Independence War: The Constitución Goes Privateering in the Pacific

The Schooner Constitución and Preparations for the Pacific Expedition (1814–15)

The Constitución was a medium-sized schooner, similar to the vessel shown in the image. She was American-built, but belonged to an Italian resident in Chile, Andrés Barrios, or Andrea Bario, who leased her to the United Provinces as the campaign against Montevideo was drawing to a close.

Preparations for the expedition to the Pacific began with this small vessel. Unfortunately, the Constitución was wrecked in Antarctic waters and there were no survivors.

Following the disaster at Rancagua and the fall of Chile into Royalist hands, many patriots from Santiago fled to Mendoza, capital of the Governorate of Cuyo in Argentina, the last territory to remain free from Spanish control. Among them was the priest Julián Uribe, a member of the governing Junta and an ally of the Carrera brothers.

José Miguel Carrera’s conduct forced General José de San Martín, who by then governed Cuyo and was working to raise the Army of the Andes, to disarm Carrera’s followers and send them to Buenos Aires, Uribe among them. On their arrival they received assistance from Carlos María de Alvear, who shortly afterwards became Supreme Director of the United Provinces. While Carrera sought support for recognition as the legitimate government of Chile and obtained resources to mount an expedition to Coquimbo and resume the struggle, Father Julián Uribe proposed a plan to attack the Spanish in Chile by disrupting Spanish shipping and trade along the coasts of Valparaíso, Coquimbo, Atacama, Arequipa, Callao and Guayaquil.

The project had originally been devised by Andrés Barrios. Following Brown’s successful 1814 naval campaign against Montevideo, Barrios transported 200 soldiers from that city to Buenos Aires aboard the Constitución free of charge. He subsequently offered the vessel to the state for only $4,000, despite its estimated value of $6,200. Brown recorded that “this individual [Barrios] offered his vessel and his personal services for an undertaking of such importance to the country, for an insignificant sum”. Since, of the $4,000, he “had received only $1,950, guaranteed by Miguel de Irigoyen”, Barrios returned the money and recovered possession of the vessel.

The schooner, or ketch, Constitución was American-built, displaced 235 tons and measured 28 m in length, 8.75 m in beam, 5.60 m in depth and had an average draught of 2.90 m. She belonged to the patriot Andrés Barrios, also known as Andrea Bari, a native of Pisa who, after living in Concepción, had settled in Buenos Aires. Barrios was also the owner and captain of the Carmen, with which he had been trading between Chile and Buenos Aires for at least fifteen years.

After the proposed sale of the Constitución to the state fell through, Barrios offered her for privateering service in mid-1815, and the proposal was accepted on 23 May. Uribe eventually raised sufficient funds among his compatriots to acquire a share in the vessel alongside Barrios and sought the support of the commander of the Argentine squadron, William Brown. Brown agreed to join the expedition with the frigate Hércules, which had been presented to him in recognition of his services, and persuaded the authorities to contribute the brig Trinidad.

To adapt the vessel for the campaign, her owner and commander Andrés Barrios stated that “her hold has been subdivided into several compartments and various other works have been carried out”. The recruited crew numbered around one hundred men, mainly Chileans but also including Irishmen, Americans, Swedes, Italians and Englishmen.

Following Alvear’s fall from power, and while José Miguel Carrera departed for the United States, Uribe continued with the project with Brown’s support. On 20 September 1815, Andrés Barrios received from the government the corresponding Letter of Marque No. 27 of the United Provinces of the Río de la Plata, with Miguel de Irigoyen acting as guarantor. Barrios was initially listed as commander, but at the last moment he was replaced by Lieutenant-Colonel of Marines Oliver Russell, Brown’s right-hand man during the Battle of Montevideo.

The government supplied the weapons and stores required not only for the privateering campaign but also for recruiting and arming a patriot army in Chile. The List of Artillery, Sets of Arms, Ammunition and Other Military Stores Delivered by Superior Order to Andrés Barrios, Commander of the Ketch Constitución recorded, among other items, one bronze 16-pounder gun, two iron 8-pounders and four 4-pounders; 210 canisters of grapeshot; 100 16-pound shot, 200 8-pound shot and 400 4-pound shot; 30 rounds of 16-pound bar shot; 12 quintals of gunpowder; two quintals of slow match; 1,000 musket cartridges; 100 pistol flints; 50 musket flints; and other supplies. The quantity and weight of the material loaded aboard were so considerable that they caused the vessel serious difficulties during the voyage and probably contributed to her tragic fate.

To give Uribe considerable freedom of action, his instructions were deliberately broad: to harass, capture or burn any vessel sailing under the Spanish flag; blockade Spanish-held ports on the Pacific; gather information on the general situation in Chile and Peru and on the Royalist and patriot land and naval forces operating there; ascertain the views of the insurgents and encourage and support their activities and military operations; clandestinely introduce proclamations and revolutionary writings; and undertake other similar activities.

Within a few months the squadron was ready. It consisted of the frigate Hércules, commanded by Brown’s brother-in-law Walter Dawes Chitty; the brig, or sumaca, Trinidad, commanded by Miguel Brown; the brig Halcón, under Captain Hipólito Bouchard, whose military commander was Ramón Freire, the future head of state of Chile; and the schooner Constitución, also known as the Uribe, under Oliver Russell.

The rest of the story has already been told. The Constitución sank near the South Shetland Islands while attempting to reach the Pacific in the midst of a violent storm. Uribe, Russell, Barrios and the entire crew were lost.

El Corsario del Plata

Argentina: The Naval Aviation in Antarctica

Argentine Naval Aviation: A Pioneer in Antarctica

1942 – 7 February – 1952

By Oscar Héctor Filippi

The first flight over Antarctica and the first Argentine postal flight to the continent.

By the Mar del Plata Branch of the Naval Aviation Institute.

The Boeing Stearman 76D-1 flown by Lieutenant Eduardo Lanusse, accompanied by Chief Aviation Corporal Erik Bolmquist.

On 7 February 1942, Lieutenant Eduardo Lanusse piloted a Boeing Stearman 76D-1, a fragile biplane whose wheels had been replaced with floats. The aircraft was lowered into the sea from the Argentine Navy transport ship 1º de Mayo. After taking off, Lanusse flew over Deception Island in the Argentine Antarctic Sector. It was the first flight by an Argentine aircraft over the White Continent.

Chief Aviation Corporal Erik Bolmquist served as the aircraft’s mechanic and accompanied Lieutenant Lanusse on this historic flight.

During the same period, air transport routes to Patagonia were also opened. Regular logistical support services reached the Isla Grande de Tierra del Fuego using Curtiss Condor aircraft.

This marked the beginning of the effective presence of Argentine naval aviation in Patagonia and Antarctica.

The PBY-5A Catalina amphibious naval aircraft, serial numbers 3-P-5 and 2-P-3, carried out the first airmail flight between the American continent and Antarctica.

On another 7 February, this time in 1952, the first Argentine—and reportedly the first worldwide—flight linking the American continent with Antarctica took place. Two PBY-5A Catalina amphibious naval aircraft, serial numbers 3-P-5 and 2-P-3, departed from Río Grande Naval Air Base in Tierra del Fuego.

The formation was commanded by Commander Pedro Iraolagoitía, while the aircraft were piloted by Lieutenant Commander Edgardo Andrew and Lieutenant Guillermo Campbell. After crossing the Drake Passage, they alighted on the waters off Deception Island. The aircraft were carrying mail, thereby establishing the first airmail service between continental Argentina and Antarctica.

These milestones were followed by successive Antarctic campaigns, which conducted the surveys required for the subsequent establishment of Argentine bases.

After 105 years of continuous Argentine presence in Antarctica, the country operated six permanent bases and seven seasonal bases. At the time of writing, 45 countries maintained a presence and conducted scientific research on the frozen continent. Argentina was its undisputed pioneer.

Also on 7 February, in 1964, Naval Air Squadron No. 4 was established. It initially comprised the Search and Rescue Naval Air Squadron, the Second General-Purpose Naval Air Squadron and the Naval Helicopter Squadron.

Sources: Libro de Efemérides Navales – Armada Argentina Libro: Alas sobre el Mar..

Facebook de Oscar Héctor Filippi

Argentine Army: SPH Crusader Mk.1

Self-propelled Gun Crusader Mk.1 is AA service

 
 

The Argentine Army converted the British Crusader Mk I tank into a self-propelled gun. Lieutenant Colonel Carlos R. Doglioli recalled:

“The chassis of the British Crusaders were fitted with French 105 mm Schneider-Creusot Model 1928 guns and Swedish 75 mm Bofors Model 1935 howitzers. The design was conceived by Colonel Bidone, now deceased, an artillery officer who was also a military engineer. His two sons likewise retired from the Army with the rank of Colonel. One of them was my artillery instructor at the Staff College, which is how I know this.”

He also added:

“The photograph showing a woman standing in front of one of the 105 mm self-propelled guns became very well known in September 1955. It was taken during the revolutionary events of those days and was widely reproduced in contemporary magazines. I remember it very clearly. It was originally published in a special issue of one of the illustrated news magazines of the period.

“The other two photographs of these Crusader self-propelled guns, judging by the colonial-style cork pith helmets being worn, were taken during the usual spring manoeuvres, which were generally held during the second half of October.

“None of these vehicles has survived. They were all scrapped a long time ago, most probably sometime during the 1960s.”


 

Specifications

Crew: 5 (75 mm version); 7 (105 mm version)
Weight: 17.5 tonnes
Engine: Nuffield-Liberty V12, 340 hp
Speed: 58 km/h on road
Range: 140 km on road
Fuel capacity: 500 litres
Length: 6.7 m
Width: ?
Height: 2.27 m
Armour: ?
Armament: three versions

1. Schneider 10.5 cm L/18 Model 1928 howitzer
2. Krupp 7.5 cm L/30 Model 1909 howitzer
3. Bofors 7.5 cm L/40 Model 1935 gun

All versions were also fitted with a 7.65 mm Madsen Model 1926 No. 3 machine gun.


 
 

TANKS!

Argentina's Forgotten Superpower: The Rise of Its Navy

Argentine Antarctica: The Harvesters (1/3)

The Harvesters — Part 1

In 1969, Argentina’s Antarctic policy hovered between routine administration and logistical neglect. To the General Staff in Buenos Aires, the Argentine Antarctic Sector was little more than an abstraction, attended to solely during the Summer Campaign.

Each December, the icebreaker General San Martín sailed south to relieve the crews, deliver provisions and fuel, and return before the ice closed the Weddell Sea once again in April.

For the remaining eight months, the White Continent was left in absolute isolation. If a scientist suffered appendicitis in July, or a base caught fire in August, the official response was simple: endure or die. Winter permitted no rescues.

Foreign powers operated according to a different philosophy.

Since the end of the Second World War, the United States, the Soviet Union and Britain had understood that sovereignty in Antarctica was no longer defended by planting flags in the ice, but by maintaining the ability to project air power throughout the year.

The construction of permanent runways had become the new geopolitical frontier. Whoever succeeded in breaking the winter isolation and landing an aircraft on conventional wheels would control strategic access to the continent.

Against this backdrop of institutional paralysis, Olezza began to make the bureaucrats behind their desks in the capital increasingly uncomfortable.

In the middle of that year, twenty-one members of the Argentine Air Force assembled at Teniente Matienzo Base, located on Larsen Nunatak.

There, winter greeted them with a storm that buried the installations and forced the men to remain confined indoors.

The Corrugated-Iron Bunker

Teniente Matienzo Base, Argentine Air Force — 64°58′S, 60°04′W — 29 August 1969, 6.00 p.m.

Winter offered no respite on the nunatak. Outside the base, a white-out gale blew at ninety knots, scouring the corrugated-iron walls with a constant metallic shriek.

Inside, the main block lay in semi-darkness, broken only by the glow of a field stove that coughed out thick, oily smoke whenever the gusts outside blocked the chimney.

Olezza stood with the sleeves of his heavy shirt rolled up and his eyes reddened by confinement, his fists planted firmly upon a nautical chart of the Weddell Sea.

Opposite him, Lieutenant Oscar José Pose Ortiz de Rozas, commander of the base — a seasoned officer, sparing with words and possessed of natural authority — smoked in silence. His gaze rested upon the exact point where his superior’s finger repeatedly struck the chart: a small, elongated shape called Seymour Island.

‘Look at this, Pose,’ Olezza said, breaking the silence. ‘The bureaucracy in Buenos Aires suffers from winter blindness. To them, maintaining bases down here means leaving a group of men locked away, counting the days until they can return home. But look at this position.’

Vice-Commodore Mario Luis Olezza was a pilot of uncompromising character who combined the audacity of a military aviator with a long-term geopolitical vision. He refused to accept the doctrine of static sovereignty.

He spent hours examining the Air Force’s historical archives, searching for reports that administrative neglect had buried inside grey metal filing cabinets.

Pose adjusted the cuffs of his woollen jumper and leaned over the map.

‘I know the report Vice-Commodore Marambio left on record, sir. He was perfectly clear: the Seymour plateau lies in the direction of the prevailing winds. The same storms that bury us here sweep Seymour clean. The wind does the work of a broom. Snow does not accumulate; the crust of mud remains exposed. But seeing it from an Avro Lincoln is one thing. Standing on it is quite another.’

Olezza produced a worn folder bound with frayed cord and bearing the signature of Vice-Commodore Gustavo Argentino Marambio.

It contained the notes from Operation Enlace of 1952 and the subsequent technical reports. Before his tragic death, Marambio had left behind a remarkably prescient aviation testament after obsessively studying the island.

Olezza exhaled cigarette smoke towards the beams of the ceiling.

‘In Buenos Aires, they buried these papers because they consider the idea of operating wheeled aircraft on permafrost to be the fantasy of obsessive pilots.’

‘The engineers argue that constructing a runway there would require a fleet of deep-draught ships to transport heavy machinery, as well as cranes capable of lifting the equipment up the island’s steep cliffs, which plunge two hundred metres towards the frozen sea. Since the Air Force possesses neither those resources nor the budget to hire them, their verdict is final: Marambio’s dream is impracticable.’

‘And how do you expect us to move thousands of tonnes of stone to level nine hundred metres of runway without a single bulldozer, sir?’ Pose asked, folding his arms.

‘On our backs, Pose. With nothing but our backs and our arms,’ Olezza replied, fixing him with a steady gaze.

‘That is why we formed this group: so that it would not depend upon technology we do not possess. Twenty-one men, each one selected personally. If we wait for the official paperwork, the British or the Chileans will put a wheel on that plateau before we do. Geopolitics does not wait. Whoever controls Seymour will hold the key to permanent, year-round access to Antarctica.’

Olezza had submitted the project to his superiors under the title Operation Marambio.

The initial response had been systematic rejection on the grounds of ‘insufficient technical and financial feasibility’.

But Olezza was not a man who accepted no for an answer.

He decided to bypass the usual channels and pursue a strategy of accomplished fact. If there was no machinery, the runway would be built with the one resource the Air Force possessed in abundance: hardened men imbued with the spirit of the pioneers.

He secured the minimum political approval necessary to conduct an exploratory mission and began assembling, in the strictest operational secrecy, the contingent that would enter history as the Sovereignty Patrol.

Recruitment was not conducted through official bulletins or open calls for volunteers. Olezza travelled personally to different units throughout the country, searching for specific types of men in workshops and hangars.

He was not looking for parade-ground heroes, but for non-commissioned mechanics, radio telegraphists and tradesmen who understood how metal behaved under extreme cold and possessed the psychological resilience to withstand complete isolation.

They were men accustomed to solving problems with wire, improvisation and ingenuity whenever official spare parts failed to arrive.

Responsibility for organising the ground party fell to Lieutenant Pose Ortiz de Rozas himself and Lieutenant Mario Víctor Licciardello, who would assume direct operational command in the field.

Among the non-commissioned officers, the technical heart of the patrol was Master Non-Commissioned Officer Mario Rogelio Ranieri, a veteran of previous campaigns who understood the secrets of radial engines better than anyone.

The list of twenty-one men was completed by sixteen non-commissioned officers and one civilian whose role would prove crucial: meteorologist Alberto Omar Amistadi, who could interpret the subtle fluctuations of mercury barometers and anticipate the brief windows of clear weather before the storm closed its trap.

The door of the block flew open, admitting a blast of freezing air and Non-Commissioned Officer Ranieri, whose hands bore the scars of old frostbite burns suffered while tightening bolts in the open.

The meteorologist followed behind him, rubbing his arms to restore some warmth.

‘The barometer is rising, sir,’ Amistadi announced, brushing the snow from his parka. ‘If the pressure holds, we will have a visibility window over the strait tomorrow. Brief, but clear.’

Olezza nodded and looked at Pose.

‘There is your opportunity. Licciardello, Luján and Velázquez already have the sledges prepared. Ranieri, what is the condition of the engines?’

‘The fuel for the Primus heaters is being rationed down to the last gram, sir,’ Ranieri replied with the gravity of a veteran. ‘And the tools have already been packed. Pointed pickaxes, broad shovels and soft-iron crowbars. If the permafrost is as hard as granite, we shall wear out more wooden handles than sticks of dynamite, but the lads will not buckle.’

Pose looked at his men.

They were rugged tradesmen who would not break when the canvas of an Alberta tent was the only thing separating them from a storm at thirty degrees below zero.

Once deposited on the summit of Seymour Island, they would be entirely alone. If magnetic fading silenced the high-frequency radio, nobody on the mainland would know whether they were still alive.

The only way off the island would be to finish the runway with their own hands.

---

For two months, Pose subjected the group to a brutal programme of endurance training.

They practised erecting Alberta-type field tents in hurricane-force winds, rationed fuel and learnt to transport heavy loads across powder snow using improvised sledges.

They knew that if a worker injured himself with a tool, no medical evacuation would be possible.

The Historic List of the Twenty-One Men

Senior commanders and personnel responsible for coordinating and carrying out the operation

1. Vice-Commodore Mario Luis Olezza
   Originator, promoter and commander of Operation Marambio.

2. Lieutenant Oscar José Pose Ortiz de Rozas
   Commander of Matienzo Army/Air Force Base, field commander of the patrol and pilot of the historic first landing on the plateau.

3. Lieutenant Mario Víctor Licciardello
   Operational officer on the plateau and commander of Camp Beta.

4. Master Non-Commissioned Officer Mario Rogelio Ranieri
   Technical officer of the patrol.

5. Corporal First Class Juan Carlos Luján
   Operational member.

6. Corporal First Class Ramón Alberto Velázquez
   Operational member.

7. Alberto Omar Amistadi
   Civilian meteorologist of the Argentine Air Force.

Non-commissioned officers and corporals who completed the contingent of twenty-one pioneers

8. Principal Non-Commissioned Officer Juvencio Daniel Iturra

9. Assistant Non-Commissioned Officer César Jaime Carrizo

10. Auxiliary Non-Commissioned Officer Agustín Edison Beltrán

11. Auxiliary Non-Commissioned Officer Silvano Andrés Barrera

12. Principal Corporal Jacinto Pérez

13. Principal Corporal Omar Juan Aimaretti

14. Corporal First Class Luis Fioramonti

15. Corporal First Class Hugo Adolfo Cortella

16. Corporal First Class Castor Eustaquio Ayala

17. Corporal First Class Francisco Ignacio Alfonso

18. Corporal First Class José Oscar Medina

19. Corporal First Class Archimedes Segundo Sancochia

20. Corporal First Class José Luis Cortese

21. Corporal Second Class Gabriel Arturo Escalante

Pioneers who, using nothing but their backs, their arms, pickaxes and shovels, broke the winter isolation of the White Continent.

Alejandro G. Mazzuchi
Retired military aviator — Writer of historical narratives

 

Malvinas: Torpedo Problems in the ARA San Luis

Malvinas 1982: The Misunderstood

Mariano Sciaroni

I often read comments about the Navy: the Navy did this, the Navy did that; whether it put to sea, and why it did not. I would like to know whether, after reading this account, the reader would be willing to sail aboard a submarine that could not dive — as in the ordeal of the submarine Santa Fe — or one armed with torpedoes that were effectively useless.

The condition of the SST-4 torpedoes during the Malvinas War

The German SST-4 torpedoes — “Special Surface Target 4”, also nicknamed “Sol Sol Taco Cuatro” — were delivered to the Argentine Navy between 1974 and 1975. At the time, they were among the most modern submarine weapons in the world.

This intelligent, wire-guided weapon remained connected to the launching submarine by a cable, allowing it to be guided remotely. It had a maximum range of 56,000 yards at 23 knots, or 24,000 yards at 35 knots, and carried a 573-pound warhead.

After the torpedoes arrived in Argentina, 19 test firings were conducted as part of the certification process: 15 from submarines and four from surface craft. Only eight were completed without incident. None of the torpedoes used in these trials carried a live warhead.

Despite this poor reliability rate — which, it must be said, was not very different from that of other contemporary submarine weapons — the torpedo was accepted into service.

Between December 1975 and May 1980, no operational firings were conducted. The only exceptions were three very short-range tests carried out in 1977 to take various measurements.

As early as 1975, the Submarine Force Command had asked the Directorate of Naval Weapons to conduct a live-warhead firing. The request was repeated in 1977. On both occasions, it was denied.

Between May 1980 and March 1982, eight SST-4 torpedoes were launched. Only one completed its run without incident. Another was lost, while in the remaining six cases the guidance wire was severed. In light of these results, the weapon was considered non-operational during this period.

During the Malvinas conflict, SST-4 torpedoes were loaded aboard the submarines ARA Salta and ARA San Luis. The latter fired two of them at enemy warships.

As might have been expected from the experience of previous years, however, the torpedoes failed to perform as intended.

For a detailed examination of these incidents, see Ready for Combat? Submarine Weapons in Malvinas, 1982.

Post-war assessments identified several possible causes for the weapon’s failures during the conflict:

• According to the manufacturer, each torpedo required a full overhaul every ten years. As they had been manufactured in 1972 and 1973, they were already approaching the end of their intended service life. That ten-year lifespan, however, applied only when the weapons were stored under specified conditions of humidity, pressure and temperature. A suitable storage facility was not brought into operation until 1981. In practice, therefore, the torpedoes had already exceeded their service life.

• The torpedoes’ gyroscopes were supposed to undergo maintenance every 48 months, but Argentina lacked the equipment required to perform the work. In 1980, six gyroscopes had been declared unserviceable and were sent to Germany for maintenance together with three others. Twenty-two remained in Argentina, but their reliability could not be properly assessed. Neither of the two torpedoes fired by ARA San Luis was fitted with an overhauled gyroscope.

• The torpedoes’ batteries had been manufactured between 1971 and 1972 and were expected to last between seven and nine years. Between 1979 and 1982, thirteen new batteries were purchased, bringing the total number available to forty-three. In February 1981, the Submarine Force Command requested that the batteries be tested, but the tests were never conducted. Of the two torpedoes fired by San Luis, one had a new battery and the other had an expired one.

The maintenance condition of the torpedoes was therefore clearly unsatisfactory. The weapon also suffered from an inherent design problem. In September and October 1982, the manufacturer, AEG, offered the Argentine Navy a large quantity of spare parts free of charge, apparently as a form of compensation. It also offered to maintain and repair the torpedoes already in service.

In 1984, despite the arms embargo, a substantial part of one torpedo was sent to Germany for examination. Once the investigation had been completed, the conclusions were forwarded to Argentina. By then, however, the weapon was already becoming obsolete.

It was a new and poorly understood technology, affected by both design defects and maintenance failures. Given all these problems, the SST-4’s poor performance during the 1982 Malvinas War was hardly surprising.

Even so, the submariners were ordered to put to sea practically unarmed.

Anti-Subversive War: Larrabure and His Martydom

Larrabure and His Martydom

“I want to die standing, invoking God in my family, and the Fatherland in my Army.”

In 1974, during a constitutional government, Argentina was going through one of the most violent periods in its history. The ERP (People's Revolutionary Army) planned the takeover of the Villa María Military Gunpowder and Explosives Factory in order to seize weapons and kidnap Major Larrabure, a military engineer and one of the Argentine Army’s leading specialists in explosives.

On 3 November, he was taken to a “people’s prison” beneath a haberdashery in Rosario. His cell measured barely 1 metre by 60 centimetres, with no natural light and minimal ventilation. While life continued normally above, beneath that haberdashery an Argentine Army officer remained kidnapped.

The ERP demanded to exchange him for five of its detained members, but the government decided not to negotiate. For more than a year, he endured hunger, damp, isolation and illness. He lost more than 40 kilograms. They tried to make him collaborate with them by using his knowledge of explosives, but he always refused.

On 19 August 1975, he died after 372 days in captivity. Four days later, his body, wrapped in a sheet and a blanket, was abandoned in a ditch on the outskirts of Rosario, where it was found by the authorities.

In his letters, he asked his children not to hate, to forgive his captors, and never to allow resentment to take the place of faith. That testimony of forgiveness is one of the reasons why the Catholic Church today recognises him as a Servant of God.

Photo: Cadet Larrabure, 1950s.