“Filipinos living in Manila were definitely worried about what would happen if the Japanese would occupy Manila”
WHEN you reach my age of 97, turning 98 years, you cannot help but recall the past.
One phase of my life which I can never forget and remains so vivid in my memory was wartime when the Japanese occupied the country, Santa Banana!
I was only 14 years old when the war broke out. There had been rumors and reports that war was inevitable, that the country would be invaded and occupied by the Japanese.
Sure enough, Pearl Harbor was bombed by the Japanese on Dec.7, 1941 (Dec. 8 in the Philippines). The American air base at Clark Field was also bombed on that day, and so was the American naval base in Subic.
Thus, in Manila, there were recruitments of soldiers, specifically at universities like Far Eastern University, not so far from where my family lived along P. Campa Street in Sampaloc.
Filipinos living in Manila were definitely worried about what would happen if the Japanese would occupy Manila.
But soon enough, Manila was declared an “Open City” on Dec. 26, 1942 by General Douglas MacArthur to prevent further destruction during the Japanese invasion of the Philippines.
A few days later, the Japanese entered Manila on Jan. 2, 1942. I was there watching them with my family, coming in along Espana Blvd. Simultaneously, the Japanese outlawed the Philippine currency and started exchanging Japanese notes with peso bills.
We used to call the Japanese currency “Mickey Mouse money” or, as Ilokanos called it yapyap. Filipino and American troops went to Bataan to fight the Japanese.
While my father at that time was still in Abra, my eldest brother Desi was arrested by the Japanese Kempeitai because he was accused of being part of the underground movement and imprisoned for nine months in Fort Santiago.
My other brother Willie joined the American-Filipino forces in Bataan, but he survived the infamous Death March and was concentrated in Capas Tarlac.
We were the only three left of my family in Manila — my mother, my sister and myself. We had to exist on the very little we had; I had to think of ways of how to make money.
Thus, I became a bootblack and a cigarette vendor. At least my income then was good enough to enable me sometimes to watch stage shows and to laugh at the antics of Pugo and Tugo.
Sometimes I would take a small snack at the small grocery store at the corner of Espana and P. Campa owned by the Mathay family.
But I had to think of other ways to make money.
Somebody told me II could make a little money selling cigarettes to the Americans held at the concentration camp in UST.
When I asked how, he showed me how to insert cigarettes through the sawali bamboo fence around the perimeter. He told me the Japanese guards made their rounds every 30 minutes.
And so I did, inserting Piedmonts, Camels and Chesterfields through the fence in exchange for money.
After a few weeks , the Japanese guards saw me and shouted. I ran away as fast as I could. That ended my experience with the Americans in the UST concentration camp.
When things were getting bad in Manila because of the high prices, my father, knowing how hard it was in Manila, decided to bring to Manila a caritela (a horse-drawn open cart ) and a ducar ( a horse-drawn four-wheel wagon).
Luckily the place we were staying at was an interior “accessoria” with a big front yard capable of housing the caritela and ducar.
We used the caritela as a passenger cart navigating the route of Quiapo through Espana onto the Espana rotunda in Quezon City and a lot of times our ducar was rented by people for their weddings.
On both occasions, I was the fare master. We used to earn a few pesos everyday. Those few pesos enabled us to spend it for our daily requirements.
Then when things became extremely bad in Manila, that a ganta of rice would cost a sackful of Japanese Mickey Mouse money, the family decided to go back to the province.
My father sold the ducar and one horse.
For our trip to the province of Abra, we used the caritela for the family. It was a primitive way to travel, but we managed it. When the Japanese declared an amnesty for all Filipino soldiers, my brothers Desi and Wiillie went up north to join the guerrilla movement.
We reached Abra and rejoined my two brothers Desi and Willie who were members of the guerrilla movement of the USAFIP-NL.
I would like to write more about my experience with the guerrilla movement of Northern Luzon, but that is another story which I will write. Later on.