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Post by The Phantom on Jun 16, 2012 4:09:14 GMT 8
" The drive to Baguio lay through the rich, cultivated Luzon Valley, the most fertile and populated land in the islands. .............. Here and there rice gave way to sugar cane, bluish green and something like corn in shape and occasionally to fields of Tobacco.
Country Filipino's have a kind of good manners which spring from a general kindness and tolerance.
Some of the older ones, survivors of the Spanish domination, made the most courtly bows to all white people.
When they passed a white man on the road they would fold their arms in front of them, a custom which had originated under the Spaniards to show they had no weapon, nor intent to use one.
It was through this lush, defenseless valley , and down this sun-drenched road that the Japanese advanced in the dark December of 1941, leaving destruction and terror in their wake.
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Post by The Phantom on Jun 21, 2012 3:15:16 GMT 8
" There were 6 of us in the high Commissioners party. The legal adviser, George W Bell, and his wife, and Woody and I had all been asked to go along and help inspect the island fortress of Corregidor.
Across the shiny expanse of Manila Bay we chugged along on our newly refurbished mine layer, glad to have left the noise and odor of Manila behind us.
We passed the 3 radio towers on the tip of Cavite Point, ahead the formidable rock of Corregidor took substance and shape. On the Rock itself we could see no gun emplacements or anything else of Military character.
The gently wooded slopes of the island were undoubtedly honeycombed with fortifications, but except for the dock nothing was visible. (So they arrived on South Dock?)
As we stood by the railing on the upper deck, before us, the guard of honor lined up, spick and span and so rigid, they might have been made of painted wood.
By then the H.C. had disembarked and been greeted by General Wilson and a landing party.The air was cleft by the roar of a 19 gun salute. This was followed by the National Anthem from a full-throated brass band.
(So the Salute Gun was not used which is facing North on Skipper hill, wonder Why? He wasn't military?)
The three levels of Corregidor have names; Bottomside, Middleside and Topside. There is a legend the names originated with a 16th century Chinese pirate, but it is not explained why a Chinese pirate would have spoken pidgin English. .......................... Now we were on Corregidor, on our way by car to the officers quarters over a dusty road which curved and twisted as it climbed.
High up on topside the view from the parade grounds was magnificent.
We wives sat in a small grandstand and watched our husbands as they marched past at a smart clip, receiving the troops to the strains of "BLUE DANUBE" played for some reason at double-time.
Our governmental party had a distinctly non-military air and was having trouble keeping in step, Mr Bell, immediately behind the H.C. was having every few yards to do a little two-step-and-hop.
Finally the band fell silent and the parade ended.
The air became cooler, so cool that at the reception tendered us that night at the Officers Club we could enjoy the dancing on the wide terrace, under the large and fuzzy stars.
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Post by okla on Jun 21, 2012 4:29:40 GMT 8
Hey Phantom.....Little did they know what lurked in the coming years.....Or maybe they did!!!! Whatever, there was going to be Hell to pay. No more "Blue Danube", dancing at the Officer's Club,etc. Hard times, they wuz comin'.
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Post by The Phantom on Jun 22, 2012 23:44:02 GMT 8
" Right after breakfast the inspecting business started again.
Not many people have access to Corregidor, and the secret mine-control machinery, gun batteries and camouflage were carefully guarded from the general public.
We saw enormous naval guns with a range of 18 miles, italics mine ( NAVAL? Mac Arthur and Bunker stir), as their long gleaming gun barrels were moved into position for target practice. At each gun 20 or more spotless soldiers of the crew went through their routine with precession, snap, and apparent detachment.
After inspecting the anti-aircraft batteries and the mountains of food, ammunition, and medical supplies stored in deep, protected caches, we drew up to the foot of a steep hill and paused a moment.
We walked towards the dark mysterious mouth of the underground tunnel, talking cheerfully and entered.
Instantly the the sun and light were blotted out. In the thick silence our footsteps rang on the cement. We turned to the left and we found ourselves in the Hospital. Like long skinny fingers the corridors stretched and tapered away from us.
In the hospital wards, rows of neat cots hugged both sides of the arches, leaving a narrow passage between. Unused, musty air filled our nostrils and moved against us clammily, like an enveloping ghost. The garish light cast deep shadows on everyone's faces and hollowed out their eye sockets.
The vacant beds, the shining cabinets, the idle metallic medical apparatus stared back at us, blank and lifeless."
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Post by The Phantom on Jun 26, 2012 5:54:55 GMT 8
Visiting the Moro's in Mindanao.
"Running juramentado" was one custom that had not been brought under government control in 1941 when we visited Mindanao.
Moro's believed that all non believers---Christians---should be killed and that they themselves gained paradise by being killed in the process. Each slain infidel then became his slayer's personal slave in a heaven which was pictured as a glorious spot where warriors rode white horses and consorted with wild eyed houris.
Still, running jaramentado was not a personal affair undertaken on the spur of the moment.
The Iman , or headman would declare a jehu, or holy war. The jaramentado was bathed, dressed and had his fingernails cut and his eyebrows shaved. Then his body was tightly bound to enable him to live longer should he be wounded.
During days of ceremonials, of fasting, of lurid recital of the bravery of his ancestors, such an hysterical frenzy was generated in the jaramentado that when he was finally let loose, he was in the grip of utter madness.
Once on the street, the madman lashed about him with vicious barongs,or wavy pointed kris until he himself was felled.
Often this took considerable time, with frantic people anywhere nearby running indoors and barricading themselves behind walls.
Such fanaticism imbued the juramentado that, riddled with bullets, he would keep on attacking.
Some years before, the U.S.Army had found that it's regular bullet would not stop an enraged Moro and changed from a .38- to a .45- caliber pistol."
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Post by The Phantom on Jun 26, 2012 6:07:26 GMT 8
" Minanao was not only the land of the Moro, it was also the home of 20,000 Japanese who dominated the hemp industry.
Japanese agriculture was so successful in contrast to the Filipino results that people were fond of wisecracking that it wouldn't be such a bad idea if Japan took over the Philippine problem.
If the hemp industry of Davao was characteristically Japanese, the Del Monte pineapple plantation was typically American.
......................................Next door, so to speak to the blue green sea of three million pineapples, the U.S. Army Engineers were working feverishly on the construction of a new airfield, which was to be the only airfield in the southern islands large enough for our Flying Fortresses."
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Post by The Phantom on Jun 29, 2012 5:59:55 GMT 8
" The feast of Ramadan was drawing to a close the day we arrived at the little island of Jolo, just off the tip of Mindanao. Of all times of the year we could not have picked a worse one.
Two days before, an American had been attacked by a juramentado.
Unarmed, the American tried to fend him off by kicking him. But the Moro inflicted terrible slashing blows, cleaving one kneecap. A Jolo garage-man rushed in just in time to shoot the Moro,while the American was still conscious but could no longer stand.
The following day a Jolo bus driver had his head all but severed from his body. Then 3 more killings occurred in other parts of the island.
We had all been warned not to take step without heavy constabulary guard. Wherever we went the air was sullen and brooding, the atmosphere electric with tension.
On the rickety, smelly Chinese pier, we ran a gauntlet of Moro's who stared at us with blank, hard faces."
Other stops in Cebu etc follow.........
"Every argument about independence centered about the sugar problem. For 2 million Filipino's---farmers, mill-workers, and owners---faced economic ruin in 1946, when the U.S. would apply the full import tariff."
"We abandoned our inter-island steamer and embarked on the Lanakai with our friends.
"The official part of the trip was over. The Lanakai was returning to Manila.
It was Chic Parson's who suggested that we transfer and who was responsible for one of the happiest holidays of our lives.
.....................
Not until we ran along the Luzon coast near the island of Mindoro did we see any evidence of civilization. Then Army and Navy planes flew out to check out our identity.
In the late afternoon we approached Corregidor. The captain examined a couple of charts and tables and some other papers and headed us towards Subic Bay.(?) With some vague notions that ships had to wait for either the dawn or the dusk, we asked if we should be allowed to traverse the mine fields between Corregidor and Bataan at any hour when we might happen to arrive.
The captain said we would hug the coast on the Bataan side and a Navy vessel would escort us through the right channel.
We spied a ship putting out from Corregidor. It stopped beside a flag buoy directly on our course. ' There is our escort' we said pleased and relieved. A rude surprise awaited us.
It was a Navy vessel alright, an armored one. As we reached the flag, a stentorian voice from the deck shouted, "Stop, or we'll fire!"
We saw to our amazement that the naval gun was pointed right at us and 2 sailors, with a firm stance, cradled sub-machine guns in their arms also trained on us. With open mouths we stared at their stern faces. Frozen into immobility, we just stood there, the captain included. No order to stop was given, so the Lanakai kept right on going.
The Naval officer shouted "STOP!" again, this time with even more menace. Then we all registered. "Stop!" we shouted to the captain in various tones of alarm and command.
"You have proceeded through contact and magnetic mine fields against the law", bellowed the officer.
The Lanakai stopped. In fact she was put in reverse and proceeded to back into the mine field again. The women passengers shrieked and the men yelled "STOP!" again. And the Lanakai finally stopped.
We were boarded by an extremely irate officer, bringing with him a sailor who kept us covered with a machine gun. For a considerable time and without drawing a breath the officer told the captain what he thought of him. The poor old man and the Filipino crew, drawing as near as they could, gave vent to their tension by laughing.
Then Woody told the officer that the Captain only understood Spanish. We thought surly there would be another out burst, perhaps a translation of the first, but apparently the officer felt better. And he probably saw that we weren't running though minefields just to annoy the United States Navy.
He looked round at us, took off his cap, wiped the sweat from his head and smiled at us.
"You had me worried sick. It is only by the grace of god that you weren't blown to heaven," he said more calmly. "The tide is high at the moment and that gave you a few extra feet. And now I would like to see your papers."
Carefully he inspected the captains credentials, the ships papers, and charts and instructions.
"These instructions are for July, 1941." "It is now October, 1941, and the mines have all been changed,' he said at last.
"Captain, you are to report to the Port of Manila authorities." "There will be a Naval investigation.
And he said good-by, and descended the ladder, followed by the sailor with the machine gun, who favored us with an impudent grin.
The following week a fishing Schooner, considerably smaller than the Lanakai, and drawing only 6 feet of water to our nine, made the same mistake.
But she was not lucky. Only 2 of the crew and nothing of the ship survived."
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Post by pdh54 on Jul 3, 2012 2:38:01 GMT 8
Phantom thank you for recommending this book. It is a very interesting read.
One paragraph has been weighing on my mind though and I was wondering if anyone could help me find some information.
“I hurried back to the apartment to make sure it was ready for Clayton and Lilla Seitz, who were going to move in so that Lilla would be nearer the doctor. Their baby was due about New Year's Day” page98
Amea is referring to the people moving into their apartment once she and her husband were evacuated to Corregidor. How can I find out if these people survived and if the baby made it? I am assuming they were eventually put into one of the civilian camps by the Japanese.
I know it's a little silly to dwell on this with all the other info in the book, but what can I say...it must be the Mom in me.
Thanks
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Post by The Phantom on Jul 3, 2012 4:10:14 GMT 8
Not sure what happened to the Seitz family, anyone else have the information pdh54 is seeking? I feel I have read of a family in these circumstances pr-invasion, but don't recall the last name.
I will do some research.
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Post by wwalker on Jul 3, 2012 6:03:28 GMT 8
pdh54,
It appears that Clayton L. Seitz, Lilla R. Seitz, and daughter Cynthia K. Seitz were held at the Santo Tomas University prison camp. According to the records I have they were all three liberated. Hope this helps.
Sincerely,
WW
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