No Regrets

Chapter 4: Love, Laughter & Horror in the Time of War

It was just by chance that I found out Conchita Gonzalez Cancio had passed away and that the Mass and funeral was going to be at 2 o’clock in the afternoon. We were a group of friends having lunch and one of then casually mentioned that she was going. I asked if I could come along. I looked at my watch and saw that I would be just in time if I left right away. I went in my own car and did not see the person who was supposed to go with me. However, I went through the Mass and went down the aisle to extend my condolences. Seeing Conchita and family brought back a flood of memories. The last time I had seen Conchita must have been a couple of years ago. We didn’t see each other much, not because I didn’t want to, but because she asked me not to. Conchita was bound to a wheel chair and had some sort of disease of the nerves. She would get extremely nervous and uncomfortable. I understood and kept away.

In 1941, my mother and I were in Cebu. I was going to make a movie and was staying with the prominent Gonzalez family. Mr. Gonzalez was the owner of the movie outfit. They had a lovely home in Lahug, so it was very pleasant staying there. Also, his wife and children, who were more or less my age, were fun to be with. We were hardly into the third or fourth day of rolling the film when we heard that the Japanese had bombed Manila. The next day Cebu was also bombed. Well, so much for the movie. Mr. Gonzalez was going around to see if there was some way for us to leave. All communication and transportation had been cut off. We had no idea if my father was alive or what. Days turned into weeks and there we were running from one place to another dressed like boys, because the rumors were that the Japanese soldiers were raping girls. Finally, the Gonzalezes got tired of running and we all returned to the house in Lahug. Although the days went by ever so slowly, we managed to get through them by playing games and Conchita, being the youngest, was the most fun. She constantly asked me questions about my life, if I had a boyfriend, etc.

Then after a month or so, Captain Jess Villamor was already becoming famous after downing a couple of Japanese planes. Jess had been a friend of mine ever since we both came from the United States on the same boat. Thank God he had been looking for my father because he had a mission in Cebu. Mama and I hugged him like a long lost brother. He had with him a letter from my dad. Mama and I cried with joy to know he was all right and asked me to write back, which I did immediately. Jess said he didn’t know whether he’d be able to come back. Nevertheless, he was glad to see us and would give a full report to my dad. Life continued with the Japanese becoming more and more cruel and sadistic. Bombs falling everywhere became a daily occurrence. Then suddenly in the third month of our stay in Cebu we heard that a batel, a sort of boat with sails, was leaving for Manila.

The Trip To Manila That Seemed Forever

We immediately got in touch with the people organizing the trip. There was a former Navy captain, Gilbert Zuellig, a certain young man, Mr. Martinez, another Mr. Gariz and a Mr. and Mrs. Rene Klinger, my mother and myself. One was in charge of provisions, another with the drinking water and so on. We were leaving in a few days. It sounded like a great adventure, but actually it was a dangerous trip we were embarking on.

There was no way Mama and I could express our gratitude to the Gonzalez family. We said our goodbyes and proceeded to board the boat. It was a small one and we had to be sitting down all the time. The captain told us that we would be coasting from island to island and would stop to get water and coconuts. There were of course a number of inconveniences, but we were all desperate to reach our families.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly, the sea was calm and we had already stopped at a couple of islands where the natives were friendly and helpful. But on our next stop, we had hardly landed when one of the men came running forward and told us to leave immediately because a collaborator had gone to notify the Japanese. We hurriedly got aboard and were a little way into the sea when the Japanese arrived on shore and started shooting and yelling at us. Most of the passengers were white so they were probably taken for Americans. Thank God the Japanese didn’t give a chase.

Another day, it rained cats and dogs and all of us, while getting soaked, were bailing out the water that was filling the boat. Finally it stopped and not too soon, I was coughing and had a fever and all the rest caught colds.

After about 12 days of being aboard we were nearing Batangas. We had to be very careful where we landed, as we didn’t want to encounter the Japanese. The captain decided that we should not stick together because we would all be caught. We got down, said our goodbyes and we went off two by two. Mama and I took a bus that would take us to Manila. It broke our hearts to see the Japanese maltreating the prisoners of war, shoving and pushing them with their bayonets. The prisoners were fixing the roads and fences.

The bus ride seemed to take forever, and yet we did not know whom we would see or what to expect. No one who hasn’t experienced it can ever know the joy and happiness of seeing your dear ones again after so much pain and longing. We all cried and started comparing stories. Papa had lost a lot of weight and so had Mama.

Looking For A Job

We resumed our life and it was obvious that I had to look for a job. There were still Filipinos who had offices so I and another friend got a job with a Mr. Calica, who was in the business of selling tractors. Sentries were placed everywhere, and if you didn’t bow to them they would put out their cigarettes on your hand. Life was becoming more difficult and soon Mr. Calica had to close his business. I never knew why but it just closed.

So there I was out of a job again. One day my girlfriend and I were going out to buy something, we were at the corner waiting for the traffic to pass. There weren’t many cars for the Japanese were commandeering most of them, and some car owners even went to the extent of burying their cars so the Japanese wouldn’t get them. Anyway, while we were waiting, a big truck with soldiers stopped in front of us and one jumped out and went to my friend and stamped with all his might (he was wearing boots with thick soles) on her foot. She screamed and he just laughed and walked away.During the occupation we all wore bakya so that our feet were practically bare. Carmen was a blond mestiza so that was what probably irritated him. She was my next-door neighbor so I helped her to hobble back home, which was not too far away. It took weeks for Carmen’s foot to heal.

One day I saw in the papers that a telephone operator was wanted for a Japanese company. I had no idea how to work on a telephone board, but it couldn’t be very hard, I imagined. So I applied for the job. They asked if I could speak Japanese. I answered a little. So I was hired and I was to start the next day. I went to where the telephone board was at and watched the operator and asked a few questions. Yes, I thought it was easy enough. So, the next day I reported for work and managed to get through the day. On about the third day someone called for the boss. His line was busy and I didn’t know how to say it in Japanese, so I kept on saying, "Just a moment." Finally the guy got mad and was probably cursing me. I got so nervous I disconnected the boss and connected the caller. As soon as I realized what I had done, I quickly got my handbag and got out of there fast.

Tale Of A Teashop In Malate

As everyone was short of money, five of us girls decided to put up a teashop. We got a small place in Malate, painted it and called it "La Violetera," the violet vendor in English. The place looked quite nice and customers were mostly officers who knew how to behave themselves. It was coming along quite well. We mostly served curros con chocolate and the money was coming in. We opened in the early afternoon and closed about nine in the evening. After about four months, one evening a group of officers who obviously had been drinking, came in. After half an hour we started hinting that we were closing shop. Finally one of them said, "Ok, we take you home." No, no, we said we go home alone. This kind of thing went on for about 10 minutes.

Finally, we started to take the china and glasses to the kitchen and the men still wouldn’t go away. We got our things and closed and locked the door. So they told us to get in the car. There was no choice but to get in. We were three girls and three officers. I asked the officers to pass by my house first because I wanted to pick up something.

In Spanish, I said to the girls we’ll get down, go in the house, go out through the back and run to the creek which was at the back of the St. Joseph Hospital. The girls followed me and in no time at all the Japanese were yelling and chasing us with flashlights. We quickly reached the creek, which was practically dry and we got in and started running. The creek was full of broken bottles, cans and refuse from the hospital. We kept on running, some of us hurt, and tried to stay in the shadows. Finally, and it seemed a lifetime, the yelling stopped and the flashlights were turned off. We didn’t dare leave until it was dawn and we returned to my house. I have never felt more fear and horror since that night. Needless to say, the next day we closed the teashop.

Meanwhile, friends were taken to Fort Santiago, some never to be heard from again. We had a good friend, Dr. V. Campa, who was taken to Fort Santiago and was made to kneel down on pebbles for a whole day and night. The Japanese suspected him of having connections with the guerrillas. He managed to escape and joined the guerrillas in the mountains. It was not unusual to hear that so and so was killed, others tortured. People were afraid to leave their homes, but we had to eat. Mother would go to market to buy what she could with our dwindling money. I was slowly selling my clothes and anything else that would bring in some cash.

A Small Wedding, Then A Baguio Honeymoon

General Douglas MacArthur promised to return, but despite that many were discouraged, we didn’t know if we would live another day. So Leo and I decided to get married. It was a small wedding with only our families present. After that we went to the Manila Hotel to stay a few days and then left for Baguio for our honeymoon. We rode on a bus, swallowing more dust than was on the ground.

That evening at the hotel where we were staying, Leo started to breathe with difficulty. I kept on saying we should call a doctor and Leo saying that it would pass. I had never heard or seen anyone with an asthma attack so I thought he was dying. For the following years, I never ceased to get frightened whenever he had an attack.

When we were back in Manila life continued and daily happenings included people disappearing, being shot or skewered on a bayonet. Some of those who dared to listen to their radios said the Americans were beating the Japanese and coming closer to the Philippines. I became pregnant and we seriously thought of going to Pampanga where my father had family.

Back To Macabebe On A Truck

One day my friends came over and told me the Japanese were looking for me because they knew I spoke English well. They wanted me to do a Tokyo Rose. Tokyo Rose was a Japanese who spoke English like an American. Nightly she was on the radio speaking to the American troops, discouraging them, teasing them, to give up because they were losing the war. Then they’d play American music to further make the Americans homesick and feel lonely. Well, that did it. I told Leo we had to go to Pampanga to get away from Manila as quickly as possible.

In about a week we were ready. Mama, Papa, Leo and I. We had to ride in a truck standing up like animals. Before taking off, a soldier jumped on board for a last inspection. Being pregnant my stomach had grown, so I was wearing a loose blouse. When the soldier got to me, he raised his bayonet and flipped my blouse with it. I thought he was going to stab me or something. Fortunately he simply thought I might be hiding something under my blouse.

We finally arrived at our destination in Macabebe (the Americans pronounced it "make a baby"). Papa’s family was happy to see us and immediately made us feel at home. There were no Japanese in Macabebe, so it was good to feel safe after such a long time.

Luis Taruc & The Huks, Our Protectors

Soon enough we found out the reasons why. Luis Taruc had organized the Huks (Hukbalahab) and had blown up several truckloads of Japanese soldiers on the road that led to Macabebe. And they also had a system that when the Japanese were going to enter the town, there were couriers that ran carrying the message to the first courier, second, third, and so on until it reached the town proper! The scene looked like something from the old westerns when the two gunmen were going to square off in the middle of the street. All the windows were closed, not a soul on the street, not even a dog. They would come sometimes, go in a house or two, foraging for food or whatever and then leave. On one such occasion we received the message that they were coming. All windows were quickly closed. We lived on the main street, so we were particularly vulnerable. Anyway we felt safe. As there was nothing to do, the men, my dad, Leo and a couple of other cousins started a game of poker. They were enjoying the game and laughing aloud when about four soldiers burst in. We all stood up and bowed. They were all yelling and we could not understand them. Then my dad said, "Tomadochi, tomadochi," meaning friends, friends. This made them even madder, so they tied his hands behind his back. Then Leo shoved the money towards them, which was called Mickey Mouse money, because it was practically worthless. Anyway they started talking among themselves, then took the money and left as quickly as they had come.

The Huks or the Hukbalahab members were protecting the towns of Macabebe and Masantol. However, if there were Japanese collaborators, those for example that sold them rice or bangus from the fishponds or spied for them, they would knock on their doors late in the night and take them off somewhere and execute them. Sometimes late at night they would march, women also, through the town single file. It was quite thrilling to see and hear them singing with a rifle on one shoulder and a belt of bullets on the other. A cousin of mine named Emilio Hernandez was some kind of a hero. I couldn’t help feeling proud of these men and women who were risking the lives for their country.

Leo Walks 40 Miles To Manila

One day it was raining leaflets from the sky. Obviously, it was American planes. These were papers that had Gen. MacArthur’s picture on them saying that he was returning. Everyone was terribly excited, but it was still sometime before he would come. We heard the Japanese were on the run and in their wake they were destroying everything and everyone. Leo was naturally worried about his family. One evening we saw the skies ablaze with fire. He could no longer contain himself. He said he was going to walk to Manila and would return as soon as he could. Macabebe to Manila is about 40 miles.

I was worried and anxious plus the fact that our first baby was due in a few weeks. Evening after evening I would sit near the window hoping and expecting to see him coming home. After about four days I saw a gaunt and sunburnt person coming down the road. I ran down the stairs to meet him crying with joy.

His family, thank God, was well and safe. The Americans were already in Manila, but there were still shootings and snipers in many places.

Among the party of Gen. MacArthur, there was Gen. Basilio J. Valdez who was Leo’s uncle and promised to send a jeep with a couple of escorts to bring us back to Manila. As it turned out, the American vehicle became a part of Manila’s life. But poor Manila, it was devastated, destroyed, burned beyond recognition. Gen. MacArthur, true to his promise, returned but at what a price. In the words of R. Connughton, J. Pinlott and D. Anderson, "By the first week of March 1945 the ‘Pearl of the Orient’ was no more: only a handful of blackened smoking ruins interrupted the now startlingly clear view from one edge of the city to the other. Casualties had been heavy: 6,500 Americans up to 20,000 Japanese and more than 200,000 of Manila’s own citizens."

Leo and I returned to Manila and stayed with my in-laws. I was soon to deliver our first child, which was also another traumatic episode.

Next Week: Starting A Family

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No part of this autobiography may be used in any form without permission from Mary H. Prieto.