Brecht - War Primer

This edition published by Verso 2017

English-language edition first published by Libris 1998

Originally published in German as Kriegsfibel by Eulenspiegel Verlag 1955

Translation Stefan S. Brecht 1998, 2017

Afterword, notes and chronology John Willett 1998, 2017

All rights reserved

The moral rights of the authors have been asserted

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Verso

UK: 6 Meard Street, London W1F 0EG

US: 20 Jay Street, Suite 1010, Brooklyn, NY 11201

versobooks.com

Verso is the imprint of New Left Books

ISBN-13: 978-1-78478-208-5

ISBN-13: 978-1-78478-209-2 (UK EBK)

ISBN-13: 978-1-78478-210-8 (US EBK)

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress

Typeset by MJ&N Gavan, Truro, Cornwall

Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

Like one who dreams the road ahead is steep
I know the way Fate has prescribed for us
That narrow way towards a precipice.
Just follow. I can find it in my sleep.

Whats that youre making, brothers? Iron waggons.
And what about those great steel plates youre lifting?
Theyre for the guns that blast the iron to pieces.
And whats it all for, brothers? Its our living.

Women are bathing on the Spanish coast.
They climb up from the seashore to the cliffs
And often find black oil on arm and breast:
The only traces left of sunken ships.

The conqueror, General Juan Yage, kneels before his throne-chair at an open-air mass in Barcelonas Plaza de Catalunya. In background is the Hotel Colon, whose tower is seen again in the picture below, at lower right. Behind Yage are Generals Martn Alonso, Barrn, Vega. Yage and Solchaga moved off to chase Loyalists to the border.

The bells are pealing and the guns saluting.
Now thank we God who told us to enlist
And gave us rifles to be used for shooting.
The mob is vulgar. God is a Fascist.

Suppose you hear someone proclaim that he
Invaded and destroyed a mighty state
In eighteen days, ask what became of me:
For I was there, and lasted only eight.

Great fires are blazing in the Arctic regions
In lonely fjords the clamours at its height.
Say, fishermen: who launched those deadly legions?
Our great Protector, protected by the night.

Eight thousand strong we lie in the Skagerrak.
Packed into cattleboats we crossed the sea.
Fisherman, when fish have filled your net
Remember us, and let just one swim free.

German assault troops, here emerging from beneath railroad cars to attack the Albert Canal line, were young, tough and disciplined. In all, there were 240 divisions of them. But despite the worlds idea that the conquest was merely by planes and tanks, it actually depended on the old-fashioned tactic of a superior mass of firepower at the decisive point.

Before you join the great assault I see
You peer around to spot the enemy.
Was that the French? Or your own sergeant who
Was lurking there to keep his eye on you?

Unblock the streets to clear the invaders way!
This citys dead, theres nothing left to loot.
Theres never been such order in Roubaix.
Now order reigns. Its reign is absolute.

May he die like a dog. Thats my last wish.
He was the archenemy. Believe me, I speak true.
And I am free to speak: where I am now
Only the Loire and one lone cricket know.

Spring has come to Paris. Here we see one of its most typical signs fishing along the quays of the Seine has begun in earnest. This year there are more fishermen than ever a direct sign of the food shortage.

Here in the heart of Paris you can see us
Trying to outwit a sneaky little fish
From which we hope to make a meagre dish
Victims of Hitler and of our own leaders.

The Germans were kind to this Frenchman. They blindfolded him before he was shot.

And so we put him up against a wall:
A mothers son, a man like we had been
And shot him dead. And then to show you all
What came of him, we photographed the scene.

Lion Feuchtwanger (facing camera) behind the barbed wire in the brickyard concentration camp. This hitherto unpublished picture was smuggled out of France by Mr. Feuchtwanger.

Its true he was their enemys enemy
Yet one thing they could not forgive: that he
Was enemy to his own government.
Lock up the rebel. Throw away the key.

The people hate them more than a foreign foe.
Shitting themselves, they balance on the fence
And fear Germany less than they fear the French.
Be ruled by Germans? Yes. Ruled by the people? No.

Gang law is something I can understand.
With man-eaters Ive excellent relations.