The fortified town of Morella occupies a peak in the foothills of the sierra del Maestrazgo and dominates the junction of three Spanish provinces, Valencia, Cataluña and Aragon. A huge castle crowns the peak and the town is protected by massive walls. The builders must have imagined the town impregnable. They were wrong. A Carlist general blasted a hole in the defenses.
The general, Ramon Cabrera, was my great-grandfather. He was notoriously ferocious in war. Spaniards named him El Tigre del Maestrazgo.
In late November, Morella celebrated the bi-centenary of Cabrera’s birth – a curious celebration given the damage he caused.
I spent four wonderful days as the guest of the mayor and people of Morella. The mayor opened an exhibition recalling my great-grandfather’s life. Amongst the exhibits was a painting of my great-great-grandmother being shot by firing squad. She is kneeling on the cobbles. A brave (or stupid) friar holds a crucifix over her head as the soldiers fire. My cousin, la marquesa del Ter, and I unveiled a plaque on the castle wall. Members of the PP (conservative party) presented Morella with a bronze equestrian statue. We enjoyed one of those civic lunches that continue for four hours (the wine was superb). The present Carlist pretender, the duke of Palma, sat on the mayor’s right. I sat on the mayor’s left. We three spent much of the luncheon discussing public education. Expected to make a speech, I remained moderately sober. My speech was heavily influenced by my recent journey through Hispanic America.
