Before Francisco Franco became the dictator of Spain, he was a young major in love with a girl from a reputable family. However, their relationship faced so many obstacles that it nearly never came to fruition.
Love in the Shadow of War
The year 1917 brought a young officer fresh from the Moroccan front to the tranquil city of Oviedo. Carmen Polo, raised in the strict Catholic traditions of a bourgeois family, met the man who would change her life forever. Carmen’s family opposed the relationship, viewing the military man as an uncertain future for their daughter.
Despite her family’s resistance, the couple became engaged, but Franco’s military career continued to disrupt their matrimonial plans. In 1920, their wedding was once again in question. Three years later, fate intervened again when the death of the commander of the Spanish Foreign Legion opened the door to Franco’s promotion.
The young officer faced a choice between love and ambition. He promised his fiancée he would return to her alive or die in battle. He chose Morocco and the possibility of becoming a lieutenant colonel—a decision that would prove prophetic for the future of Spain.
A Wedding with Royal Blessing
In the autumn of 1923, Franco returned as the most decorated soldier in the country. The wedding ceremony at the San Juan el Real church in Oviedo had an almost state-like character. King Alfonso XIII himself agreed to be a witness, although he was represented by the military governor of Asturias.
Notably absent from the celebration was Franco’s own father, who had never been forgiven for leaving Franco’s mother for another woman. This family wound remained unhealed throughout the dictator’s life. The honeymoon lasted only a few days before the young husband returned to North Africa.
Carmen was left alone for fifteen months. When she was finally able to join her husband in Melilla, a new stage in her life began. Constant moves between army garrisons became her norm—Madrid, Zaragoza, Oviedo again, the Canary Islands, and after the Civil War, Salamanca and Burgos. She once described herself as a true nomad.
The Daughter and the Escape
For three years, the couple had no children, which at the time sparked speculation and rumors. Only in the winter of 1926 did Carmen give birth to a daughter, named after her mother. The girl, affectionately called Nenuca, would remain the only child of Franco and Carmen.
A decade later, civil war erupted and the family’s life was turned upside down. Carmen and her daughter were forced to flee the country under false names, with real fears that the child could be kidnapped. They reached Le Havre in France aboard a German steamer and from there traveled by way of Bayonne to safety.
Franco sent a trusted cousin for them only at the end of September. From that point forward, Carmen never had to worry again about safety or finances. She began collecting hats, dresses, and pearl necklaces that became her signature look.
Power Behind the Curtain
After her daughter’s wedding in 1950, Carmen began taking a more active role in state affairs. Contemporary observers considered her the driving force behind many of the religious and moral restrictions imposed on Spaniards. She controlled access to her husband, filtering both information and the people who could reach him.
Her influence on press censorship was significant. At the same time, Carmen’s personal style sparked controversy among critics of the regime. Though she promoted strict morality and frugality, she spent fortunes on jewelry and designer gowns—a contradiction not lost on the public.
Carmen Polo’s elegance was widely admired and emulated by Spanish women. Her religiosity and public devotion to her husband embodied the Francoist ideal of womanhood. After Franco’s death in 1975, she withdrew from public life, remaining a symbol for supporters of the old regime until her own death in 1988.
Rory Thornfield
Rory's grandfather left behind a wartime diary filled with accounts of a minor Burma skirmish that history books never mentioned. Reading it, Rory realized: behind every famous battle are dozens of forgotten struggles, each with its own human drama.
His preferred topics: The overlooked corners of military history – secondary campaigns, shadow battalions, local conflicts that never made headlines. From medieval sieges to twentieth-century expeditions, he focuses on the soldiers, not the generals. The people who faced impossible choices and carried those experiences forever.
Rory strips away the romanticism without losing respect for those who served. He combines tactical analysis with personal stories, examining human endurance and moral complexity rather than celebrating warfare. His writing is balanced, thoughtful, and deeply researched.
Outside work, Rory visits forgotten battlefields (now quiet farmland), photographs war memorials nobody tends anymore, and interviews veterans' families.