|
Post by EXO on Jan 31, 2011 11:50:26 GMT 8
Extraordinary, Gentlemen, extraordinary!
|
|
|
Post by okla on Feb 1, 2011 2:11:00 GMT 8
Hey Fots....You keep coming up with great remedies for my "withdrawal" problems. Another excellent job. I am beginning to believe, although I know that you are Canadian, that you have West Virginia coal miner in your DNA since you are so at home in tunnels, shafts, caves,etc. Please 'fess up if this be the case. One little thing in your pix jumped out at me. Help me out if you will. The photo of Captain White's digs (no pun intended) appears to show the letters "CPT' being of the 'raised" variety and those spelling "White" being recessed or engraved. Am I seeing things or is this just from the flash light, shadows etc? The CPT letters also seem to be so uniform like what would appear on a grave marker/monument,etc, professionally done, while "White" appears to be of cruder or amateur workmanship. No big deal, just my notorious imagination at work again. Thanks again, for your usual superior contribution to the forum.
|
|
|
Post by fots2 on Feb 1, 2011 8:43:55 GMT 8
Hi okla, You are very correct about the two types of lettering used. CPT is raised. I have no idea why unless it was to distinguish the name from rank. If so, why not use CAPT? Another little Corregidor mystery. I wouldn’t mind having a look around a West Virginia coal mine. You may be correct about the DNA. My relatives came to Canada from Scotland and England in the 1730s. Distant relatives ended up everywhere.
|
|
|
Post by okla on Feb 1, 2011 9:15:12 GMT 8
Hey Fots....I have been slightly puzzled by the "CPT" abbreviation for Captain that seemed to be in vogue on Corregidor at one time or another. At one time my first glance (can't remember just which thread I was looking at) of "CPT" I thought it was "CPL" for some Corporal "So and So". On a second, longer look, with bi-focaled, 78 year old eyes, I realized that the stone was marking the resting place of a Captain, long deceased, not a Junior NCO Corporal. Cheers....Postscript...Are you sure there wasn't a Welsh digger of coal along with your Scottish/English fore bearers (one limb of my family tree came to the American colonies from Sheffield in the Midlands prior to 1776) Were they digging the black stuff as far back as 1730??? I am convinced that your obvious love of dark places is hereditary.
|
|
|
Post by JohnEakin on Feb 1, 2011 10:32:23 GMT 8
Hey Fots, you're incredible - I never would have thought to lift the steel plate in the floor. The tunnel is fascinating, but the inscriptions and alcoves really make the mystery intriguing.
Someone went to a lot of work for no apparent reason. The thought crossed my mind that back in those days troops could be sentenced to hard labor in the company area. I wonder if there could have been some sort of punishment associated with the digging - certainly not a place I'd enjoy for any length of time.
The inscriptions add a mystery to the mystery, especially the difference in the CPT carving - that font almost looks like something molded from wet concrete with a mold rather than carved.
|
|
|
Post by fots2 on Feb 2, 2011 8:18:57 GMT 8
Okla, it is good to know that there are other cases of “CPT” being used as an abbreviation for Captain. Perhaps this alcove really was for a Captain Smith.
Johneakin, the “CPT” letters look almost too perfect to me also. I would say using a mold is quite probable. No matter how comfortable they tried to make it, working down there would not be fun. With so much written about Corregidor I wonder why these tunnels were never mentioned. Under a barracks, it couldn’t have been a secret.
P.S. I took Phantom’s suggestion and tried searches for any civilian named W. White who may have come to Corregidor (from Baguio for example). i.e a miner. No luck there either.
|
|
|
Post by chadhill on Feb 2, 2011 13:52:02 GMT 8
Nice photos, Fots, and an interesting thread. Here's a couple things I came across:
Fourth Marine Regiment veteran Robert Haney, in his book "Caged Dragons" (page 44) says that in early January '42, after a bombing raid, he was "standing near the flagpole at the main entrance to Middleside Barracks when I saw a manhole cover lifted from below. Out of it came two American musicians, both civilians, whom I had known in Tientsin".
Ben Waldron, in his book "Corregidor, From Paradise to Hell" (pages 84-86) says that on May 6 his group surrendered to Japanese soldiers in Middleside Tunnel, and that several US troops were bayonetted there. Where was this tunnel?
The Belotes (page 90) say that the Philippine Commonwealth silver reserves were stored in the government vault on Middleside. Was this near the barracks?
I wonder if any other tunnels could be interconnected with those below the barracks.
|
|
|
Post by EXO on Feb 2, 2011 16:07:29 GMT 8
I caution against accepting what Waldron says. His book contains proven fabrications of other events, and thus the alleged incident inside Middleside is thus questionable. Waldron, in short, should not be quoted as proof of ANYTHING in this website. (Chadhill, do not feel awkward that you have trangressed some form of written law of this website forum. I made up the law just this instant. If Waldron can make up battles, then I have decided that I can make up rules to exclude his work from being promulgated here. Anyone quoting Waldron henceforth shall be bayoteted! ) Here's what Al McGrew recalled, now published by the Corregidor Historic Society in "Amid Th' Encircling Gloom."Middleside Tunnel, we discovered, was located behind a row of officer’s quarters, just up the hill behind Middleside Barracks where we lived in peace time. It was built westward into the hill. We were held outside the tunnel until one of the sergeants went inside for a couple minutes. Shortly the sergeant emerged from the wooden entrance and soon we were filing inside. The tunnel was ten or twelve feet wide, and lighted by naked light bulbs hanging from the ceiling, and once my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw the walls were not concrete, but were sheathed with wood. The men in front of me were being motioned to sit along the wall on the left side of the tunnel, and when I reached the end of the line, I sat down with my back against the wooden wall and watched the others file in. It was very quiet, except for the occasional rumble of shells or bombs in the distance. After all of our men were inside, everything was quiet except for occasional activity back and forth. The hanging light bulbs could be seen far back into the distance. It was hard to believe this tunnel existed this close to our barracks, and was unknown to any of us.
Each of us sat alone with our thoughts. There was little talking. Some of the men drifted off to sleep. Everyone was worn out from the events of the past weeks. A few were eating from cans, probably “C” rations, or whatever they could scrape up and stuff into bags, or knapsacks. I suppose my constant hunger had departed, thinking about what was to happen to us. I was not hungry, just totally exhausted. I wondered if Spence had survived the attack on the east end of the island. Would I ever see him again? We learned the battle had raged fiercely, and little else. I wondered about my friends in Denver (“D” Battery). Surely they were in the thick of things, and did the Japs get into Malinta Tunnel?
Time wore on, hour after hour, just sitting there leaning against the boards lining the sides of the tunnel. The long night seemed endless. I dozed a few times, but like many of the other men I found it very hard to sleep. Many were snoring away, and I could only envy them, but thoughts of what tomorrow might bring, and the inability to lay down and stretch out were more than enough to hold off sleep, something we all needed.
As with all things, the morning did arrive. I was stiff and sore from sitting on the hard floor. I must have dozed off, and was startled awake by much commotion and activity. I had forgotten where I was!
“What’s going on?” I asked the man next to me.
“An officer just went by, and he said the Japs want us outside!”
Everyone was climbing to their feet and gathering their belongings together. I thought, “this is it!” and got in line. As we left the mouth of the tunnel, we were blinded by the sunlight, and I groped my way through the entrance and followed the men ahead of me down the slight grade away from Middleside Tunnel. The large cluster of men grew as more and more emerged from the tunnel.
Now a ragged column of fours was being formed by an American Officer who was being prodded by a Japanese officer. The Japanese officer began to count as he walked along the column. He counted off about eighty to a hundred men and shouted at the American Officer to move the column down the road toward the parade ground. I was to the rear of the column and it was some time before we could move forward. As we passed along behind Middleside Barracks, the damage was apparent everywhere I looked. When the column reached the end of the barracks it wended its way around and through a multitude of bomb and shell craters. I was amazed that anything was left of the Middleside Barracks, but the large structure stood mostly intact. A pall of black smoke hung in the air, and occasionally explosions could be heard in the distance. This once beautiful island was now a smoking ruin!
The column slowly wended its way out onto the Middleside Parade Ground where men were already gathered in rows, their belongings on the ground before them. Small, uniformed Japanese soldiers arrogantly sorted through the articles, grabbing anything that caught their eyes. The hollow words “To the victors go the spoils” echoed through my thoughts as I was prodded into place at the end of the line. The Japs were small, some with a few straggly hairs growing from their chins, narrow puttees wrapped the calves of their legs and the caps they wore had flaps hanging down on their shoulders. These little Japs were a perfect example of soldiers often referred to as shock troops, or “cannon fodder”. They were everywhere! They were plundering through anything visible, they took what they wanted, watching the Americans from the corner of their eyes. One of them stopped in front of me, grabbed my arm and jerked my watch from my wrist and threw my arm down. He rooted through my small knapsack, then threw it back to the ground disgusted. This thievery continued endlessly, as one after another of the runty Japs made their way along each row of Americans, grabbing and taunting, slapping and sometimes kicking the helpless American prisoners. I noticed Japanese soldiers setting up machine guns around the periphery of the parade ground, and I wondered if they planned to cut us down after they played their little game.
Men were still filing slowly into the parade ground long after I had arrived. I looked around me, but I recognized no one near me. The sun continued to grow warmer as we stood there, in partial shock, numb from the recent events and helpless to do anything but wait. I had a half a canteen of water, one can of ‘C’ rations and little else, and standing there in the sun began to further weaken me. Glancing about, I realized that many were far weaker than I. Some of the men could hardly stand up without weaving, and shuffling about. Too much movement often brought cuffs from a rifle butt, or the toe of a boot. I often glanced at the Japanese machine gunners that circled the parade ground. The guns were all pointed inward toward us menacingly, a Japanese soldier seated behind each, sighting down the barrel, and alert. I had already decided to hit the ground fast if any firing commenced. There was always a slim chance of playing dead until dark, but I wondered, “where would I go?” The island was small, and the likelihood of finding food, and remaining alive was hardly something to look forward to.
But the Japs did not shoot anyone. Numerous prisoners were beaten and kicked savagely when they resisted the soldiers taking their personal belongings. A rifle butt is brutal weapon when wielded upon a helpless individual, unable to fight back. This brutality continued throughout our stay at the Middleside Parade Ground, the thud of rifle butts common, and the moans and cries of the prisoners could be heard throughout the open area, crowded with others like myself. Fortunately, I escaped with only slaps and cuffs about the head. One man a few yards from me was forced to endure a terrible beating for simply resisting one of the soldiers when the Japanese took the man’s family pictures from his billfold. When the enemy soldiers began lining us up to move from the parade ground, other men nearby had to half carry the beaten man along. One expressed fear that one of the Japs might kill the helpless American soldier if he failed to walk with the others.
|
|
|
Post by fots2 on Feb 2, 2011 21:20:13 GMT 8
Hi Chadhill,
I have heard of a vault on Middleside but I am not aware if there ever was one there. The only Government vault for treasury reserves that I know of was far away from Middleside in the Insular Government Ravine. It is in ruins now.
As for “connecting tunnels”. I’ll say no only because I have not seen any.
EXO, if work was stopped on Middleside tunnel years earlier (after the 1922 arms limitation conference), do you suppose that the tunnel remained unused and sealed until the war started? Perhaps that is why few knew about it.
|
|
|
Post by chadhill on Feb 3, 2011 6:49:15 GMT 8
Thanks, Fots. More Corregidor lore for me to dig into-- EXO, I understand now about Waldron . You know, I was kind of wondering about some of his claims, too. Some things didn't seem to add up. That he often substituted fictious names for actual names didn't help. Thanks for enlightening me. No more quotes from that book... Thanks for posting the McGrew account, too.
|
|