The snow had come early this year, muffling the sound of the horse-drawn carts and lorries that regularly crossed between France and Spain along the roads between the Pyrenees and the Atlantic. The French customs officer shivered and stamped his feet trying to get warm before his next stint manning their little crossing near the French Basque village of Aldapa on the road between the French city of Bayonne and Spanish Bilbao. Once again he thanked his lucky stars that family connections had ensured him this safe, quiet spot far from the fighting in Northern France against the German invaders.
All of a sudden, in spite of the muffling effect of the snow, the synchronised tramping of boots could be heard approaching his position. The french offical hastily put on his cap and, to his amazement, saw a long column of soldiers marching across the border from Spain. "WAHT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING?!? DON'T YOU KNOW THIS IS FRANCE!?!" he shouted at the officer who appeared to be leading them. The Spaniard grinned, tipped his hat, and responded in perfect French: "Yes, or at least it is France for the time being - Sergeant, take this man prisoner!"
And so began Spain's part in the Great War.
