The initial example of the numerous *anglosajón* quirks that would perplex, bewilder, and frustrate Julio Camba during his 15-month tenure as El Mundo’s London correspondent surfaced when a porter attempted to assist the young Spanish reporter with his bags upon his arrival at Victoria station in December 1910.
“The porter took my suitcase and began to shout, prompting me to shout back,” he later recounted. “Since I’m Spanish, my volume far exceeded his, and eventually, he quieted down.” Camba quickly observed that, unlike their neighboring Spanish, French, or Italian counterparts, the English seemed averse to passionate displays. Or passion, for that matter.
He famously remarked, in a statement that remains relevant after 115 years, “The English tolerate the closeness of the continent much like a man irritated by a young music student living next door.”
This insight—among many others that range from the incisive to the biting, sardonic, and even horrified—has been compiled for the first time in a collection of Camba’s London articles titled *Viviendo a la inglesa* (Living the English Way).
Despite his adventurous spirit—having stowed away on a ship to Argentina at just 13, dabbled in anarchism before ultimately rejecting it, and chronicled the young turks in Constantinople—Camba found the fog, starch, and inscrutable social customs of Edwardian England considerably challenging. Yet, he transformed his frustrations into remarkable prose.
Consider his reflections on the differing English and Spanish perceptions of time—reflections that reinforce his assertion that, “At their core, all Englishmen are enforcers… Deep down, every Spaniard is an anarchist.”
“In London, one simply must own a watch,” he penned in April 1911. “The English firmly believe that time holds substantial significance, insisting on the distinction between 4pm and 5pm… In Spain, if you plan to see a friend at 11, you agree to meet at 10 or half past 10, and often don’t show up… But for an Englishman, if you’re asked to meet at twelve minutes past three and arrive at a quarter past, it’s as though you came the next day.”
He also mused about the weather, stating, “England is a place designed to withstand water. The rain bounces off the English much like it does off their buildings.”
Moreover, there was the curious effect of drinking on the English character. “The English seem to become a tad more human when imbibing,” he noted shortly after his arrival. “They converse with fervor, and their gestures seem almost instinctive. Some even roar with laughter, as people do.”
Camba also expressed sharp criticism of the English understanding of romance.
“This is how English individuals interact with their beloveds: they present them with chocolates,” he recoiled. “For an English paramour, an evening of love is an evening spent consuming countless chocolates.”
He was equally appalled by the adherence to antiquated displays of chivalric etiquette, like removing gloves when shaking hands.
“Upon arriving in London and checking into a budget boarding house, you have to adhere to the same rules of courtesy as if you were meeting the first Duke of Norfolk,” Camba lamented. “Lift your visor and extend a bare hand? No. This absurdity must cease immediately.”
While the collection includes sporadic mentions of historical events from that time—like the *siege of Sidney Street*, the *suffragette movement*, and the *coronation of George V*—most of the 69 succinct articles in *Viviendo a la inglesa* present somewhat caustic reflections on the English and their peculiar way of existing.
According to Camba’s latest biographer, Francisco Fuster, the journalist was not exactly the go-to source for an impartial account of historical happenings.
“He rarely discusses Churchill, elections, or politicians—though he touches on social issues occasionally,” explains Fuster, a cultural historian at the University of Valencia. “His newspaper sent him to portray life in London. The title provides a hint: it’s not a narrative filled with objective facts, which you might expect from a typical correspondent.”
Fuster believes Camba’s writings resemble those of both sociologists and writers like Stefan Zweig.
“In his own way, Camba chronicled the 20th century,” asserts the historian. “Perusing his works feels like reading a history book, albeit a unique form of history that doesn’t revolve around kings or battle dates. It’s a narrative of Europe from a daily life perspective.”
Ricardo Álamo, who compiled the anthology, adds that part of Camba’s lasting appeal—who enjoyed a wide and devoted readership in his time—lies in the timeless nature of his work.
“To engage with Camba is to encounter something contemporary, something that remains fresh,” he remarks. “His writing is both nuanced and lively—not grandiose or overly rhetorical—filled with original, ironic, and often delightfully sarcastic ideas.”
Although Camba’s work has seen a resurgence in interest over the past decade, it faced neglect for many years, primarily due to his articles supporting the Franco regime.
Yet, both Álamo and Fuster believe that Camba’s opposition to the Republican government overthrown by Franco stemmed from personal rather than ideological motives.
“After the establishment of the Second Republic in the early 1930s, Camba felt slighted and marginalized by the Republican leaders, from whom he had sought an ambassadorship,” explains Álamo.
When the Republican government denied him a diplomatic role—one that would have allowed him to escape the need for journalistic income—Camba turned against them.
“His response was to pen articles critical of the republic,” notes Fuster. “Even though he did write pieces in favor of Franco, it wasn’t motivated by a deep belief, as he eventually took up residence in Portugal during the early Franco years. He never sought a dictatorship and was never aligned with a political party.”
After a period of exile, Camba returned to Spain in 1949 and spent the final 12 years of his life in a modest room at the Palace hotel in Madrid, where he wrote very little and appeared indifferent to the idea of securing a legacy.
Despite the stagnation in Camba’s later years and the long spell of obscurity, Fuster believes he was “the finest Spanish correspondent of the 20th century.” Throughout the early decades of that century, Camba traveled to Turkey, Paris, England, Germany, Italy, the United States, and Portugal, submitting reports that “shaped the image of Europe and the US in the minds of Spaniards.”
It was a vastly different period, as Fuster emphasizes, with Camba representing a distinct type of journalist.
“We’re discussing an era devoid of television or internet; that image was crafted through newspapers,” he comments.
“Furthermore, Camba was a unique kind of correspondent: he didn’t merely report on objective events. He roamed through London, visiting bars or clubs, engaging with locals on the streets.”
