“Like a cigarette butt”

  

On 23 February 1981 Carmen Diez de Pereira spent much time making phone calls. The first was to the Captain General of Valencia, asking for a car to take her to speak to her husband. She explained that she had been trying to arrange for her husband to call her without success. Spain’s Director General of Security had suggested recording her voice so that it could be broadcast to her husband by megaphone. But, she explained, “I know Antonio and Antonio thinks that they have forced me [to speak].”

 

She also spoke to her friend Herminia, who told her that she should be proud, but Carmen’s judgement of her husband was harsh: “he’s a wretched failure [desgraciao]” who had been deceived. Carmen said much the same thing to another friend, and added that Antonio had “so much love of the patria, he gave it so much, see how they have taken him in.” Carmen phoned her son Antonio, a student in the Military Academy of Zaragoza: “Bien hijo mío, ya te puedes imaginar han dejao a tu padre tirao como una colilla” [Well son, what do you think, they have thrown your father away like a cigarette butt.] “What happened?”, Antonio Jr asked. “Pues que el ejército se ha rajao.” {Well, the army has lost its nerve].

 

The unhappy man who was Carmen’s husband and father of their six children, died on 25 February 2026 (Carmen had died in 2022). His death was front page news in El País, for Antonio was Antonio Tejero, the Civil Guard colonel who 45 years ago had led his troops into the Spanish Cortes and had held the entire Spanish government captive. By coincidence, Antonio died on the very day that the documentation relating to his attempted coup was declassified, including recordings of Carmen’s anguished phone calls.

Tejero in the Cortes 23 February 1981

 

The extensive reports in El País make it clear that these were perilous times for the young Spanish democracy, presided over by King Juan Carlos I. A government report written after Tejero’s failed coup identified three significant plots: Tejero’s conspiracy, which involved a number of low-level officers as protagonists, another military-only group of more senior officers, and a military-civilian scheme. None of this could have surprised the authorities. Tejero had been disciplined several times for actions and published views that contravened military discipline. Six lower-level officers of the Centro Superior de Información para la Defensa (CID, the Spanish secret service) were involved in Tejero’s affair. And the Ministry of Defense was aware that the military had begun to regard the King as an enemy.

 

The King himself had proposed a plan to avoid a military coup, involving a coalition government led by a soldier. Juan Carlos had allowed General Alfonso Armada to promote himself as a possible leader of such a government. Armada was a key element of Tejero’s plan. The idea was to seize the government, then Lieutenant General Jaime Milans del Bosch would mobilize his troops in Valencia, Armada would visit the King to persuade him to back the coup. The first two parts succeeded: Tejero had captured the entire government, Milans del Bosch had sent tanks on to the streets of Valencia, and troops had seized the studios of Televisión España (TVE).

 

But the problem was the King. When Armada requested an audience Juan Carlos said no. He told Milans del Bosch “I will not abdicate, nor will I leave Spain. Anybody who rebels is prepared to provoke a new civil war and will be responsible for it.” He sent a telex to the Captains General of the army stating that “I have ordered the civil authorities and the Chiefs of Staff to maintain the constitutional order.” The troops occupying TVE were persuaded to withdraw and the King recorded an address to the nation.

 

Tejero stood down, but the threat was by no means eliminated. Another coup was planned for 24 June, the King’s birthday, when the most senior military officers, diputados [members of congress] and senior government officials would all be gathered in the Royal Palace. This too failed (the presence of diplomatic corps stayed the conspirators’ hand). One military officer complained that the error of the conspirators “was to leave the Bourbon [the King] at liberty and to deal with him as if he were a gentleman.” Juan Carlos, the officer lamented, was ready “to proceed with his suicidal plan to include the socialists in the government.” Therefore, the military should eliminate the King.

 

Tejero was prosecuted and sentenced to 30 years in prison. After his release, he lived in retirement devoting himself to painting and occasionally attending events such as the reinterment of Franco’s remains. He does not seem to have changed his views and at his funeral there a few cries of “Viva Tejero.”

 

Juan Carlos, in contrast, has been living in disgrace in Abu Dhabi after abdicating because of his involvement in a corruption scandal. We were in Spain in 2022 when he paid a brief private visit to Spain. The press coverage of his visit was unanimously hostile. The extensive coverage of the death of Tejero in February 2026 was accompanied by reports that Juan Carlos may return to live in Spain. The government and the royal household have indicated that his return would not be opposed. Perhaps the anniversary of the moment when he played a vital role in securing Spain’s democratic future will compensate for his disgrace.

History round every corner

  

Shortly before I retired the owner of Thames & Hudson, who profoundly disliked America, but who had employed me to develop a programme of textbooks for US college courses, asked me whether I really enjoyed my travels to many obscure towns where we could sell our textbooks. I replied that I had never been to a place where there was not a person or something that was not interesting.

 

I recalled this brief conversation because, at the urging of Kourtney, the partner of our eldest son, I have been drafting my memoirs and I have reached the thirteen years of my life working for Thames & Hudson. One of the visits I recalled was to Rome, Georgia (I used to joke that I had been to Paris (Texas), Athens (Georgia), Cambridge (Maryland), Birmingham (Alabama), and London (Ontario) without once setting foot in Europe). I paid a call at Berry College, founded in 1902 on 93 acres outside the town as a Boys Industrial School by Martha Berry, daughter of a grocery wholesaler and cotton trader. Rome’s location on the Etowah River made it a trading hub in north Georgia and southern Tennessee in the days of river transport. Theodore Roosevelt once visited Martha’s wood cabin schoolhouse, and Woodrow Wilson’s wife was a native of Rome. So there are presidential links to the town’s history.

 

While I was in Rome, I took a stroll downtown and discovered, outside the town hall, a statue of Romulus and Remus suckling from a female wolf (a copy of the Capitoline Wolf, a famous statue in Rome, Italy). A plaque on the statue announces: “Romae Novae, aspicium propseritatis et gloriae lupam capitolinam signum Roma aeterna, consule Benito Mussolini misit anno MCMXXIX” (In New Rome, the auspice of prosperity and glory, the Capitoline Wolf, the symbol of eternal Rome, was sent by the consul Benito Mussolini in 1929). It seems that the citizens of Rome are still proud of their link to Il Duce.

 

Well, earlier this month (February 2026) I took a friend who was Macmillan’s publishers of many thousands of academic books, and who was about to mark his 91^st birthday, to lunch in the Belgian Arms in Holyport, near Maidenhead. The pub is over 200 years old, and one of its upstairs rooms was once home to the local Methodist worshippers (incongruously, since Methodists are in principle tee-total). It was previously called The Eagle. During the First World War, some German prisoners were held in Holyport. For reasons unexplained, the Prussian arms were displayed on the front of the pub, and as the prisoners passed by, they saluted the arms. This so annoyed the locals that they renamed the pub (Belgium, of course, was where the main battlefields of the war were situated) the Belgian Arms.

 

Tim, however, had in mind another piece of local history: there are 23 real tennis courts in the UK, and one is in Holyport. So we tracked it won, (a short distance from the Belgian Arms). The game is ancient (Henry VIII played it at Hampton Court), but Holyport is a newcomer. The owner of Holyport House built the court in 1889. His successor was a cricket man, and the court was neglected, but was restored in the 1980s. 

 

Holyport Real Tennis Club

 

 

A Real Tennis court is a rare sight. There are only 41 courts worldwide. In addition to those in the UK there are ten in the USA, almost all in the East. The Racquet Club of Chicago, at Dearborn and West Schiller is the furthest west. Its closest neighbour is the Racquet Club of Philadelphia France and Australia each have four clubs.

 

Our visit prompted me to investigate the derivation of Holyport’s name. The town is named after no holy site or event; its derivation is the Old English horig (muddy) and port (market-town).