My OperaMY MEMOIRS OF WORLD WAR II
Friday, April 21, 2006 10:44:39 PM
WORLD WAR II MEMOIRS by Fred L Quimbo
I was asked by Happy to recount in writing memories of my personal experiences during days, months and years of World War II, -- before and during the Japanese occupation because her sons, Renzo and Mitch, often asked to be told of stories during the war. Now, I believe it is about time, too, that I should write these recollections on paper before my memory starts to fade.
We lived then in Anahawan, Leyte, a town in the southeastern part of Leyte, where my father was a school teacher. I was born there, also my younger brother, Huggin and younger sister, Mendel.
We heard of the news that Japanese warplanes bombed Pearl Harbor in Hawaii and
Clark Field in Pampanga, and Manila. Classes were immediately dismissed even if it was still early December.
I remember that my father and I traveled to Tacloban immediately after. We took a boat in Cabalian to a place I cannot anymore recall. From there, we then took a bus to Tacloban. From Tacloban, we rode on a small launch to a small pier located in another barrio nearer Tacloban called Mandayhan. From there, we took a small sailboat going to San Antonio, Basey, Samar. My father had known of people from neighboring towns of our place,Anahawan, like Hinundayan, Hinunangan, and also from Bohol and Leyte, who were already living there.
I think my father made arrangements then for us to evacuate there. I was ten years old.
When we returned home, we immediately prepared to go to San Antonio. I cannot recall
whether we left in December, 1941 or early January, the following year. I think more
than one family, chartered a sailboat called dos velas (two-masted), and sailed for about a
week until we reached San Antonio. The sailboat journey itself was an adventure and
learning experience for me. I learned how to run to the edge of the outrigger
(“katig”) together with the boat crew and some male passengers everytime the
arais (captain) shouts “timbang!”, meaning, we had to keep the boat on even keel as the
sails shifted from right to left and vice-versa. I was even allowed my turn at the tiller, or
helm (timon), when the sea was calm and we sailed with a tailwind. My grandfather and
grandmother and Papa’s elder sister, Eriberta (Nang Bitang) came with us. His younger
sister, Emeteria, eloped a few months before with a man from Surigao and they lived
there. I never got to see her again. Another relative who came with us was Vicenta Uy,
daughter of Corazon Logarta and Joaquin Uy.
Throughout the war years (1942 to 1945), we stayed in sitio Cambalading, a barrio of San Antonio, Basey, Samar.. My grandfather and grandmother died there. To bury them, we had to load their coffins on barotos to bring them to the town cemetery, which was about
10 to 12 kilometers, for there was no land transport. My mother gave birth to our youngest sister, Didi, in 1944.
Occasionally, though, my aunt and I went to Tacloban. We visited a couple of ladies
who lived in Tacloban to escape the harsh living conditions in Manila. I do not know whether these ladies were relatives. When I stayed with them, I was taught the rudiments of the Japanese language, like counting: ichi, nei, san, sei, go, roku, etc. which I cannot now remember. I met a man, who often came to visit. He was from Baybay, Leyte, who I realized was the boy friend of one of them. His name was Tony Maningo, and I called him Nong Tony. He later married one of the two ladies. I came to know later that he was an intelligence agent of the guerillas, having been in the U.S. Army in Bataan, but escaped the Death March. I was told that when the Americans landed in Leyte, he was among the first to meet the initial waves of invasion troops. He guided the U.S. Army divisions in their battles against the Japanese troops in Leyte. Unfortunately, we learned later, that he died in the battle of Limon, Ormoc, considered one of the fiercest battles of the Leyte campaign.We also learned later that he was posthomuously promoted to Captain in the U.S. Army because of his heroism in that battle. Until now, the trees in Limon forest are still embedded with steel fragments from bombs, grenades, artillery shells, etc. of that battle. The logging companies did not cut these trees down because the steel fragments were destroying their logging saw blades and their sawmill equipment.
Going back to our life in barrio San Antonio, -- we had a small upland farm, and a small rice farm, the harvests of which sustained us during the war years. I think my father, being a school teacher before, did not know much of farming, but he learned fast with the help of my grandfather. In turn, he taught me too, how to work in the farms, from planting to harvesting. I learned to harvest rice grains using the kayog, a special tool exclusively used for cutting by the hand the ripe rice stalks from the main rice plant, then thresh them with our feet. I learned to get into the rhythm of pounding (lubok, or in Waray dialect, bayo) the palay seeds using wooden mortar (lusong) and pestle (alho), to separate the hulls from the rice grains. One needs to get into the rhythm when you are in a team of three or more on one mortar. We also had a neighbor who had a farm near ours, a Mr. Francisco. He was a mestizo Spaniard, his wife was a mestiza as well. They had two children. I think he was either the Manager of the Tacloban station of Pan American Airways or a pilot of the airline.He never went to the barrio as he looked like an American. We spoke in English because he never knew Waray or Cebuano. Maybe he spoke Tagalog, but nobody spoke Tagalog there. I often wonder whatever happened to them.
We learned to fish, either by net (baling), spears (pana), build bamboo traps for fish called (teming), and for crabs (panggal), hook and line (pasol), set up fish pens (bungsod, buno-an in Waray) and how to harvest the catch inside the fish pens. Because of our fishing activities, I also learned to paddle and steer the small barotos we used. Although it was kind of hard work, I recall I enjoyed it well as part of my growing up years in my early teens. It was to me both work and play. After having lived for three years in a Waray-speaking place, I learned to speak Waray like a native.
Then in September, 1944, we saw the American planes come and started bombing and strafing the Japanese installations in Tacloban, just across the bay from where we lived It
was a sight to see the U.S. warplanes making their bombing runs, diving from their flying formations up in the clouds to way down near their targets. Tacloban was just about 1or 2 kilometers by sea from San Antonio so it was like a huge movie screen to us. We witnessed the fires and thick smoke erupting as the targets were hit by bombs. But we did not cheer because we were afraid that Japanese spies would see or hear us. We just silently watched.
Early the following month, October, 1944, American planes came again almost daily to continue their air-raids on the Japanese installations in Tacloban. Then we heard news
from the guerillas, that the Japanese troops in Basey, the main town, were coming to our barrio to set up defense from attacks. All barrio residents evacuated to the hills late that night to avoid the Japanese troops. It was quite difficult to travel along unlighted trails. Our journey to the mountain was doubly difficult as there was a storm raging that night.Looking back now, I cannot now imagine how, we as a family with a three-month baby (my sister), managed that trek to the mountain.As the weather cleared, we reached the top of the highest peak facing Tacloban in the early morning hour. We were awed as we looked down on the American battleships, of various sizes and shapes, lying along the Pacific coast of Leyte, in front of the beaches of Dulag, Tolosa, Palo (towns near Tacloban) and of Tacloban, as well.. We saw numerous specks of small boats,(landing craft) white foams of water swirling around them, as they moved towards the beaches from their mother ships. It was a sight to behold! That was the Leyte landing! I later knew. The date was October 20, 1944, I found that out later, too. After a day in the hills, we were again advised by the guerillas to come down because the American navy ships will bombard the mountain as there were reports that the Japanese troops will make their stand there. So all the people, including those living away from the seacoast, moved down. We slept on the beaches, as we were told not to stay in our houses during the night, fearing the Japanese might burn the houses. As night came, we heard the shells of the American ships’ big guns roaring and whining over us, then the blasts and the ground shaking as the mountain top and sides were hit. When morning came after the bombardment, we saw very many American small ships already sailing towards Tacloban, and the American planes landing on the airstrip there. The bay between our barrio, San Antonio, and Tacloban were swarming with PT boats and small sea craft.
Together with friends, we rowed in a small baroto to Tacloban. There we met the American soldiers who gave us chocolate bars, life saver candies, chewing gums, large
olive green cans of pork luncheon meat, cigarettes, combat rations in waterproof olive-green packs, large cans (gallon-size) of powdered eggs, and a lot more goodies. We had fun gathering them all to bring back home that afternoon. There was so much shouting: “Hello, Joe!” “Give me chocolate, Joe!”
As we prepared to return, we suddenly heard air raid warnings sounded all over Tacloban where the American forces were establishing their base of operations. I saw the American
troops run to their air raid shelters or take cover inside fox holes. We were confused as to what was happening because, we the civilians, were already celebrating our Liberation from the Japanese. When I looked up, I saw a large number of warplanes with the large red circle on their wings and fuselage. I then noticed that the air above was already dotted with so many black smoky blasts as the enemy planes flew by. These were the anti-aircraft fire from the American troops near us, and from the US navy ships. That
was the time, I can still vividly recall until now, that I darted under an American truck to seek cover because machine gun and small gun blasts were popping up all over the place where I was standing. When I looked up from under the truck to see what was going on, I saw a Japanese plane hit probably by anti-aircraft fire. The tail end of the Japanese plane got torn away from the fuselage. The tail end immediately dropped down twirling over and over into the ground, while the rest of the plane and pilot still glided towards an anchored American ship nearby where it splashed down in the water near the target ship..
Planes were splashing down into the sea, probably Japanese and American.
The Americans were putting up so much smoke screen; from the ships, and from the smoke screen generators on the ground, we could hardly see where we were going. There was running and shouting all over the place. I lost contact with the people I was with on our way to Tacloban, and did not know how to go back home as I cannot find where our
baroto was beached. Then an American, who was probably an officer, told me to get on board a small launch and I was brought to a PT boat lying offshore. Some other people came with me and that PT boat brought us across the bay near where we lived. My father and neighbors came to met us with a baroto as the boat anchored off the shallows. I cannot anymore recall whether I still managed to bring the goodies given to me earlier in the day in Tacloban. After having gone through that horrible experience, just like in the middle of combat, I cannot now remember if I was ever afraid that time. It probably was more like an adventure to me.
After that Tacloban experience, we witnessed that air combat still went on the following day, oftentimes over where we lived; the Japanese suicide planes (Kamikaze) were unloading their bombs, sometimes over the sea, before making their suicide dives into the American ships. I could see the huge splashes of water as bombs hit. On that day, a neighbor of ours, who was just about my age, got hit in the head by bomb splinters as a
released bomb exploded on the shore. He died on the spot. His family name was Balacuit. I cannot anymore remember his first name. I think his father came from Hinundayan.
Whenever I watched World War II movies, I always remember those scenes I witnessed,
and seemed like a participant of, during the Leyte landings in October, 1944, and the
serious attempt by the Japanese naval forces to retake Leyte and smash the American invasion forces, for that was then all about, which I later read in the World War II history books. But what I personally experienced was far better than the movies.
We later had an abundance of American goodies at home because the American forces had put up Naval Construction Battalions (SeaBees) along the coastline fronting
Tacloban and near where we lived. I always visited their camps and befriended a lot of them, who willingly gave us what they can spare. My mother and my aunt did laundry for them for a while, while they still did have not their laundry equipment set up. My father worked in their commissary, so he was always able to bring home a lot of unserved left-overs from the kitchens. Later, my father was promoted to work in the US Navy Officers’ Rest and Recreation Center, located in Manicani, a small island located along the coast of Basey, facing the Pacific Ocean. It was beautifully-designed, as a resort. My father told me once, that he had the opportunity to serve Admiral William Halsey, then Commander in Chief of the United States Naval Task Force preparing for the invasion of Japan and his staff of admirals, when he visited the resort. He was very kind to the Pilipino staff. I was told later that it was abandoned as the U.S. Navy moved further north to prepare for the invasion of Japan.
My father lost his job there, too, and prepared to return to our place in Anahawan to resume teaching. Meanwhile, I was still finishing up Grade VI at the Rizal Elementary School in Tacloban, later accelerated that same year to First Year high school in Leyte High School in Tacloban also. The year was 1946.
This is the end of my memoirs of World War II. --FLQ
.
I was asked by Happy to recount in writing memories of my personal experiences during days, months and years of World War II, -- before and during the Japanese occupation because her sons, Renzo and Mitch, often asked to be told of stories during the war. Now, I believe it is about time, too, that I should write these recollections on paper before my memory starts to fade.
We lived then in Anahawan, Leyte, a town in the southeastern part of Leyte, where my father was a school teacher. I was born there, also my younger brother, Huggin and younger sister, Mendel.
We heard of the news that Japanese warplanes bombed Pearl Harbor in Hawaii and
Clark Field in Pampanga, and Manila. Classes were immediately dismissed even if it was still early December.
I remember that my father and I traveled to Tacloban immediately after. We took a boat in Cabalian to a place I cannot anymore recall. From there, we then took a bus to Tacloban. From Tacloban, we rode on a small launch to a small pier located in another barrio nearer Tacloban called Mandayhan. From there, we took a small sailboat going to San Antonio, Basey, Samar. My father had known of people from neighboring towns of our place,Anahawan, like Hinundayan, Hinunangan, and also from Bohol and Leyte, who were already living there.
I think my father made arrangements then for us to evacuate there. I was ten years old.
When we returned home, we immediately prepared to go to San Antonio. I cannot recall
whether we left in December, 1941 or early January, the following year. I think more
than one family, chartered a sailboat called dos velas (two-masted), and sailed for about a
week until we reached San Antonio. The sailboat journey itself was an adventure and
learning experience for me. I learned how to run to the edge of the outrigger
(“katig”) together with the boat crew and some male passengers everytime the
arais (captain) shouts “timbang!”, meaning, we had to keep the boat on even keel as the
sails shifted from right to left and vice-versa. I was even allowed my turn at the tiller, or
helm (timon), when the sea was calm and we sailed with a tailwind. My grandfather and
grandmother and Papa’s elder sister, Eriberta (Nang Bitang) came with us. His younger
sister, Emeteria, eloped a few months before with a man from Surigao and they lived
there. I never got to see her again. Another relative who came with us was Vicenta Uy,
daughter of Corazon Logarta and Joaquin Uy.
Throughout the war years (1942 to 1945), we stayed in sitio Cambalading, a barrio of San Antonio, Basey, Samar.. My grandfather and grandmother died there. To bury them, we had to load their coffins on barotos to bring them to the town cemetery, which was about
10 to 12 kilometers, for there was no land transport. My mother gave birth to our youngest sister, Didi, in 1944.
Occasionally, though, my aunt and I went to Tacloban. We visited a couple of ladies
who lived in Tacloban to escape the harsh living conditions in Manila. I do not know whether these ladies were relatives. When I stayed with them, I was taught the rudiments of the Japanese language, like counting: ichi, nei, san, sei, go, roku, etc. which I cannot now remember. I met a man, who often came to visit. He was from Baybay, Leyte, who I realized was the boy friend of one of them. His name was Tony Maningo, and I called him Nong Tony. He later married one of the two ladies. I came to know later that he was an intelligence agent of the guerillas, having been in the U.S. Army in Bataan, but escaped the Death March. I was told that when the Americans landed in Leyte, he was among the first to meet the initial waves of invasion troops. He guided the U.S. Army divisions in their battles against the Japanese troops in Leyte. Unfortunately, we learned later, that he died in the battle of Limon, Ormoc, considered one of the fiercest battles of the Leyte campaign.We also learned later that he was posthomuously promoted to Captain in the U.S. Army because of his heroism in that battle. Until now, the trees in Limon forest are still embedded with steel fragments from bombs, grenades, artillery shells, etc. of that battle. The logging companies did not cut these trees down because the steel fragments were destroying their logging saw blades and their sawmill equipment.
Going back to our life in barrio San Antonio, -- we had a small upland farm, and a small rice farm, the harvests of which sustained us during the war years. I think my father, being a school teacher before, did not know much of farming, but he learned fast with the help of my grandfather. In turn, he taught me too, how to work in the farms, from planting to harvesting. I learned to harvest rice grains using the kayog, a special tool exclusively used for cutting by the hand the ripe rice stalks from the main rice plant, then thresh them with our feet. I learned to get into the rhythm of pounding (lubok, or in Waray dialect, bayo) the palay seeds using wooden mortar (lusong) and pestle (alho), to separate the hulls from the rice grains. One needs to get into the rhythm when you are in a team of three or more on one mortar. We also had a neighbor who had a farm near ours, a Mr. Francisco. He was a mestizo Spaniard, his wife was a mestiza as well. They had two children. I think he was either the Manager of the Tacloban station of Pan American Airways or a pilot of the airline.He never went to the barrio as he looked like an American. We spoke in English because he never knew Waray or Cebuano. Maybe he spoke Tagalog, but nobody spoke Tagalog there. I often wonder whatever happened to them.
We learned to fish, either by net (baling), spears (pana), build bamboo traps for fish called (teming), and for crabs (panggal), hook and line (pasol), set up fish pens (bungsod, buno-an in Waray) and how to harvest the catch inside the fish pens. Because of our fishing activities, I also learned to paddle and steer the small barotos we used. Although it was kind of hard work, I recall I enjoyed it well as part of my growing up years in my early teens. It was to me both work and play. After having lived for three years in a Waray-speaking place, I learned to speak Waray like a native.
Then in September, 1944, we saw the American planes come and started bombing and strafing the Japanese installations in Tacloban, just across the bay from where we lived It
was a sight to see the U.S. warplanes making their bombing runs, diving from their flying formations up in the clouds to way down near their targets. Tacloban was just about 1or 2 kilometers by sea from San Antonio so it was like a huge movie screen to us. We witnessed the fires and thick smoke erupting as the targets were hit by bombs. But we did not cheer because we were afraid that Japanese spies would see or hear us. We just silently watched.
Early the following month, October, 1944, American planes came again almost daily to continue their air-raids on the Japanese installations in Tacloban. Then we heard news
from the guerillas, that the Japanese troops in Basey, the main town, were coming to our barrio to set up defense from attacks. All barrio residents evacuated to the hills late that night to avoid the Japanese troops. It was quite difficult to travel along unlighted trails. Our journey to the mountain was doubly difficult as there was a storm raging that night.Looking back now, I cannot now imagine how, we as a family with a three-month baby (my sister), managed that trek to the mountain.As the weather cleared, we reached the top of the highest peak facing Tacloban in the early morning hour. We were awed as we looked down on the American battleships, of various sizes and shapes, lying along the Pacific coast of Leyte, in front of the beaches of Dulag, Tolosa, Palo (towns near Tacloban) and of Tacloban, as well.. We saw numerous specks of small boats,(landing craft) white foams of water swirling around them, as they moved towards the beaches from their mother ships. It was a sight to behold! That was the Leyte landing! I later knew. The date was October 20, 1944, I found that out later, too. After a day in the hills, we were again advised by the guerillas to come down because the American navy ships will bombard the mountain as there were reports that the Japanese troops will make their stand there. So all the people, including those living away from the seacoast, moved down. We slept on the beaches, as we were told not to stay in our houses during the night, fearing the Japanese might burn the houses. As night came, we heard the shells of the American ships’ big guns roaring and whining over us, then the blasts and the ground shaking as the mountain top and sides were hit. When morning came after the bombardment, we saw very many American small ships already sailing towards Tacloban, and the American planes landing on the airstrip there. The bay between our barrio, San Antonio, and Tacloban were swarming with PT boats and small sea craft.
Together with friends, we rowed in a small baroto to Tacloban. There we met the American soldiers who gave us chocolate bars, life saver candies, chewing gums, large
olive green cans of pork luncheon meat, cigarettes, combat rations in waterproof olive-green packs, large cans (gallon-size) of powdered eggs, and a lot more goodies. We had fun gathering them all to bring back home that afternoon. There was so much shouting: “Hello, Joe!” “Give me chocolate, Joe!”
As we prepared to return, we suddenly heard air raid warnings sounded all over Tacloban where the American forces were establishing their base of operations. I saw the American
troops run to their air raid shelters or take cover inside fox holes. We were confused as to what was happening because, we the civilians, were already celebrating our Liberation from the Japanese. When I looked up, I saw a large number of warplanes with the large red circle on their wings and fuselage. I then noticed that the air above was already dotted with so many black smoky blasts as the enemy planes flew by. These were the anti-aircraft fire from the American troops near us, and from the US navy ships. That
was the time, I can still vividly recall until now, that I darted under an American truck to seek cover because machine gun and small gun blasts were popping up all over the place where I was standing. When I looked up from under the truck to see what was going on, I saw a Japanese plane hit probably by anti-aircraft fire. The tail end of the Japanese plane got torn away from the fuselage. The tail end immediately dropped down twirling over and over into the ground, while the rest of the plane and pilot still glided towards an anchored American ship nearby where it splashed down in the water near the target ship..
Planes were splashing down into the sea, probably Japanese and American.
The Americans were putting up so much smoke screen; from the ships, and from the smoke screen generators on the ground, we could hardly see where we were going. There was running and shouting all over the place. I lost contact with the people I was with on our way to Tacloban, and did not know how to go back home as I cannot find where our
baroto was beached. Then an American, who was probably an officer, told me to get on board a small launch and I was brought to a PT boat lying offshore. Some other people came with me and that PT boat brought us across the bay near where we lived. My father and neighbors came to met us with a baroto as the boat anchored off the shallows. I cannot anymore recall whether I still managed to bring the goodies given to me earlier in the day in Tacloban. After having gone through that horrible experience, just like in the middle of combat, I cannot now remember if I was ever afraid that time. It probably was more like an adventure to me.
After that Tacloban experience, we witnessed that air combat still went on the following day, oftentimes over where we lived; the Japanese suicide planes (Kamikaze) were unloading their bombs, sometimes over the sea, before making their suicide dives into the American ships. I could see the huge splashes of water as bombs hit. On that day, a neighbor of ours, who was just about my age, got hit in the head by bomb splinters as a
released bomb exploded on the shore. He died on the spot. His family name was Balacuit. I cannot anymore remember his first name. I think his father came from Hinundayan.
Whenever I watched World War II movies, I always remember those scenes I witnessed,
and seemed like a participant of, during the Leyte landings in October, 1944, and the
serious attempt by the Japanese naval forces to retake Leyte and smash the American invasion forces, for that was then all about, which I later read in the World War II history books. But what I personally experienced was far better than the movies.
We later had an abundance of American goodies at home because the American forces had put up Naval Construction Battalions (SeaBees) along the coastline fronting
Tacloban and near where we lived. I always visited their camps and befriended a lot of them, who willingly gave us what they can spare. My mother and my aunt did laundry for them for a while, while they still did have not their laundry equipment set up. My father worked in their commissary, so he was always able to bring home a lot of unserved left-overs from the kitchens. Later, my father was promoted to work in the US Navy Officers’ Rest and Recreation Center, located in Manicani, a small island located along the coast of Basey, facing the Pacific Ocean. It was beautifully-designed, as a resort. My father told me once, that he had the opportunity to serve Admiral William Halsey, then Commander in Chief of the United States Naval Task Force preparing for the invasion of Japan and his staff of admirals, when he visited the resort. He was very kind to the Pilipino staff. I was told later that it was abandoned as the U.S. Navy moved further north to prepare for the invasion of Japan.
My father lost his job there, too, and prepared to return to our place in Anahawan to resume teaching. Meanwhile, I was still finishing up Grade VI at the Rizal Elementary School in Tacloban, later accelerated that same year to First Year high school in Leyte High School in Tacloban also. The year was 1946.
This is the end of my memoirs of World War II. --FLQ
.
