“There’s a valley in Spain called Jarama,
It’s a place that we all know so well,
It was there that we fought against the fascists,
We saw a peaceful valley turn to hell.

From this valley they say we are going,
But don’t hasten to bid us adieu,
Even though we lost the battle at Jarama,
We’ll set this valley free before we’re through.

We were men of the Lincoln battalion
We’re proud of the fight that we made
We know that you people of the valley 
Will remember our Lincoln Brigade”

“Jarama Valley” is a well-known socialist song, perhaps even sung at recent Christmas and New Year parties — and certainly it’s been chorused at political and trade union gatherings over the years.

There’s a short and long version and it has been translated into Spanish, German and perhaps even other languages. Many will also rightly identify it as being a Woody Guthrie song which has been recorded by many famous singers over the years including Pete Seeger and Guthrie’s son Arlo.

But few know that the song was in fact taken from a poem which was turned into a song and was written by a Scottish member of the International Brigade.

To be fair, Guthrie acknowledged the “Brigadista” for his works conception, the American simply changing some lines to Americanise it, referring to the Abraham Lincoln Brigade rather than the British Battalion but making it into the hugely popular song which echoes to this day.

Alex McDade was though the unsung author who penned the song, which was first published in an International Brigade book in 1938. The words in that original version were  

“There’s a valley in Spain called Jarama,
It’s a place that we all know so well, 
It is there that we gave of our manhood, 
and so many of our brave comrades fell.

We are proud of the British Battalion, 
And the stand for Madrid that they made, 
For they fought like true sons of the soil,
As part of the Fifteenth Brigade.

With the rest of the international column,
In the stand for the freedom of Spain,
We swore in the Valley of Jarama, 
That fascism never will reign.”

McDade was wounded at the Battle of Jarama fought in February 1937, and his writing is therefore also in many ways personal testimony. There’s a suggestion that he wrote it whilst recuperating. As he didn’t return to Britain because of his injuries, no doubt he had time whilst recovering which gives the suggestion credence.

Initially it seems to have been penned as a mixture of general complaints which soldiers had about daily life. But it was turned more into a cri de Coeur and taken up by his comrades with it a becoming a popular song at reunions. Again, perhaps understandable, given the International Brigades’ withdrawal from the conflict in November 1938.      

McDade had been fortunate at Jarama where so many of his brave comrades did fall. The site of the battle was east of Madrid and Franco had attacked seeking to isolate the city by taking the road which connected it to the Republican capital of Valenica.

There, the army of anti-fascist volunteers, many without any formal military training, came up against the fascists’ elite “Army of Africa” which was both far more experienced and far better equipped.

By the end of the first day the British Battalion had lost half of its contingent and required to pull back. On the third day after repeated artillery and tank attacks what remained were told by the Republican military commander that only they stood between them and the road.

Heroically the one hundred and forty who remained went back and retook the ground which they had lost. In coming days, they would be reinforced, a stalemate set in and the conflict moved elsewhere. But it came at a huge cost.  

The renowned historian Anthony Beevor reckoned that the British Battalion lost 225 men from its original contingent of 600 and the Abraham Lincoln Brigade 125 from its strength of 500, and they were amongst thousands who died on both sides in the carnage.

McDade of course recovered and once more went into battle at Brunete on July 6 1937. This time west of Madrid as Republican forces sought to alleviate pressure on the city’s northern front by launching an attack.

Their offensive was repulsed and although they managed to hold their line it came at a huge cost to the Republican forces including the International Brigade.  

The British Battalion’s initial attack had faced heavy machine gun fire which saw them pinned down in the searing Spanish heat, suffering from a shortage of water and requiring to take cover in a village overnight.

The following day they tried again to reach their objective of taking the heights above the Guadarrama River. But as the International Brigade Memorial Trust (IBMT) website sadly narrates it was a slaughter and “of the 331 volunteers in the ranks of the British Battalion at the start of Brunete only 42 still remained.” Amongst the dead on that first day was Alex McDade, aged only thirty-one years.

Just as his authorship is unknown to most, so there’s also little published or known about McDade. He’s recorded in the IBMT as being born in Glasgow in 1904, a labourer from Possilpark, an area then and now, one of the poorest parts of the city. Joining the British Battalion he arrived in Spain in 1936.

Dying at Brunete it’s tragic that he would not know of his work’s popularity with former comrades, let alone how its been taken to heart by the wider socialist movement and continues to be sung all these years on.

We rightly revere those who fought in Spain and hopefully this gives some added understanding, as well poignancy to the song. Equally, Alex McDade deserves to be remembered for his original authorship and his heroism.