborate with “Echoes of two wars” send us an original article on any aspect of WWII or the Civil War and Basque or Navarre participation to the following email: sanchobeurko@gmail.com

Articles selected for publication will receive a signed copy of “Combatientes Vascos en la Segunda Guerra Mundial.”

Basque Fact of the Week, Euskara

Basque Fact of the Week: Possible Basque Origins for the Names of Several Native American Tribes

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It is now well established that the Basques, if not the very first Europeans to set foot on the North American continent, were among the first. Of course, there were already a large number of thriving peoples living there when they arrived, and the Basques certainly interacted closely with them, even developing trading pidgins. None of the words commonly used by the various visitors to identify and distinguish the different tribes were what those people used to call themselves. Rather, they came from a variety of sources, most of which are lost today. Peter Bakker has argued in one of his papers that several of those names may have a Basque origin. While it is near impossible to definitively prove these possible links, they do provide a new perspective on their possible origin.

Roger Williams and the Narragansetts, a 19th-century engraving after a painting by A. H. Wray, from Wikipedia.
  • Iroquois: The Iroquois, or the Haudenosaunee as they call themselves, lived in the North American northeast. The first record of the word Iroquois comes from 17th century French documents. When the French first landed on the continent and interacted with the native peoples, they found them speaking a Basque-Mi’kmaq pidgin in which the Mi’kmaq called their neighbors the Iroquois. While many etymologies of the word have been proposed, Bakker suggests it comes from the negative attitudes the Mi’kmaq had of their neighbors and derives from the Basque word hil with the suffix koa, or hil-koa, meaning “killer people.”
  • Tarrantine: The Tarrantine were a Mi’kmaq tribe living in what is now northern New England. The name Tarrantine has been proposed to come from the Basque tarantari, meaning “babbler, chatterer,” though other origins have also been proposed.
  • Etchemin: This one seems so obviously Basque – it has the word etxe in it – but even so, its origin is not so certain. The Etchemin language is part of the Algonquin language family and some derive the word Etchemin from a French modification of the Algonquin words for canoe, or the native word used for another local tribe. They were first mentioned in 1603 by Samuel de Champlain. His scout noted that these people lived in long houses, as opposed to their more southern neighbors. Bakker suggests that the word might come from the Basque words for house and pine, indicating their houses were built from pine trees, with the ‘p’ being changed to ‘m’ for unknown (though seemingly common) reasons. Thus, he suggests Etchemin comes from etxe-pinu, meaning “houses of pine.”
  • Algonquin: The Algonquin languages, which are a branch of the much larger Algonquian language family, is spoken by the Algonquin First Nations of Quebec and Ontario. The first record of the word Algonquin comes again from Champlain in 1603 in the form of Algoumequin. Bakker notes the similarity of this word to the Basque arkumeki, meaning “lamb meat.” Why anyone would name a group of people after meat Bakker is at a loss to explain, except that trading meat was common in relationships between the Native peoples and European traders. He admits this is a rather challenging etymology.
  • Bakker also notes that there are several other names used to denote the geographical origin of a given people that end in the suffix quois, which suggests to him a strong connection to the Basque koa. These include Canadaquois (someone from Canada and very similar to modern Basque Kanadakoa), Samaricois (a Breton, from sanmalo-koa, named after Saint Malo port in Brittany), and Gasptiquois (someone from the Gaspe area, or Mi’kmaq). He goes into a few of these in more detail.
  • Souriquois, another name for the Mi’kmaq, comes from the Souricoua River (which itself could be Basque, coming from zuri (white) and koa).
  • Armouchiquois seems to come from the Mi’kmaq word lmu:s or lmu:j, meaning dog, and the Basque suffix koa, meaning “dog people.”
  • Charioquois is an early word used for the Wyandot people (also called the Hurons). While the suffix koa appears again, it isn’t clear what the root of this word means. Bakker suggests a few possibilities, but none are very definite.

Primary source: P. Bakker, Amerindian Tribal Names in North America of Possible Basque Origin, in X. Artiagoitia, R. P. G. De Rijk, P. Goenaga, & J. Lakarra (Eds.), Erramu boneta: Festschrift for Rudolf P.G. de Rijk. Anejos del Anuario del Seminario de Filología Vasca Julio de Urquijo (pp. 105–116). Bilbao: Universidad del País Vasco.

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 90

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“The future?” exclaimed Kepa, an edge of panic in his voice. “What do you mean, the future?”

“Well, why not?” asked Maite, rhetorically. “Our time is the future for Marina and de Lancre, and they’ve both gone there. Why wouldn’t there be zatiak in what we would consider our future?”

“But, but,” began Kepa. “At least for the other bubbles we’ve visited, we had some historical context. We had some sense of what was going on. Here, we have nothing. We’re complete strangers.”

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!

Maite nodded, turning her full attention to Kepa. “I agree.” She paused for a moment, really looking at Kepa for the first time since they arrived in this new bubble. “Ehm, what are you wearing?”

Kepa looked down at himself. He was essentially naked, a thin, clear film covering his body, adding a shine to it as it reflected the ambient light. It hugged his arms, legs and chest, following the curves of his muscles. The only part that wasn’t transparent was a strategically placed black circle, almost like the fig leaf of old paintings, covering his groin. He looked up at Maite and blushed.

“Why am I wearing this when you are wearing that?” he asked.

Maite could get glimpses of herself in the reflections off of Kepa’s skin-tight suit, but all she could really discern was a flurry of colors. She looked down at her body. She was covered in fur that almost seemed a part of her until she tugged at it and realized it was fabric. The costume went all the way past her hands, ending in gloves that had sharp claws at the tips. She turned, and noticed a tail that seemed to sway to her thoughts. The fur itself looked like the stripes of a tiger, but the colors shifted randomly every few seconds, leading to some very strange color combinations. She felt the top of her head. Pointy ears stuck up. 

“What does my face look like?” she asked hesitantly. 

Kepa smiled. “Looks like you are all ready to go to a Halloween party.”

Maite sighed. “What have we gotten ourselves into this time?”

At that moment, a woman walked up to them. She was wearing a pure white suit that billowed out at her forearms and calves. Above her arms and legs it was skin tight. The jacket flared out as it passed her hips. It was accented with black seams that ran the course of her arms and legs. She wore a wide brimmed hat that was also white with black edging and, to top it off, she wore dark sunglasses with a white frame. The white of her clothes contrasted with her dark skin.

The woman began talking to them, seemingly asking a question, but in a language that neither Kepa nor Maite had ever heard before. After a few moments, the woman paused. Kepa and Maite looked at one another.

“Ez dugu ulertzen,” said Maite in Euskara. “We don’t understand,” she repeated in English.

The woman just stared at her in disbelief, gesticulating and raising her voice. She kept pointing to her ear, where Maite noticed some kind of earpiece. Maite simply pointed to her ear, shaking her head, and repeating “No, we don’t have one.”

The woman walked away, clearly frustrated, shaking her head.

“What was that about?” asked Kepa.

“I don’t know,” replied Maite, “but it seems that those earpieces translate for you.”

A tall figure suddenly materialized behind them. It stood at least a head taller than either of them. Like some of the others they had seen, it wore a flat black headpiece with fabric that fell to the floor, hiding whoever was inside.

“Indeed, they do,” replied the figure in perfectly recognizable Euskara.

If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.

Basque Fact of the Week, Euskadi, History

Basque Fact of the Week: Butrón Castle

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In probably 1996, after I had started this page and met Xabier Ormaetxea online, I visited the Basque Country and Xabier took me to see Butrón Castle. At the time, it was open for visitors, with people in period costume welcoming us and showing us the castle. For me, it was pretty impressive – you don’t get buildings like that in the United States, particularly the west. Since then, the interior has been closed to visitors, though the grounds are still open. I’ve gone back a few times to show my family as we peek inside the little windows wherever we could.

Butrón Castle, photo from Turismo Vasco.
  • Butrón Castle, or Butroeko gaztelua in Euskara, dates to the Middle Ages. It sits in the forest outside Gatika, just 20 kilometers from Bilbao. The castle has an ancient history. It was first built upon the site of the Butrón family house, itself founded in the 8th century by one Captain Gamíniz, upon a rock called either Ganzorri or Gantzurritz. The first castle, really a tower house, was built in the 11th century.
  • The House of Butrón — the family — has a long history with connections to the House of Haro (which was connected to Íñigo López, the first Lord of Biscay), the monarchs of Asturias, Castilla, León, Aragon, Navarra, and Portugal, and even the House of Uppsala/Munsö in Sweden. The first lord of the House of Butrón was Juan Pérez de Butrón, who was born around the year 1210.
  • In the 14th century, it was converted into a proper castle. The owners, the Butrón family, were supporters of the Oñaz family in the War of the Bands. Muñatones Castle, which was built by chronicler of the War of the Bands Lope García de Salazar, was inspired by Butrón Castle. For three hundred years, the castle was at the center of many battles that forged the region. In the 16th century, the castle was abandoned.
  • In 1878, the castle was completely redesigned and rebuilt by Francisco de Cubas, also known as the Marquis de Cubas. He also designed the University of Deusto in Bilbao. The rebuild was financed by Narciso de Salabert y Pinedo, the Marquis de la Torrecilla, who was descended from the original Butrón line. It was inspired by the Bavarian castles and epitomized de Cubas’s architectural vision.
  • In 2005, the castle was purchased by INBISA for 1,629,743 euros (roughly $2.2 million), after the previous owners, who had hoped to turn it into a wedding destination, went bankrupt. The castle was then put up for auction in 2014, but no one bought it. It was sold in December, 2021, to a Russian investor who plans to use it for his “personal enjoyment.”

Primary sources: Castillo de Butrón, Castillos de Olvido; Castillo de Butrón, Wikipedia; BUTRON. Enciclopedia Auñamendi. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/es/butron/ar-32809/

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 89

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It took a few moments for their vision to clear. When it did, they could tell they were still in the airport, but it was drastically different. Rather than the relatively sparse and empty hall they had just been standing in, they now found themselves surrounded by people, lights, and displays. Every nook had a different visual display, though where they came from, Maite couldn’t tell. They seemed to float in the air.

All of the people were milling about, dashing from one place to another with intention, as if they all had some place to go. The people around them were both familiar and strange. She recognized the stereotypical Basque features in a lot of the faces – the big noses, the big ears – but there were a lot of other faces as well, African, Asian, South American. It was a much more diverse crowd than she was used to seeing in the Basque Country.

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!

More surprising than the faces were the sounds. Everyone seemed to be talking in a different language, even to one another, but they all seemed to understand. Maite could only hear occasional snippets of Basque, Spanish, or English, but they were different than what she knew. She recognized sounds and fragments, but the accents were… off. Mixed in were languages she couldn’t understand at all and yet, somehow, the others around her could. The cacophony of sounds was almost overwhelming.

And their clothes! Maite wasn’t necessarily as sheltered as Kepa, living in Gernika and going to school in Bilbao, but she had never seen the types of fashion that now flooded her eyes. No one wore anything she recognized. Some had on sleek, one-piece, form-fitting outfits that had no seams or zippers, but covered almost the entire body, hugging it and leaving little to the imagination. Patterns and colors shifted dynamically on the surfaces of some as their owners moved. Others wore even less, their outfits essentially transparent, leaving precisely nothing to the imagination. Maite saw Kepa staring at a few of the women that walked by, almost mesmerized by their curves. Yet others were on the opposite extreme, seeming floating wide-brimmed hats with what Maite could only describe as curtains falling from the brim to the floor. She assumed there must be people behind the curtain, but she couldn’t actually see them.

In contrast, other people were wearing the most elaborate costumes Maite had seen outside of movies. There were people dressed as pirates, as eighteenth century revolutionaries, as ancient Romans, and as native islanders. Almost every period was represented, as if some role playing game had gone berserk. 

And, finally, there were those that simply defied description, outlandish outfits that seemed to come straight from some science fiction story. Some wore large mechanical gloves that seemed able to crush anything they touched. Others, both men and women, had skirts that seemed rigid, as if made from plastic, that formed sharp angles against their skin. Even others wore coats and pants that rippled with spikes up and down the arms and legs, spikes that somehow retracted and extended dynamically as the wearer moved. Many had what appeared to be geometric shapes that somehow floated around them. One woman had circles that encircled her head, tilting this way and that as she moved. Maite saw a man who had a series of pentagons that wrapped around his arms and legs, changing shape and orientation as his arms and legs swung. 

She shook her head and closed her eyes, the visual chaos overwhelming her even more than the audio cacophony. 

She felt Kepa pulling at her arm. She turned, opening her eyes to see him pointing as he pulled her along. He pulled her to a window. It took a moment for her to register what she was seeing. Looking out the window, which covered the entire wall, her field of view was filled with skyscrapers that went up as far as she could see. They had more organic shapes than she had seen before as they twisted into the sky. Some seemed to branch like massive trees while others consisted of spheres attached to a central tower that seemed to rise to infinity. Green vines cascaded down many of them, with flat terraces covered in trees and other plants. Looking down, Maite couldn’t see the streets. Or, rather, there were no streets. The spaces between buildings were filled with vegetation, not nicely manicured but also not entirely wild.

Maite looked over at Kepa. “I think we’ve gone into the future.”

If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.

Basque Fact of the Week, History, People

Basque Fact of the Week: Florentino Goikoetxea, Smuggler of Allied Airmen in WWII

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During World War II, the Basque Country occupied a special geopolitical position which provided unique opportunities to contribute to the effort against the Axis powers. The French side was of course occupied by Germany, but the Spanish side remained neutral. This led to networks to get soldiers, refugees, and politicians across the French-Spanish border and ultimately to freedom, networks such as the Bidegaray network led by Ana María Bidegaray. Many Basques from both sides were involved in these networks. Perhaps one of the most recognized was Florentino Goikoetxea, a humble hunter and smuggler from the Pyrenees mountains.

Florentino Goikoetxea Beobide, photo from Auñamendi Eusko Entziklopedia.
  • Florentino Goikoetxea Beobide was born on March 14, 1898, in Hernani, Gipuzkoa, where he lived until the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War. He took refuge in France, making his home in Ziburu, Lapurdi. He became friends with Kattalin Aguirre, who was part of the French Resistance during World War II, and through her he became involved in the Comet Line.
  • The Comet Line was a network passing through Europe where downed Allied airmen and other refugees would be taken from Belgium, passed through France to Spain and ultimately taken to Great Britain. It was first led by Andrée de Jongh (“Dédée”) and the majority of those involved where women, often teens.
  • Florentino was one of the men involved. Since his childhood, he had been a hunter, and roamed the Pyrenees mountains. He turned his knowledge of the terrain toward smuggling (he was a mugalari) as he became older. He then adapted his deep familiarity of the border to smuggling people on the Comet Line. In 1941, he began working with the Comet Line and, in April, 1942, he became their principal guide.
  • He worked as part of the Comet Line until 1944. During that time, he helped some 227 airmen and French and Belgian agents cross the border and find their way to freedom.
  • He also worked with other networks, including those led by the United States, where he passed mail back to the resistance. On one of his trips, on July 26, as he was returning from a walk, he was surprised by German patrol guards and shot four times, breaking his leg and shattering his kneecap. He was taken to the hospital in Baiona. The Comet Line, in a plan coordinated by Elvire de Greef and executed by two German-speaking Basques who pretended to be Gestapo agents, conspired to help him escape, eventually getting him to Biarritz, where he remained until the liberation of the region a month later.
  • For his efforts, Florentino, a near-illiterate Basque smuggler, received multiple recognitions and honors, but only after Franco died as he was still wanted by Spanish authorities. His awards included the George Medal from the UK and the French Legion of Honor. In one ceremony with the British royal family, he was asked what his occupation was, to which he replied “the import-export business.” He died on July 27, 1980, in Ziburu.

Primary sources: Intertwined: The Tail of the Comet, Vince Juaristi; Goikoetxea Beobide, Florentino. Enciclopedia Auñamendi. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/es/goikoetxea-beobide-florentino/ar-66614/; Florentino Goikoetxea, Wikipedia.

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 88

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“We just got home!” exclaimed Maite as she reluctantly followed Kepa to the white light.

“But,” pleaded Kepa, “it’s here. We can’t ignore it.”

Maite looked away, avoiding Kepa’s eyes. 

“There was one, back in California, while you were asleep in the car…” she began.

“Zer?” exclaimed Kepa. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!

Maite turned back to Kepa, her face red. “You’d just gotten shot and we’d finally escaped that sheep herder hell!” replied Maite, more angrily than she intended. “We weren’t ready… I wasn’t ready to go through another one, not yet.”

Kepa’s shoulders slumped as he nodded. “Ulertzen dut. I understand.” He looked up at Maite. “How are we going to keep doing this? There might be thousands of these damn things floating around the world. We will kill ourselves if we try to chase them all.”

Maite shook her head. “I don’t know. We can’t do them all, not alone. I hope Marina is doing her part, chasing these things down. And maybe she’s recruited others to help. Maybe we’re not the only ones jumping through time, chasing these zatiak?”

Kepa’s eyes opened wide. “Do you think there are others like us?”

Maite shrugged. “Why not? Why would we be so special? For all we know, she has a whole army, chasing these things through time for her.”

“And…” began Kepa, as his mind raced. “And, do you think de Lancre is also recruiting his own…”

“Minions?” interjected Maite. “I hadn’t thought of that.” She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t seem to be one to share power.”

“Why would Marina share?” asked Kepa. “Can’t she take on de Lancre more easily if she has more of the power herself?”

“That’s a good question,” replied Maite. “Maybe she just wants to keep him as weak as possible, and needs us to help her by eliminating zatiak from the time stream. But, we don’t know. Maybe there is something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” shrugged Maite, throwing up her hands. “But, maybe, she has a way of sucking them out of us when we collect enough. Maybe we are just temporary vessels, storing the zatia we find until she can claim them.”

Kepa shivered. “I don’t like feeling like a pawn.”

Maite nodded. “Neither do I. But we don’t have much choice right now. If we don’t help Marina, de Lancre might become too powerful for her to stop.”

Kepa sighed. He looked at the white light floating in front of them. He looked at Maite. “Are you ready?”

Maite nodded, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Bai. Egin dezagun hau. Let’s do this.”

Kepa, grabbing Maite’s hand, reached out and touched the white light. The light grew and grew, filling their vision, blinding them, until it flashed briefly and all went dark.

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Basque Fact of the Week, Euskadi

Basque Fact of the Week: Munitibar-Arbatzegi-Gerrikaitz

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My dad, Pedro Uberuaga Zabala, was from Munitibar, Bizkaia. Or better said, Gerrikaitz. At least, he always referred to his home as Gerrikaitz, not Munitibar. This confused me when I went to visit for the first time because the signs for the town say Munitibar. It turns out that this little town, home to less than 400 people but outsized as a source of Basque emigration to the United States, has a complicated history with two different villages that often fought and competed until they decided to merge into one. On a different note, I was also always amazed how this small town could host, at the time, three different bars. How different the Basque Country was from my own hometown…

Photo of the heart of Munitibar, taken by Jon Zuazo and stylized by Blas Uberuaga.
  • Munitibar-Arbatzegi-Gerrikaitz only took on its current name in 1986. Before that, it was known as Arbacegui-Guerricáiz, and even before that, Arbatzegi and Gerrikaitz were separate parishes. Gerrikaitz was founded in 1366 by Count Tello, though it was called Monditibar back then. Arbatzegi and Gerrikaitz merged in 1883 to form the municipality of Munitibar, partially because both were overwhelmed with war debt and they decided to join together to survive. The two parts are separated by the Lea river. Today, Munitibar encompasses the neighborhoods of Arbatzegi, Berreño, Gerrika, Gerrikaitz, and Totorika.
  • Way back in 1402, an agreement was struck between the mayors of Gerrikaitz and the “good men” of Arbatzegi and of Bolibar, to avoid discord and agree on mutual defense. Part of the agreement regarded the sale of timber from the mountains for use as charcoal in the ironworks, which the laborers of Arbatzegi were allowed to help decide. This pulled Arbatzegi into the village of Gerrikaitz. However, in 1630, the residents of Arbatzegi petitioned to split off again into their own town, a request that was granted by King Felipe IV.
  • The population of the small village has declined sharply in recent years. While from 1900 to 1950, it held relatively constant at just over 1,000 people, by 2000 there weren’t 400 people living in Munitibar.
  • Munitibar sits at the crossroads between Amorebieta, Gernika-Lumo, Lekeitio, and Markina-Xemein, though the roads passing through Munitibar are curvy and narrow, often making for relatively slow travel between towns.
  • There isn’t a whole lot of industry within Munitibar itself and most of the residents dedicate themselves to agriculture, timber, and livestock. Back in the 19th century, the town hosted two ironworks, nine mills, and a gypsum mine, but those have since closed up. Even earlier, Gerrikaitz alone had 30 forges dedicated to the manufacture of tools, nails, and ironwork, a dangerous industry that led to at least two fires that destroyed several homes and buildings. Today, there are several small carpentry shops, sawmills, and a factory for building materials.
  • During the Spanish Civil War, Gerrikaitz and Arbatzegi both fell to Franco’s forces on April 28, 1937. They had been bombed and machine gunned the previous two days. George Steer, who told the world about the bombing of Gernika, took refuge in one of the craters created in Gerrikaitz.
  • The feast day of Arbatzegi is San Pedro (June 29) while that of Gerrikaitz is Andra Mari (September 8).
  • One of the routes of the Camino de Santiago passes through the town.

Primary sources: Arozamena Ayala, Ainhoa. GERRIKAITZ. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/gerrikaitz/ar-75465/; Estornés Zubizarreta, Idoia. MUNITIBAR-ARBATZEGI-GERRIKAITZ. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/munitibar-arbatzegi-gerrikaitz/ar-78718/; Munitibar, Wikipedia.