Sampaguita Blossoms, Be Fragrant Forever

by Mrs. Shizuko Wakao Ushiroda

I was Conscripted by the Japanese Army

I, Shizuko Ushiroda was born in Manila on December 1, 1927, as the third child of my parents, Mitaro and Kiyono. My father, Mitaro Ushiroda, first worked in the US , returned to his hometown of Hiroshima , got married there and had two children. Then the family moved to Manila , and I was born. Unfortunately my mother passed away giving birth to the fourth child and the baby died as well. My father brought up the three of us with his love and help of others. In January 1942, just before I graduated from the Japanese National High School Manila, I was conscripted by the Japanese Army to work at their headquarters in Manila . I worked in the large office room of the Dept. of Security and Order among the Kempei-tai Military Police officers, low-rank Military Police officers, and quite a number of ordinary soldiers. Among them was a quiet, always book-reading Lt. Yusuke Goto of the Japanese Army, later Director of Kani-Douraku Crab-dish Restaurant Chain. We met again after the war in Tokyo , but neither of us talked much about those days as we had seen more than enough of how horribly the Kempei-tai officers could behave. Mr. Goto was at Mindanao Island when Japan surrendered. Throughout his life, he made annual memorial visits to Mindanao in remembrance of the members of his troops who died during the war on the island.

Through the fall of Bataan and Corregidor , the Army HQ of Manila expanded under different generals. I belonged to the Dept. of Political Affairs: the 2 nd Section of the General Staff of the Army HQ. More Japanese High School students were conscripted and female secretaries, typists, and telephone operators arrived from Japan . The General Commander changed from Homma to Tanaka, and then to Kuroda. Around that time, groups of entertainers from Japan started to visit Manila to comfort the Japanese military. In October 1943, the Philippines became independent under Prime Minister Laurel, and Japanese PM Tojo visited Manila . When he returned to Japan , I was surprised that he took back with him boxes of stationeries, like sneakers, erasers, notebooks, Mongolian pencils. I, with others, stuffed boxes one after another full with these goods. As a second generation Japanese born in Manila , it was unbelievable for me that those items were extremely difficult to obtain in Japan in those days. On my days off, I was required to do a lot of voluntary work at home, such as sewing by machine the string to hundoshi loin cloths for the Japanese Army.

Since the beginning of 1944, rice and other food gradually disappeared among the Filipino citizens in Manila . I remember I shared storage of rice, tins of food and cloths with Consuelo, who had taken very good care of me since I was little. Consuelo crossed herself, and gave me a big hug. It was the last time we saw each other.

From September to December 1944, numerous US carrier-based aircraft appeared in the sky of Manila and bombardments of the city by the US warships increased. The No. 12 Army Hospital was more than full and the wounded were laid out on the lawn. A lot of them were soaked in heavy oil and burnt all over, their skin hanging like rugs. There was nothing I could do for them, which made me angry of myself, and I would hurry away.

The Japanese Army HQ was dismissed. Some of the soldiers, civilian staff and part of the hojin ( Japanese citizens who had been in the Philippines since the days before the war) in Manila started to leave for Japan . One by one, the Red Cross nurses and female staff of the HQ left Manila . My boss at the time, General Staff Taguchi advised me to return to Japan . But as I talked with my father, elder brother and elder sister, all of them said they would remain. As Japan was an unknown country to which I had never been, the next day I told Taguchi, “I'm going to remain in Manila with my family.” Some of my close friends and my beloved teacher of the Japanese School , Mrs. Ayako Fujimoto, returned to Japan . However, considering the fact that the family hometown was Hiroshima , it remained doubtful whether I had survived the A-Bomb attack or if I had even made it to Japan . After the war, I was able to reunite with Mrs. Fujimoto, who was very glad I safely came back to Japan . Upon my asking, “Why did you quit teaching?” Mrs. Fujimoto replied, “During the war time, I lost a lot of my students because of my wrong war time education. I feel so sorry about them and deeply regret that in my heart.” Mrs. Fujimoto worked as counselor of the young delinquents for the rest of her life.

Hojin Evacuated leaving Manila

In December 1944, the evacuation of a lot of hojin in Manila started to San Jose . I came home from the JA (Japanese Army) dormitory, and at dinner my family of four talked about our future. The next day, my father and I set off for San Jose with around 200 others in seven or eight military trucks. My brother and sister who were going with No. 103 Navy Hospital as civilian staff waved to us with a smile. Though we believed at that time we would come home to our home in Manila , it was the last time we were together and especially the last sight of my dear sister Haruko. Around 200 evacuees, most of whom were the aged, women and children, set off to San Jose . We were spotted a few times by U.S. scout planes, and two were shot to death. In San Jose , we stayed at the homes of the local Filipinos or churches. The rest of the hojin arrived by train several days later and individual shooting by the enemy planes also started around this time. One guy in the church was shot through his helmet, but the bullet just went around between the skin and the helmet in a whole circle, leaving him unharmed. It was still a peaceful time as such an incident made hot news among the hojin .

During those days, I had an experience which still gives me a nightmarish sense of guilt. One day, some soldiers from the San Jose Army HQ took me as an interpreter in their search of food. An aged Filipino was cultivating his small field with his carabao. The soldier ordered me, “Tell this man to sell us the carabao.” I didn't understand as I expected him to buy vegetables, rice and other foods. As he kept forcing me, I interpreted his words, and the man said, “No. Please, I couldn't do that. This carabao is so precious for our family. His loss means the same to us as an order to die” He clasped his hands and pleaded to the soldiers. I was a sensitive teenaged girl, and I had never seen anything so cruel and sad. The soldiers paid no attention to me. They pushed a thick pile of military tickets into the hands of the old man, and left quickly with the carabao. The old man grasped my hands and wouldn't let them go and I cried and cried, feeling so guilty. The man was crying together with me. What had become of him? I can never forget. I ran back to my father crying and told him the story. He firmly took me by the hand and said sharply, “You needn't go interpreting anymore.”

Since that incident, I had never cried again till I came to Japan as a repatriate. Never did I cry when I heard that my father was starved to death in the mountains, that my sister killed herself, that my brother was declared missing with an injury on the leg by a trench mortar, nor when I lost my close friend, Miss Aoki. I couldn't shed tears any more when I saw a child squatting by its dead mother in the mountains, wounded soldiers and hojin fumbling on their hands and knees trying to survive in the mud of the mountainside in the rainy season.

We left San Jose in military trucks on an escape journey without a destination. At Banban, hojin were unloaded, but knowing it was not safe there either, they hitch-hiked on other military trucks to go to Bonhal. As my father and I could find no trucks to give us a lift, Mori, Secretary of the HQ Political Affairs Dept. came by in a staff car and fortunately gave us a ride to Bonhal. Later he became Bureau Chief of the Ministry of Trade and Transport.

At the Yamato Village

In Yamato Village in Bonhal, the hojin were divided into two groups, i.e. (1) aged male and (2)aged women, women and children. Accordingly, my father and I had to live more than one kilometer away from each other. I myself was put in a group of four women. The village consisted of nipa houses built in coconut groves to avoid the heat. There were the village office, hospital, rice refinery and the kitchen. The local language was Ilokano, and they didn't understand the Tagalog which I spoke. But there wasn't much difficulty in doing trade with them. Once I brought them a cloth and obtained kamotes kahoi (sweet potatoes) and panotcha (dark sugar). I was so happy and the four of us shared them like precious jewels. On another occasion, they held a variety show in the village and on hearing there were prizes, we four decided to join. I danced Azuma kagami and the other three did the singing accompaniment. No decent costume, but in the monpes (war-time Japanese style trousers for women. A kimono was remade into a set of monpes and a jacket) we successfully did it and got five eggs. The fifth egg was given to my father who came over to see the show; it was the last chance for me to do anything for him. In the refinery, we took turns on the four step-on devices, enjoying singing and chatting. The kitchen was big and the food was delivered from here to all the villagers. In the first period, it was two small rice balls for each and soup of herbs and potato-stem and anything edible that everyone collected and gathered, seasoned by soy sauce or powdered miso . The rest was individual trading with the locals. It seemed that General HQ staffs were close to us. I realized that because Tsuji Masanobu, a General Staff, came to see the Yamato village on horse-back. He noticed me and called, “A showa-born girl!! As I looked up towards him, he asked me, “Are you keeping well?” I instantly replied, “Yes, sir. In fact is there any milk for babies, Sir?” “Milk?” He looked embarrassedly at my unexpected reply, but said, “I'll ask as I return to my office.” I never saw him again. Why did I ask such a question? I had seen a mother feeding her baby in another village of the hojin . “Is it a boy?” “Yes,” the mother painstakingly let the baby suck her breast, but the baby soon let it go. The blood was dripping and the nipple looked like it was nearly coming off. I later learned this baby died. Soon this Yamato Village became the target of the enemy machine gun strife and bombing.

On the warning of ‘The drone of enemy plane!” people scattered like spiders, jumping into the ditch or hiding in the sugar cane fields to avoid the blast. Unfortunately, I got malaria which tormented me till later on. The tropical ulcer was another disease we suffered from. One night, a male voice was calling, “Where is Ushiroda Shizuko-san?” The voice shattered the silence of the night, waking everyone up. It was Obayashi-san, who worked with me in the Army HQ. He gave me something heavy saying “I have no time to explain, but I am here to give you these as I can't afford to come during the day.” It contained salted plums, salt, and rice stuffed in a cotton military sock. “Thank you, thank you very much. “ I could just repeat my appreciation. “Keep well. I must go. It's so dangerous because there are guerillas, and Japanese soldiers who mistake me as a guerilla.” He waved high and disappeared into the darkness. The next day, I went to my father's village to share everything into halves.

I Became Assistant Nurse of No. 12 Army Hospital

As the year passed into May, with the surrender of Germans in Europe, the US main forces were going to be focused on the Philippines . Since the No. 12 Army Hospital was in shortage of nurses, I was conscripted again as civilian assistant. My father came to help me pack my backpack. I was his youngest child and he knew I had never borne a backpack on my shoulder. He neatly put something soft like clothes on the side of the pack that would rest on my back, light stuff on the bottom, and heavy stuff on the top. Love and care of my old father touched my heart causing nearly painful emotions. The previous night of my departure, I was awakened by the voices of people. Getting out of the nipa house, I found hojin groups from Baguio, who had just arrived, soaked in rain and mud, carrying scarcely no belongings with them. Among the crowd, I found my close friend Mikie Aoki, who lost so much weight that I could hardly recognize her. ‘Mikie!' ‘Shee-chan!' we hugged each other. She had been shifted from the Army HQ to the Japanese embassy. The last contact from her was a letter telling me, ‘I hear my sister that I left with my relatives has fallen with serious beri-beri. I'm going to see her.' She had lost her parents around the age of ten and had been saved by Pastor Nakajima and his family. I heard the sister passed away and I can never forget how she was concerned about her two younger brothers. The hojins had been told to walk to Yamato Village and that their belongings were to be transported by military trucks. The trucks were bombarded and gone with them were their entire luggage. I unpacked my backpack to share with her some cloths for trading, a pan and footwear of knitted straw made by the old men's group including my father, and some medicines like quinine. It was the last time to see Mikie. My father said he would come and see me off for the early morning departure to the Hospital, but it would have been dangerous for him to return in the daylight so I turned his offer down. It was the last occasion to see him.

In Solano, my sister and brother were working at No. 103 Naval Hospital. Without time to go see them the night march started. The medic of No. 12 Military Hospital told us assistants, ‘From now on you must be ready for attacks by guerillas as well. Everyone should cut the hair short so that you will look like a man.' We cut each other's long braided hair. The groups of us civilian women assistants were named Nadeshiko Troop. Nadeshiko or pink is the symbolic flower for the traditional ideal of Japanese women, being soft and strong. There were just two hojins , me and Ms. Asanaga, and the others were all those who came from Japan during the war. More than a hundred members who included company employees and former geisha girls, were divided into groups of around a dozen led by one leader. I became the leader of Group 7. The other hojin girl, Miss Tomonaga, was with me and I was the youngest. Among our members of Group 7 was Ms. Kinjo from Okinawa . During the time I used to work on voluntary basis at the Military and Naval Hospitals in Manila, she would arrive early and work hard; kindly teaching everything to us, the new voluntary workers from the Army HQ. I was very glad and felt encouraged to meet her again. She was like a sister sometimes. She was stout and energetic, and bore a heavy backpack very easily. While we marched during the night, the only light was a little fire of old tires. Ms. Kinjo was always behind me saying, ‘Let's keep our chin up, Ushiroda-san!' And she would sing military songs as loudly as the medics. At this stage, we were still cheerful and well enough to sing and even laugh sometimes. We walked 20 km at night, looking forward to arriving at our destination, without knowing what awaited us ahead. We had to finish cooking rice by dawn but it was hard to start our fire with wet branches. Before the rice was ready to eat, the strafing and bombing by the enemy planes started. We covered our ears and lay flat at the spot. As the bombers' drones became distant, someone beneath the slope shouted, ‘The medics were killed…bombed up!' I also heard a female groaning near me. I hurriedly climbed up to find Ms. Kinjo shot through the back to chest. I called ‘Kinjo-san, steady!' She kept saying something and I soon realized it was her native Okinawa dialect. A medic ran up and called to her, but he soon let her wrist go, saying, “She's finished!' I started, ‘We must bury her.' But he said, ‘There is no time. Start, at once!' I could just clasp my hands in Buddhist prayer, saying, ‘Good-bye, Kinjo-san.' Then I followed them down the slope. Four or five medics were gathering around the hole made by a bomb. Out of twelve or thirteen medics, seven were blown up into pieces by the bomb. As I looked hard I saw some mud, but there were nothing with human blood on it. The seven were sitting in a circle eating, and got the first direct bombing. Listening to their remarks, I decided to throw away my precious photo album and other heavy stuff in my back-pack, leaving one small photo of my father in my chest pocket.

The Nadeshiko -troop was in a shuck ‘hospital'. The floor was bamboo sticks laid out on the ground, and covered with grass and leaves, like a roof. There were a number of shucks in each of which were laid seven to eight patients. The assistants also slept in one of the shucks crowded like sardines. Our back hurt on the bamboo floor. Next day, lectures on the fundamental knowledge of nursing started by the military doctor in the jungle, dark even during the day. We all sat on fallen trees and listened to the doctor, about emergency life saving. A few days later, suddenly there was strafing. We all lay at the spot covering our ears and eyes, calling to each other not to move, waiting for the enemy plane to leave. Fortunately it was just one plane circled only once. We stood up but there was not our doctor to be seen anywhere. ‘How far did he run away?' laughed us strong women. Next day, we started working in turn in the ‘hospitals.'

Let me describe the jobs of the assistants. Inside the shuck, it smelled and injured soldiers were groaning. We followed the military doctor and the chief nurse. The first sight was an awful patient whose organs were flowing out of his abdomen. Miss Tomonaga turned pale and fainted. I silently took her aside and rubbed her on the back. I managed to control myself and returned to the chief nurse. The doctor put the organs back into the abdomen, wrapped the wound and moved on to the next, and then the next. The chief nurse gave me a tweezers, telling me, ‘Pick the worms out for the patients.'' I tried to do so seeking the worms that tried to hide deeper into the wound. Maturation was awful as well, but the patients didn't complain about the pain. They just looked like pleading for something with their eyes and mouth wide open.

Later I was told that those were the wounded in the fight against the US forces at Balete Range . The next day, we boiled the bandages dirty with worms and pus in an oil drum. We got rid of the worms with empty cans that floated on the surface covering the water like a lid, and dried the bandages. Next, four assistants carried two dead bodies on a stretcher. But no one had any more energy to dig holes to bury them. We just carried them away to a bit distant valley to throw them off, and stumbled back to carry off the next. Most of the soldiers we saw the day before had passed away. There was no medicine or anything but bandages and mercurochrome. I had been given some medicine for malaria from the Yamato village medical office. At night we tried to kill lice before falling asleep but after some days we just collapsed and slept like the dead.

Let me tell you about our cooking duty. It was a long way to the kitchen area, so those who took turns at food duty had to carry buckets and mess-tins on a long bamboo stick, coming back as quietly as possible.

Thus were the obligations of us ‘assistants,' and for some days we went on taking turns. It was around this period we sometimes heard a gun went, ‘Bang!' ‘Somebody killed himself.' was the nonchalant comment we heard about the noise. ‘This time it was a high rank officer.' We were neither particularly impressed on hearing those comments. Medics started talking of the US war tanks that advanced over the Balete Range . ‘Some of our soldiers are jumping down under the enemy tanks holding a cushion.' The cushion of course meant a bomb. At some distant point, a number of female employees of the HQ were killed or injured in a horizontal shelter by a bomb that was dropped at the entrance of it. Medics said, ‘The girl died crying ‘'Banzai to The Emperor!''' ‘No, no, she shouted, ‘'Mother!'' ‘

We were told that the ‘ Bamboo-grove Hospital ' was moving further deep into the mountains, because the US war tanks were coming close. We also found out it was already four to five medics and we assistants who were still there at this point. The military doctors and nurses had already left, and it was for us to carry out the remaining work. I learned all we could do was to give a bamboo stick to each patient who could walk and just the verbal encouragement, ‘Let's cheer up and walk!' This experience of medics and the female assistants in the bamboo grove shows how we had become numb about humane emotions such as senses of fear or caring for others. We just lived through everyday like human figures made of mud.

It was the rainy season in the Bontok mountains, and the wet blanket was heavier. The articles we first received as assistants were a hand-grenade for suicide should we get injured and become unable to move, or at a danger of rape by the enemy. We also got pieces of triangular cloth for bandages, a haversack, a mess-tin, a water bottle, a little bit of rice and salt. Fortunately my periods had stopped by then. We marched during the night, tried cooking towards dawn often unsuccessfully because of the wetness or the early arrival of enemy planes. During the day, we hid in the jungle of bamboo groves and so on. Till towards dusk, there were bombings and strafing, and everyone was exhausted without enough sleep or food.

The mountain paths had been all muddled up by the soldiers who went ahead. I thought the wounded that had followed them were unable to go on. Once stepped into the mud, and fell face-down, the more he struggled the deeper he got embedded both face and limbs. How many we had seen trying to survive in this muddy swamp. Even soldiers and we assistants easily lost our footsteps if we hadn't had a stick. Before long the awful sights of those struggling wounded soldiers became scarce.

One morning, we failed to eat and were clinging to the mountain slope in a bamboo grove. Just above me was Miss Tomonaga, The enemy planes kept flying repeatedly around and around us, strafing and bombing. At each explosion, our bodies slid downwards. As my head happened to support Tomonaga's foot, she suddenly cried. ‘Ache!.' and ‘I was shot!' ‘You were shot what part?' ‘I don't know……my leg.' The bullets flew by, strafing big trunks of bamboo sounding ‘Pyu!' ‘Oyss!' It's a horrible sound that I can never forget. Some bamboos fell down banging the earth. Tomonaga got a bullet through the ankle, which I was supporting with my head. I used a triangular cloth to stop the bleeding and bandaged the wound. Later it gave me a shudder when I thought of how the bullet missed my head by an inch. Tomonaga learned there were hojins nearby, and wanted to be with her mother. I assured her I would report that to the medics. She managed to make it. I learned later she survived the war in a detention camp. One of her parents was Filipino so she stayed on in Manila and is fine even now.

We went on marching without sleeping or eating. We were so exhausted and didn't feel hungry. ‘Start!' and we kept dragging on our heavy feet. On our left was the steep mountainside; on the right was a cliff. The assistant who was walking ahead of me slipped down one meter down the cliff. I stretched out for her. ‘Are you all right?' ‘Thanks.' She clung to my hand and managed back on to the narrow path, when I in turn slipped down. A medic drew me up, but I had twisted my left ankle. I hadn't realized that at first and he forced me to walk and not lag behind, but the pain became stronger. The medic called out, ‘Cheer up. The next point is a house. You can have a good rest.' The others seemed refreshed and quickened the pace. I arrived nearly two hours later than the others. A senior assistant, who was a former geisha, of around fifty years old and was called Mother by the others, had arrived earlier. On finding me, she squeezed her own cotton Japanese towel with water, and finely tied up my left ankle saying, ‘You will feel a little better cooling the sprained part like this.' I was moved and glad to see she still kept her warm care for others. Eventually the others started to get ready for the next march. I hadn't been able to sleep well because of the pain in my foot, which by now had swollen up. The others, following the order of start, went climbing up the hill. From another house, a beautiful woman, showed up and introduced herself, ‘I work for the Army HQ.' Her arms were hurt inside and she couldn't even bend her hands. I can't even go to the toilet on my own.' She said sadly, but she added courageously, ‘You go slowly after them as you can use your both hands.' I said, ‘I'm going to stay here with you. Let's survive together, the two of us.' ‘Hey, Ushiroda, I've come back to carry you.' Medic Kimura got back.

‘I'm all right, and I'll stay here with this girl.' ‘Stop being silly'. The others are waiting for you up there.' He bore me on his back. ‘Oh, it's just to the main road up there. It is terraced fields around here, which makes climbing hard, everyone told me.' Mr. Kimura is yet another indispensable saver of my life. Arriving on the main road, he told me, ‘Now follow us slowly.' And he hurriedly disappeared into the direction where the others were. I walked relying on my stick for half an hour, when two Lockheed fighters suddenly appeared from behind the mountain and started bombing and strafing the little flock of houses we had just left. What had become of the lovely HQ staff member? I crouched there, looking at the smoking houses, and kept thinking I'd have to tell this to the other girls if I could meet them. As I hadn't expected myself to be able to survive and return to Japan, I had not asked even her name. Eventually the two fighters flew away. It was a beautiful little village surrounded by terraced fields among the green mountains. It was around that time that black Grummans were replaced by the silvery twin-bodied Lockheeds.

Being a Drop-Out

“I must hurry and catch up to the medics and assistants of No. 12 Military Hospital”. Feeling insecure, I dragged myself on a stick. From time to time several soldiers in a group passed by me talking among themselves. No one turned back at me. Everyone seemed already occupied with himself. ‘It's you, Ushiroda-san?' One voice called me. I was surprised to see Mr. Hirano, who was my senior by two years at the Japanese school. He was also conscripted and was serving as receptionist for the General's Staff Utsunomiya at the 2nd Section of the Army HQ. Why had such a person been conscripted to be a soldier? He had changed so much and painfully asked me, ‘Have you got some malaria medicine? If you had, could I possibly be given some?' ‘I have a little quinine. I have got malaria myself, but I can share some.' He used to be a man of smaller build than myself, but he looked as if he had shrunk even more. After that I lost contact of Hirano-san. ‘Let's try and survive.' ‘Thanks for the quinine.' He was carrying a sniper too heavy for him but he repeatedly turned back and waved.

I remained as a drop-out, suffering the pain in my ankle. Days passed and fine soldiers were pushing aside the drop-outs like me, talking of the US tanks coming close by. There were again big stones in the river blocking the way. Fine rain stayed all day sometimes. I started to see the corpses of women and children, the hojins, by the roadside. I had to go on finding the path for my own feet. A soldier's corpse had nearly nothing on, and the swollen body looked as if they could explode anytime. Coming down to the river to drink, there was also a dead soldier lying face down. I often gave up my chance for water. ‘Ushiroda-san!' ‘Hey, Shee-beh!' Two loud male voices called, and I found Oh-san and Ohbayashi-san who used to work at the HQ with me. Oh-san was tall and slim and was a popular figure among the girls. The two men were close friends. How glad I was to meet the two. I talked and talked about what happened and they stopped me, ‘O-kay, Okay, Now let's start slowly.' I learned it was Kiangan area. As they had shared my luggage, it became much easier for me hurrying our way further deep into the mountains as quick as possible. As we climbed higher we saw an Igorot's hut beneath. I instantly knew it was a human hut, as the bamboo-built floor was high for air circulation and cooking. Even a stone-built cooking stove was preserved. The two men got the luggage down and left to look around the house. I took the cotton towel off my ankle for the first time and tried to turn around the ankle. It didn't hurt so much, and the swelling had gone. ‘Good!' I said to myself. And thinking of the senior assistant, a former geisha-girl, I tightly bandaged it again then stood up and walked around. It hurt less and I felt encouraged.

Soon the two men came back with their hands full of Shungiku (talinum), a green vegetable like spinach. We put just a little rice and cooked them. It was a little amount of food but we enjoyed it; relaxing and feeling human again. We stretched our limbs after so many days and soon fell fast asleep. The next day my malaria fit returned. Even dysentery joined it. I had no time to rest as I had the frequent need of toilet at anywhere there was grass. It went from bad to worse. I suddenly remembered my father's words that charcoal was effective for diarrhea. I powdered a little remaining charcoal and took it for a few days with quinine. I woke up suddenly and realized that the fever had gone, and diarrhea had stopped. I must have been fast asleep. I was astonished by Oh-san's cry, ‘Problem! My backpack is gone.' It was instantly obvious that only his big backpack was lost, leaving a smaller pack, the mess-kit and so on. Oh-san looked very frustrated. Next Oh-san himself got malaria and diarrhea, which was more serious than mine. I made him take all the quinine I had, fetched cold water from the river to let him drink and cool his forehead. But Oh-san was suffering from over 40C fever. Obayashi-san went and picked shungiku for us, and kept encouraging Oh-san. ‘Hang on! You'll get over it soon.' But Oh-san gradually fell unconscious and got dirty of feces and urine.

For sometime we hadn't seen any bombardment, but suddenly a Lockheed started strafing. Obayashi and I had to leave Oh-san, jumped onto the bush and lay flat holding our breath. The incendiary bombs were as big as a rugby ball. However, it was different from ordinary bombs; once it exploded, it caused fire and all the fallen trees and grasses started to burn. We'd never experienced anything like that. We fled for safety, sliding down into the river. After circulating over us a few more times, dropping incendiary bombs one after another, the Lockheed was gone, leaving oil and an awful smell of burnt gasoline and foliage.

We climbed up the mountain as quickly as possible to see Oh-san. He was unharmed, but still unconscious and showed no reaction. His eyes and mouth was open, and the water we gave him just flew out of his mouth. Ohbayashi held him in his arms and further tried to let him drink in vain. The next morning, the incendiary bombing started again by the Lockheed fighters. They seemed determined to burn everything out. We each found a place to hide ourselves among the big stones in the river, calling to each other. We had been eating scarcely anything and were very feeble and yet we didn't feel that hungry. I felt an itchy pain on my ankle and I was shocked to see a black leech swollen as big as a small finger. Obayashi was surprised at my cry but on hearing it was leech, he made no response. I was so frightened. So slowly I moved up to the bank and hid in the grasses. We realized it was still smoky but the Lockheed was gone. Oh-san was still breathing faintly. I asked Ohbayashi, ‘Do you think they'll go on bombing tomorrow as well till they burn out everything?' He was holding Oh-san trying to let him drink. But water just flooded out of his mouth. He must have been bidding farewell to Oh-san. ‘Shee-bee, let's start. We must move on further.' I quietly bowed down to Oh-san. ‘Pardon me.' He was so kind to me carrying my water bottle, mess-kit, blanket and haversack. The two of us left the small house leaving our hearts with Oh-san. As we went further, we saw more corpses and skeletons. We didn't feel sorry or scared of them, or even cared anymore about the worms or the awful smell of the corpses.

With nothing to eat, we trod on with our stick without talking. Sometimes a small group of well-looking soldiers met us, and I felt glad. Few still carried guns, but they wore just a sword on the hip. Ohbayashi also had a sword. It turned out handy later to dig out potatoes.

We had climbed higher, so water became scarce and precious. We had no idea where we were. But around that area we saw soldiers who looked fine and well, carrying a big backpack, a haversack and guns. They might have been the soldiers of the battle- front. We two made an extreme comparison against them. As we were taking rest, a group returned and kindly told us, ‘There is no way to go further on this road, as the bridge has fallen.' We decided to go out to the main path into a mountain. It was good we could walk during the day. Before we went long, there was a potato field (kamote). There was a grain storage, the floor of which was made of wood about five cm thick. Under the floor, there was a fire pit. Ohbayashi left the luggage with me and went to look for food. He returned with potato stems and potatoes about the size of a thumb and shungiku . ‘There is a potato field and a stream of water.' ‘I'll go and fetch some water.' ‘Be careful of your steps.' I slowly carried down two mess-kits and water bottles and put them on the fire. After having eaten food as much as a fist, we slept like the dead. Suddenly an awful sound went above our head. ‘Shul-shul!' We learned from the conversation of the passing by soldiers that it was the trench mortar, which probably was aiming at the HQ in the deep mountains.

The daily bombing must have exhausted us, and we fell into a short sleep. Bang! With a big sound, I felt a sharp pain on my back or hip, and then was attacked by heat like being touched with an iron, together with the pain. “It's hot!” I groaned, rolling, and heard the voice, “I got hurt on the back.” Both of us were injured on the back at the same time. As it was dangerous to put on a light, we tried to bandage ourselves in the dark.

Later on we realized that a trench mortar exploded five meters away from the shed, and a piece of the bomb got through the thick floor board and hit Ohbayashi's back and my hip. Fortunately it brushed past my backbone and although the flesh on the side had been scooped out. After the heat and pain was gone, I managed to bandage the wound with a triangle bandage and the only spare underwear I had. I took care of it so that no worm would get on it. Ohbayashi had a small wound but the blood would not stop. With his own triangle bandage, I quickly patched his small wound and stopped the bleeding, but he couldn't stand up. I learned later that my large wound looked awful however as I hadn't had any shrapnel in my body, I soon could stand up. Ohbayashi on the other hand, could not stand as his smaller wound had left a piece of shrapnel inside.

We didn't sleep anymore inside the shed, and Ohbayashi managed to climb down onto the ground under the hut. The bleeding had stopped, and Ohbayashi started to stand up on his own. All the while, the trench mortars were hissing close over our head allowing us no rest. Now it was my turn to look for precious food left over from the harvested potato fields. If we didn't have a bite of some food we would be finished. I was nearly praying in the hunt for food. How many days had passed like this? We realized that the sinister sound of the trench mortar had stopped. Eventually a small plane scattered flyers, announcing in Japanese, “The war has finished. Come out every one.” As I read a flyer, I found it said, “Peace Treaty concluded. The war ended.” I was so happy I could jump up with joy. I had no doubt at all. Even now I think I could believe and accept immediately what was in the flyer because I was born and grew up in Manila since the days before the war.

Knowing the Defeat

“Let's leave here early tomorrow morning.” I said to Ohbayashi, but he could not believe the news. “I wonder if it's all right.” “Has the war really ended?” “Yes, it really has. We have no bombing or the trench mortar any more, do we?” I almost forced him to get out of the place. The next day, I took just my haversack and started climbing down. Ohbayashi stopped and took more and more rests. “I feel like dragging a chain of lead.” I let him have a stick and climbed down holding him by the hand. When we met some of our soldiers who were going up and was asked, “Where are you going?” I would reply, “We're looking for food.” Even I who was born in Manila couldn't tell a Japanese soldier that we were going to surrender.

The slope turned to a flat path, and two American soldiers, sentries probably, noticed us and approached with a gun in their hands. They took our belongings and started to examine our haversack. They threw away one by one the precious rice in a cotton sock, a little salt, which we cherished as some jewels. How I regretted I hadn't eaten them. I had been feeling so tense, but now I felt more relaxed and perhaps because of that I had got high fevers; malaria again. Why didn't I feel cold? Probably it was because I had concentrated on leading Ohbayashi by the hand to climb down without being noticed by any Japanese soldiers.

The Americans must have informed their battle field hospital on realizing our fever and wounds. Soon seven to eight American soldiers came with stretchers to carry both of us.

When I came to, awakening from my deep sleep, I was on a canvas stretcher in the Kiangan battlefront hospital, and was wrapped up in a soft new American blanket. The military doctor was a middle aged man, and he said kindly, “Let me take care of the wound on your back.” He sprinkled a little white powder on my wound and bandaged it with a snow-white new gauze. It was the first time that I knew of the white powder, penicillin. He looked at me in my only monpe trousers outfit, and handed me a set of female uniforms saying, “Please change into these.” It looked like a food storage facility where I had been laid, and all sorts of tins were piled up as high as a mountain. The doctor quietly said, “You may eat anything you like,” and gave me a little tin-opener. I had no appetite after my high fever and said, “I want to eat nothing.” He smiled, took and opened a can of Delmonte peaches, put it beside me and left. I remembered the old days when we had plenty of those, and had a piece. How delicious it was! After a long time during which I hadn't eaten anything proper as human food, I wondered if I was dreaming and truly realized that I had survived.

By the time I had changed, the doctor came back with an U.S. officer, who was a second generation Japanese American. “Because you are female and can't be together with the others in the hospital ward, we have put you up here”, he said. Then he started asking me in a business-like way my name, family name, date of birth, and if I was a second generation Japanese who was born in Manila. I told them I had come down as I read the flyer dropped by an airplane. They were both glad for me that I did come down early. I showed them my father's photo which I kept in my chest pocket. I told them he must be somewhere in the mountains and asked them to care for him as they did to me. They both nodded. As they told me they were going to burn all the belongings of mine, I pleaded for the photo of my father that I would be allowed to keep it for me. The doctor certified on the back of the photo in his fine letters that it was my father. Thanks to his kindness, I could bring it back with me to Japan . Until now this sepia colored photo gives me courage to live strongly, and I've always felt as if my father has been watching and protecting me.

At Santo Tomas US Military Hospital

In a few days, I left the Kiangan battlefront hospital in a Red Cross vehicle and stayed at different hospitals for a few nights until I was finally carried to Santo Tomas University . Seen from Kiangan the mountains where we were looked all burnt down; all the foliage was burnt black revealing bare soil because of the fierce bombardment. What I saw when I was carried into the vehicle gave me a shudder, and I thought how could we have survived in such an awful looking place like that?

Ohbayashi and I were separated when we got down the mountains. Once he came to see me at the Woman's Camp after I got out of hospital. I told him to have the piece of shrapnel in his back removed. He was sent back to Taiwan after the operation.

I went into Manila , changed to a jeep, and was sent to Santo Tomas University Military Hospital . On the way, I saw a different Manila with my eyes. At Luneta Park , there were piled-up boxes of military goods. The City Hall and the Metropolitan Theatre were covered with an awful lot of bullet holes. Later in the Woman's Camp, I heard that some Japanese soldiers held the City Hall and there was fierce shooting with the U.S. soldiers with a door between them. I wondered if it helped even a bit those who retreated into the Bontok Mountains in the trial of fleeing to safety. Looking at the horrible remains of the street battles, I thought with resentment and mortification for those killed in the war. I myself was regaining my humane emotions and I fully realized the importance of carrying on.

In Santo Tomas Hospital , there were four other women in the room I was in. All except for one looked well at first sight: a Korean woman who had been forced to serve as comfort woman, a half-Spanish and half-Japanese woman, two Japanese who used to work for trading companies, and me. The Korean woman told me a lot of her experience, as she thought I was too naive and needed education for men. The other women gently tried to let us abandon that kind of topics, but I was young and curious and asked her to tell more of her stories. One of the former company employees, Ms. Kiyomi Fujii is still fine and we exchange New Year cards. The other was a girl who had been working for a company the name of which was probably the Japanese Filipino Woods. She was beautiful, looking like the famous Japanese actress Setsuko Hara. She had been suffering from a serious case of TB, so she had never gone into the mountains. Instead she was being taken care of at the US Military Hospital. There were a female military doctor who was a U.S. colonel, US nurses, medics and Filipina cleaning ladies, who kindly took good care of us. Because of my hip injury and malaria, I was under the charge of male and female doctors. The wound got better day by day, and they told me to get rid of the malaria completely even if it took longer.

One day, the TB patient talked to me, as she must have been feeling better that day. “I was born in a little island in the Seto Inland Sea. There in my birth place, a TB patient would be rejected by everyone for fear of contamination, but here doctors and nurses as well take so good care of me. I spitted blood in Bayombong I remained here ready to die any time, but have been able to receive such wonderful care. Will you please give them my thanks in English?” When I passed her message to a nurse she said, “Don't worry about anything. She will get well. Please tell her she'll be able make it to Japan .” Later I knew that she could not, after all.

On general, we got better and better. Sometimes young nurses asked us, “Is there anything you'd like to eat?” “Some ice cream would be nice,” and for the next meal we were provided with ice cream. Or sometimes she played a Domino game with me. We had communal shower together with the American women. My wound healed and the malaria virus disappeared. I, who was just skin and bones, gained a little weight. One day a nurse asked me, “As your blood type is O, we'd like to transfuse your blood to a little Japanese girl, if you don't mind.” “A Japanese girl?” I asked “She was alive beside her dead mother in the mountainside, and an American soldier got her here. As she is weak, we'd like to transfuse your blood. Also, you are Japanese”. I was willing to do so.

One day a male American military patient came into our room accompanied by a medic and a nurse. He had a photograph in his hand, which he spread on a bed. We heard he was a pilot and shot this picture in his plane above the Japanese sky. “ Tokyo , Tokyo !” he kept saying, but I had no knowledge of Japan and certainly not of Tokyo . Still we all were astonished to see the photo. Many railway lines and railroad ties were observed clearly. The lid on the entrance of a shelter was also clearly visible. Seeing us surprised, he proudly left the room with his photo. Americans knew everything with such details and precision. What an ignorant and desperate war Japan made against them. We felt renewed anger. Eventually I got out of the hospital earlier than those who were there before me and was supposed to enter the POW Women's Camp in Canluban.

At Canluban Women's Camp

At Canluban Women's Camp, there were a lot of tents in the vast location. It was an accumulation of women and children of hojin , Koreans, and Taiwanese. There were also Japanese women who came to Manila before or during the war as trading company employees, nurses, geisha , and civilian military staff. Some were suffering from malnutrition or malaria. Some were barefooted. None were in the US military uniforms as I was. But the US military were hurriedly sending Japanese to Japan . They were being sent in the only clothes they were wearing. A lot must have been ignorant like me about the cold winter of Japan .

I was put in a tent closest to the office. I was so fit and well that I felt sorry for the others in the camp. Eventually I started to visit all the tents one by one, asking for information about my family and friends. I couldn't find my sister. Knowing that I was looking for her, an office staff member told me, “Your sister must have killed herself; she had cut her throat and was moved from here to the POW Hospital .” “When she came here, she was already too deteriorated physically that she was unable to get herself up from the stretcher. There was already pause in the pulse.” A lot of people knew my sister so I got more and more information about her. How often I had missed her. She might have been saved as well if she had been taken to the American Military Hospital . I also regretted I had not come here earlier. Those who were working for No. 103 Naval Hospital came to see me one after another on knowing Haruko and Toshio Ushiroda were my sister and brother. From the Chief Nurse Senba and Ms. Sachiko Kashiwabara, I learned what had happened to them in the mountains. Towards the end of the war, my brother had been shot by a piece of trench mortar shell on his left leg and got his Achilles tendon cut. He had malaria too. My sister who was taking care of him was contaminated with malaria. As soon as they learned about the end of war, the navy officers and sailors started to climb down the mountain, the healthy first. It was decided that my brother was to be assisted by some civilian staff. My sister, who was afraid she would be an extra burden of the others, stabbed her throat with a pair of cloth scissors left to her by our mother. She didn't die instantly but was found by U.S. soldiers and carried down on a stretcher to the Women's Camp and on to the POW Hospital . No one knew what happened to my brother after that.

About my father, I learned he had starved to death in the mountains. I had well assumed that due to my own experience in the mountains. He was over seventy years old and he boasted of his teeth, none of which were decayed. In a peaceful age, he could have been alive until a hundred, like one of his ancestors in Hiroshima as he often talked to us. Until the very last he went hunting for food and took good care of the other aged who passed away one after another, but there was no one by his side to look after him when he died. My mother passed away when I was five years old during the delivery of my parents' fourth child, and since then my father brought me up with so much love. He often visited No. 12 Army Hospital in the mountain to ask, “Don't you know the assistant Shizuko Ushiroda?” “Ushiroda fell off a cliff during the march and died.” “I know my daughter has survived that.” I was told that he replied thus and went back to the hojin group.

I became the kitchen chief of the Camp. Three matrons, who were Filipina female police, asked me to prepare meals for patients, who were nearly in the state of malnutrition. I got up at 5:00am to start cooking. The menu was made the previous day, it was always something like soup made of canned food, sometimes with raisins or oatmeal added. There was around twenty kitchen staff, who were in better health conditions than the others. We were to wash up large pans and distribute the food to the people who were queuing. I took the leftovers to those women and children who couldn't manage to get up, including Mrs Kashiwamura, the mother of Sachiko Kashiwamura, a nurse. There were four unforgettable sisters and brothers of the Maehiras. The eldest, Fumiko, was eleven and the youngest, Hitomi, was five. Their mother passed away in 1941 of breast cancer and I heard she asked my sister to take care of the children. Their father also died in the mountains, and only the four children survived and were in the camp. On the day the four children departed for Japan , I heard they were going to Nagasaki or Hiroshima , which is new and strange place for them. After I came to Japan , I have been trying hard to get information about them, but with no success. As life in Japan has never been easy even for me, I have always been concerned about the children.

I reunited with my brother in Japan . He had been missing all the while, and after I came to Japan on Aug. 2, 1946, I kept asking the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and so on. One of the aunts on my mother's side said, “I once got a post card from him.” We all searched the house for the postcard and found he was at the Second National Hospital . When we met, we embraced each other repeatedly saying it's like a dream come true. His Achilles' tendon got tightened again and his malaria had gone, but unfortunately he passed away in 1949, always saying, “It's me who caused Haruko's death.”

There were a number of visitors to the Women's camp; Filipinos and soldiers, civilian military staff, and male hojin from other camps. There were happy reunions with fathers and brothers for some of the women. For me the news was all sad; my father, sister, and my closest friend, Aoki, who died in the mountains. I asked about the Medic Kimura at No. 12. Army Hospital but no one knew. Some said, “I understand that medic has died.”

One day Ohbayashi visited me. He gave me his address in Taiwan , saying, “If you don't have any place to live in Japan , come. My family will welcome you.” I also gave him our home address in Hiroshima . In 1987, there was an inquiry from him in the Asahi newspaper. Three couples of former officers and me, all of whom had worked in the Army HQ in Manila , made a trip to Taiwan to meet him. We were invited to the home of Mr. And Mrs Rin Shiken, formerly Masahiko Ohbayashi, and received a hearty welcome also by their children, brothers and sisters and the spouses of their children. I also had a happy reunion with Ms. Yo Saiei, whom I was close to like sisters in the Women's Camp. She was a few years older than me. She was a university student in Manila as the war broke, and stayed in the camp all the while. When I lost my hair because of malnutrition, every time she got something like garlic from some visitors, she shared it with me, saying, “It's good for you.” When she left for Taiwan , she gave me a pure gold necklace, telling me to change it to money in time of need in my future life in Japan . One day, General Staff Taguchi visited me at the Women's Camp. I gave him some cigarettes and raisins, and he gave me his address and told me to come visit him if I had any trouble in Japan . Later I heard of his death from his colleague Funayama, but I could meet Mrs. Taguchi, who showed up to the last reunion of the Old Boys of the Manila HQ Political Affairs Department.

At No. 174 Hospital

The women's camp eventually reduced in size, and amongst the Manila hojin only I was told to stay on by the matrons. I moved to another tent to be with No. 104 POW Hospital nurses and worked as an interpreter for a small number of multi-national workers. I was freed from the kitchen but some nurses were still working there. I commuted to the hospital and interpreted for the matrons as they checked the number of the nurses and discussed some business matters with them. It was the easiest time. I enjoyed going to Japanese dancing with the other nurses. From the Women's Camp in Canluban, we could see Mt. Makiling , which was shiny in bright orange in the morning and evening. The sight healed the heart of those people from Japan and intensified their wish to be back to their homeland. As for me, I felt rather anxious about moving to this new strange country.

By this time, the conditions in the camp had improved. Our meals were cooked in the hospital by the kitchen staff, among which there were a few professional cooks. We were wearing the US military uniforms, and we talked a lot. There was no end for the stories.

Here is the Rumor One: In Baguio, the hospital was inside a cool mine. Among the wounded, the stronger grabbed the portion of food away from the weak. Belongings of the dying were stolen. The nurses ignored what was happening. The war situation had worsened for Japan and the hospital area had become dangerous, and the day came when the nurses had to give the shot they called “the red shot” to those patients for whom there was no hope for recovery. After the war, one day a soldier who remembered the face of the nurse who gave him the shot came to see her in the Women's Camp. “Owing to the important shot you gave me at the critical time, I thus survived. Thank you very much.” He said special thanks to her.

Rumor Two. (A friend told this to me.) In the mountains, it was the soldiers with guns that first won the game of occupying the potato field. They put up the guards, and when a child whose mother had collapsed in the mountainside tried to get in the fields they threatened everyone off. There were many sad stories due to Japanese losing the war. The men of the army, navy, and air force had conflicts among them and became just like enemies each other, I heard. The most miserable were the airmen who lost their airplanes, and the navy people who were like frogs on land weren't happy either. Thus the hojin survivors seemed to have the common knowledge about why a lot of hojin , having got no weaponry, had had to starve to death in the mountains.

Let me tell two more examples of unbelievable atrocity. A beautiful actress Corazon Noble was holding her baby, and the baby was stabbed to death by Japanese soldier's sword. The blade cut through her arm, and the scar was obvious even after the war. One time, a village woman was exploded by dynamite, which was stuck into her womb. The incident was notified to the Army HQ, and XX Mochizuki, a noble officer who was a Buddhist monk, instantly went to the scene for investigation. He was ambushed and killed with hundreds of bullets, which left his body holed like a beehive. There were some villains among the Japanese soldiers, who generally were more decent people.

War Criminals/ Fathers/ Pastors

Around this time, U.S. military Fathers and Chaplains came around with their Japanese counterparts, who were former soldiers, to do Bible studies. With friends we often attended to get news from the outside. Also we sometimes heard about the War Criminals detained in Camp 4. We talked about the matter and decided to make dolls for them. We asked the Fathers and pastors to give us some parachute cloth and cotton balls and tried to make dolls. Slim one with large eyes, plump dolls with slender eyes; a lot of variety came out. The finish was the lips drawn in mercurochrome or red pencil. The Fathers and Chaplains took them to the Camp 4 and told us more later. The war criminals were glad to have them and some even carried it with them at the time of their execution. We each thought about the men and it was a painful thought. How they must have been feeling unstable, how they must have been thinking of their parents, brothers and sisters, or wives and children. They shouldn't be forgotten as just a fatal tragedy. Among the interpreters of Camp 4 was my former classmate Mr. Minoru Takeuchi, who was born in Hawaii . He told me that the dolls were very popular among the war criminals.

The number of the tombs had been increasing in the first Japanese POW cemetery at Canluban, next to the Women's Camp. Every Friday, the execution of war criminals seemed to take place. The day before, holes were dug by Japanese POWs. In the night four to five men came in the U.S. Military Red Cross car and took off the stretchers as a military doctor examined them with the stethoscope. The number varied, but we knew how many were going to be hanged by the number of the holes dug. If it had rained, the splash sounded when the corpse was dropped off the stretcher and then we found it hard to fall asleep.

One day I told a Father about my sister; how it was hard being next to the graveyard and unable to pay a visit to her tomb. He looked surprised. “I didn't know that. I'm sorry. I'll certainly look for your sister's tomb the next time.” Soon he came in a jeep. “I've found it,” he said, looking very happy as if it were his own sister.

He took me in his jeep by special permission into the cemetery. He said, ”This is where your sister is buried.” There was a number and the name HARUKO USHIRODA engraved in a nickel plate. He gave me a piece of paper and I wrapped some soil to take back to Japan . I prayed with the Father and bid farewell of her. Father M. Bundy had written beautiful words of encouragement in my notebook. Even now I sometimes open it and read them.

In 1949, the remains of my sister's were sent by the US to Sasebo with those of more than 4,800, which were excavated from the cemeteries in the Philippines, Hawaii, and Okinawa. Then the remains were all cremated in the fields in Kama, Sasebo and were ‘dumped', into the Chidorigahuchi National Cemetery described as the ‘unknown war dead'. Including my sister's there were ashes of 758, which had been individually identified. I knew this in 1984, through the personal research of Konishi Ryuzo. With help of my late husband, lawyer Wakao Hajime, I demanded the Ministry of Welfare of research and establishment of a memorial with the names. The Ministry offered their apology but refused to do more. It was reported in detail in the Daily Mainichi Newspaper on Aug. 9, 1985. The unfaithful attitude of the Government of the victims and their families is still an issue to be challenged for more recognition.

Good-bye, Manila where I was born

In the Women's Camp, those nurses who had been dreaming of coming back to Japan uttered a cry of joy on hearing their names being announced in the list for the next boat. Between myself and the matrons there was a promise that I would be returned during the summer time. At the end of July it was decided that I, along with Elsie whose parents were Japanese and American, were to go on board a ship. Those who stayed on had a big job of closing the Women's Camp later.

We were carried to Manila Bay in a truck and left Manila on the Kiri, a destroyer. It was the first time I viewed the beautiful Manila from the sea. The sunset is world-famous and I used to go fishing on Manila Bay with my father. I prayed for all the victims of war; hojin , soldiers, and Filipino friends, who shared the hardship for the peace of their soul. Good-bye, my Manila where I was born.

On Board the Kiri, Paulownia

I gradually overcame the seasickness, and got used to the voyage and the crew. The lyrics of the “Song of an Apple”, which they said was popular in Japan , was distributed and we sang together. For meals, we were offered rice with hijiki seaweed in it. Neither Elsie nor I had ever had hijiki , not to mention the sand mixed in it. We threw it out to the sea, but were seen by a sailor, who severely told us off. “You girls!” he yelled. “In Japan food is scarce and this kind of meal is so hard to get however hard you might want it.” We fortunate returnees of this late period had been given cans of peanuts, crackers and other ration tins by the US Army. We also received a military blanket, dishes, Colgate toothpaste and nylon brushes, and extra two sets of military uniforms. Those who had been sent home earlier didn't enjoy the luxury of those.

Several days later, we were informed we were at the Bashi Channel and everyone got out on deck for prayer. A senior of my high school classmate by three years went back to Japan and was coming back to the Philippines as a soldier, and the transport ship in which he was got attacked and sank in the Bashi Channel. How many transport and other ships with a great number of lives sank into the sea here in the Bashi Channel? We all kept standing there in our deep prayers. As we came close towards Japan , a typhoon was coming, so we were told that the boat was going to stay by an island near Okinawa . The sight of Okinawa that time from the sea, reminded me of the Kiangan mountains. How crudely similar the sight was. The hillsides were peeled off showing dark brown skin, leaving no trace of green trees. Only those who experienced the attack knew what it was like. I learned with pain in my heart that islanders of Okinawa also had gone through what we had in the mountains of Luzon . In Manila there were a number of Japanese inhabitants who were originally from Okinawa, and they had to go back to their homeland, which also was in the same terrible state of destruction as the islands of the Philippines were.

Seven days later, we safely arrived at Sasebo . The gentle mountains were covered with light green, different from the dark green of Manila . I would like to thank the crew of the Kiri, especially to the communication staff. Due to their efforts of sending a telegram to my registered district council while I was still onboard, a distant cousin who I met for the first time came to meet me at Hiroshima , where I arrived on a late train. She stood there with my photo in her hand, which was sent to her before the war. Hiroshima had been decimated by the atomic bomb. We put up for the night in a shamble inn in front of the station and went to a relative's home.

On landing at Sasebo , we had a lot of surprises. First the people in charge started to examine the belongings of the returnees, and they changed everything provided by the U.S. military into products of Japan , which were unbelievably low in quality. The “blanket” was so coarse and heavy, toothpaste was something like sand in a paper bag, the toothbrush was made of bamboo and some stuff like pig hair. As for clothes, Elsie and I were both 1.63m tall, but we were given a sailor suit which looked like children's wear; both the trousers and the white summer jacket were too small for us.

Elsie probably knew they were going to take everything away from us. She hid valuables in her long knot of hair, which also included my necklace from Miss Yo Saiei. We both were very pleased by the result. After that, both of us were sprinkled with white powder of DDT all over. We also had service of tea by women who wore a band saying, “Women's Association” across their back on their kappogi ( Japanese style apron that has sleeves). At every station, they served us tea in a big kettle, but it went around only among the former male soldiers. Former trade company employees like Messieurs Hisao Ito, Tadao Tanaka, and Kesao Watanabe shared their tea with us women.

Being back in Japan , I made up my mind. I am here having survived every difficulty through all the help I received by those who died in the mountains. Now, having lost everything I used to have, I'm going to live with strong determination, taking care of myself, without reservation to anyone else. I also know that a lot of others had survived the same experience like me and came back to their country. With all their warm- hearted encouragement I couldn't be defeated by whatever painful experience I might meet. I quote my favorite phrase given by Yo Saiei of Taiwan;

“Under the heaven we meet people and the older we grow, the closer we feel to each other”.