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September 8, 1943

Today's Stories

I was awakened at around 0330 by the noise of a vehicle in our street. Knowing it was past curfew, I got out of bed, crawled warily to the front porch, and got a scare when the car parked right in front of our house. The men got out but went to the gate across the street. I found out later that the Military Police took Peter Siy away (one of the finest fellows in this block) as well as about 15 others including a Neighborhood Association fellow who came to investigate.

The Japanese are conducting a campaign in Panay, and this time they are dispensing with any pretense of goodwill. They get hold of a town's census then ask the leaders to call everyone listed down from the mountains ... or else.

A weakened and slightly shaken Mrs. Kyburz was released due to lack of evidence. They didn't take anything of hers though they accused her of aiding guerrillas. No doubt they knew she helped Santo Tomas internees, but guerrillas?

Manuel Roxas, our top hero, is still a prisoner in his Taft Avenue house because he hasn't signed or taken an oath of allegiance to the Japanese. He's not being guarded though the gardener at his residence is Japanese. To visit him you'd need a pass from the Military Police, who keep an eye on his every activity and an ear on his phone line.

The Americans had a plane waiting three weeks for Roxas when they were evacuating, but he chose to stay. For that, he paid a stiff price — malaria, a terrific cold that led to bronchitis, and eventually Tuberculosis of both lungs due to malnutrition. He plays on his illness and military prisoner status to hold back the Japanese, and he still believes the Philippines can dodge their request to declare war.
   
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Supplement September 8, 1943

Got a letter this evening from Joe, dated August 15, saying Camp morale is fast improving — an indication that they've been getting the news. This time he enclosed two poems he wrote himself:

Prison Camp

We're out in the edge of nowhere,
Ringed round with a cordon of steel;
We've been hammered and numbed till some of us
Have forgotten how to feel.

We've forgotten the clasp of friendly hands
And love and hearts that are true.
We've forgotten to laugh, and some of us
Have forgotten the pals we knew.

But 'dog eat dog' and 'to hell with you'
Do not and never will rhyme
With brotherly love, and truth and God,
And cards at Christmas time.

Let's remember the tints of autumn leaves
And the beauty of drifted snow;
Let's remember the songs and the smiles we shared
In the warmth of a campfire's glow.

Let's remember the folks back home —
And the sweethearts who wait and pray,
That the same old guy who left them
Will be coming back someday.

Battling Boys of Bataan

When the gates of hell are opened well
And the devil does all he can,
There sits those souls upon the coals --
Those Battling Boys of Bataan.

Then the devil goes high up in the sky
To interview St. Peter,
He's full of charm, but his uniform
Could be a little neater.

'St. Peter,' says he, 'how can it be?
Those souls have called our bluff.
I've turned the heat up to the peak
But they are much too tough.

'They won't even brown, emit a frown,
Or ask for the water can.
What shall I do with such a crew --
Those Battling Boys of Bataan?'

Sez Peter: 'I surmise' (while looking wise)
'To deal with such a clan
That won't show fright at all your might --
Has had their hell in Bataan.

'So give 'em to me, for you can see,
Their keeping at this point
Proves they fought well back in that hell
And now deserve this joint.'

Joe doesn't mention it, but I heard today that the Japanese plan to take all prisoners to Japan and 800 of them are due to leave soon.
   
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