EKAITZ SAIES

More than 80 years ago, a generation of ordinary Britons opened their doors to Basque child refugees. One of them was my grandfather. 

Standing on the Dorset coast, in front of Old Harry Rocks, where Sir David Attenborough introduced his latest documentary, Ocean, I felt a sudden, deep personal connection to him. During the drive home, I shared the reasons of that realisation with my wife and children.

More than 80 years ago, the fate of my family was shaped by the simple, determined the humanity of thousands of British families, including Attenborough’s parents.

Without their collective effort, my grandfather, a child refugee, might not have survived. And I would not exist.

My grandfather, Rafael, was one of the 4,000 niños vascos — Basque children who arrived in Britain in May 1937, fleeing the terror of the Spanish Civil War.

The evacuation was triggered by the bombing of Guernica. Public outrage was immense, yet the government held firm to its ‘non-intervention’ policy, refusing to spend a single shilling on the refugees. Their survival depended entirely on voluntary action: donations, local committees, churches, trade unions and individuals.

Rafael was ten when he boarded the overcrowded SS Habana in Bilbao, travelling with his sister across the Bay of Biscay towards an uncertain future. On arrival in Southampton, the children were first housed in a temporary camp before being dispersed to some 80 volunteer-run hostels, or ‘colonies,’ across the country.

This is where my family’s story intersects with the Attenboroughs. While the survival of the children was a national achievement, it was passionate local leaders who turned goodwill into action. In Leicester, the driving force was Mary Attenborough.

As secretary of the Leicestershire Committee for Basque Children, Mary was responsible for the welfare of 50 young refugees sent to the area. She raised funds, secured facilities such as Evington Hall, and even enlisted her own children, including David, to help run the hostels. She was a fierce advocate, insisting that no child should be returned to Spain if it meant being delivered to their parents’ enemies. Her leadership was vital to a nationwide effort that gave children safety, care and hope.

Had the Attenboroughs, and the thousands of ordinary Britons who stepped up not acted, perhaps my grandfather’s life, and therefore mine, would not exist.

Standing there today, looking out to sea, I was reminded that the greatest human stories are often not of politics, but of selfless compassion. My family’s life is a living testament to a generation that saw children in need, and acted.

Hopefully, next time my children hear David Attenborough’s voice, it will not just be the wonders of the natural world they hear, but the echo of his family’s generosity, the kindness that saved a small boy and his sister from San Sebastián, and allowed me, and my children, to be here today.