We took the train to Lukban in Tayabas (now Quezon) fleeing the Japanese invasion, little did we
know that the Japanese were coming from the direction we were headed. There was my mother
Matilde Silfavan, my elder sister, Pining, two younger sisters, Auring and Editha as well as my
little, two-year old brother, Greg. We were fleeing with three other families from Fort William
McKinley: the Israels, the Arnivals, and the Sumarias. To the best of my memory, the families
were consisted of nana Conching, who was very close to my mother, and her four boys: Jr. Bating,
Rey, Ben and Tony; nana Pitang and her two daughters: Felisa and Perpe; and nana Maria and her
two daughters: Milagring and Petring. We were all families of Filipino soldiers of the 14th
Engineers separated from our fathers who had a war to fight.
I was born on Corregidor, an island fortress in Manila Bay in 1934, and after Bataan fell, this
would be the last stand before the Americans and Filipinos capitulated to the Japanese. The
14th Engineers lived in army barracks and their families lived in housing just outside of the
gates of the fort. I still remember lining tansan (bottle caps) up on the rails of the street
train before it passed and playing with the flattened tansan along with my friend Johnny
Gasatayan afterwards. I also have fond memories of Christmas time when tata Birco, a soldier
whose physique was uniquely suited for the purpose, dressed up as Santa Claus and handed out
gifts to each and every child. The soldiers of the 14th Engineers and their families were from
all over the Philippines. They all spoke their native dialects, which are varied even on the
island of Luzon, as well as Tagalog. Because we were such a diverse group, we developed our
own barrio (neighborhood) dialect that included words that weren't either of the dialects of my
parents. Nana and tata are good examples of this. These words mean mother and father and were
used for our real parents as well as adults who we were close to. Another example was "ging"
kuha. Kuha is Tagalog for "to get," but ging is from the Visayan dialect and is a term of
affection or endearment, like "sweetheart."
After arriving in Lukban we went into the Sierra Madre Mountains, where we lived for the most
part from 1942 until 1945. We were afraid the Japanese would kill us if the townspeople told
them we were the families of soldiers so we had to live apart. We would look for a level area,
near a stream and near a town. Our homes were huts made with bamboo posts, floor mats and roofs
made of leaves. We camped near Santa Maria, Cavinti and Pillilla amongst other places. I didn't
go to school at all during those years. We lived in the mountains and lost contact with the
civilized world. We walked barefoot from place to place. I'll never forget the hiking.
We survived by stealing. Sometimes we would steal at night. Other times one or two of us kids
would go talk to a farmer to divert his attention while others would steal rice, fruit or
animals like chickens or pigs. At some point there was an old farmer, it may have been the man
named Cilio my father spoke of below, who would take us to a rice field that had been harvested
a week before. We would pick up the palay (rice still clinging to the stalk) that was
still scattered about grain by grain. The Japanese would always have a detachment of some kind
near a town. A guerilla convinced us to steal from the Japanese, but our mothers had no idea or
they would have hog-tied us to prevent us from trying such a dangerous thing. We probably
raided a Japanese camp two or three times. We climbed underneath a fend surrounding the
Japanese camp and Junior Bating, the eldest amongst us (he was about fifteen-years old at the
end of the war) and his friend from town even stole some firearms. The rest of us would steal
fruits and biscuits. I still remember the biscuits. They had no taste, but were the greatest
because I could get full eating them. The Japanese would have surely killed us if they caught
us, but we had no fear. I think we were too young to have any fear.
I don't remember very much about everyday life at the time, but we did have a daily ritual of
helping out the household by pitching water from a stream which was some distance from our hut.
We gather wood for cooking, pick wild fruits, like wild cherries and susong kalabaw
(literally "water buffalo udder" because the fruit had a similar look to it), and scoop
shells called susong pilipit out of the deeper part of the stream. We had bolo
(machete) which we would use to make arrows which we shot at wild chickens for food using
slingshots we improvised for the purpose. Our mothers used to tell us to watch the birds,
"If the birds eat it, it must be okay." We never had enough food. My two-year old brother
Greg, died of malnutrition and was buried in the mountains next to a large tree.
When a group of guerillas (groups of Filipinos and Americans fought the Japanese after the
surrender) happened by our camp, everyone got excited. They were our only source of information
about the outside world. There be about a dozen of them. They'd ask for information about the
area and the Japanese. The leader of the group would tell us kids to go to a certain place far
off to watch out for a Japanese patrol. We would give them what food we could spare, but never
got to know much about them because they never stayed for long. One of the guerilla leaders was
nicknamed Kanduli, or catfish, because this was one of his favorite foods. He was an
American MP from Fort McKinley.
One day, when the guerillas were no where around, we did have an encounter with a Japanese
patrol. Two Japanese soldiers came up on our camp near Pillilla. They were as surprised to see
us as we were to see them. We always had a little extra food and a couple of the mothers
hurriedly handed the soldiers some food wrapped in a banana leaf. Another mother began putting
fruits in the soldiers' pockets. We couldn't understand them and they couldn't understand us.
Our mothers were pointing off in the distance as if to say, "whatever you are looking for is
over there (now go away and leave us - don't kill us!)." The soldiers spoke back in Japanese,
but we didn't have any idea what they were saying and they left. Of course we moved on after
this incident.
I remember going to Malate in Manila for a while too. My dad's cousin's family lived there. My
dad's cousin was in college and in the ROTC when the war broke out. He had a sword form the
ROTC hidden in his home. Someone pointed him out during one of the Japanese rekisas and his
house was searched. They arrested him when they found the sword and sent him to Mutinglupa (a
prison in Manila). He didn't tell us much about the three years he spent in the prison, except
for an incident at the end of the war. The Japanese had decided to kill all the prisoners when
the Americans came and so they line them up in front of a large pit. They were going down the
line chopping the prisoners' heads off one at a time. He was about third or fourth down the
line ready to be beheaded when the Americans arrived. He was still in jail when we stayed at
his family's house. It was so difficult to eat, my sister had to sell our clothes. I had an
ulcer on my leg from malnutrition. I used to cry throughout the night. Even today, decades
later, whenever my cousin sees me, he asks, "So, how is your leg." We didn't stay long. I
think we left because the neighbors knew we were a soldier's family and we were afraid of being
fingered by someone only to be killed by the Japanese. My leg got better soon after we returned
to the mountains.
After the Americans had returned, we would see Mustangs, B-51s, flying overhead. Our mothers
told the girls to take off their hats and shake out their hairs so the pilots could see we were
civilians and not Japanese in disguise. I don't know whether or not they could actually see us,
but our mothers were afraid because they knew the Americans were looking for Japanese in the
mountains.
At the end of the war, Margarito Israel walked and hitchhiked from Manila to the Sierra Madre
mountains to reunite with his family and to lead us back to our father. It was still dangerous
because there were still Japanese about.
Before the war, my mother's younger cousin, Goring (Gregoria) Parilla, lived with us at Fort
McKinley. She was recently married to a rekluta (army recruit) and attended high school
in Rizal. She was pregnant and wanted to go back to see her family in Leyte when the war
started. An eyewitness account of what happened to her was given to my mother who in turn
passed it on to me. The Japanese were forcing a large group of the townspeople into a church to
kill them. Goring and her young child (maybe two years old at the time) were pulled aside
because they were moving too slow or something. They bayoneted Goring and, laughing, threw her
child up in the air and bayoneted the baby also. Goring's mother, father and two brothers were
then killed along with the others in the church.
For the three years after the war, from about 1945 to 1948, I realized I had a father. He never
talked about his experience during the war, it was only after he died that I learned something
about his experiences from his papers. He was awarded the distinguished unit badge with two oak
leaf clusters (March and April, 1942) and a bronze star (December 20, 1944). At Fort William
McKinley, my father stayed in the army barracks and we lived separately in family housing.
My mother was born and raised on an island in the south called Ormoc Leyte. Her family was poor
and she had one older brother. Her mother died and her destitute father, after having lost his
wife, became the town drunk and died while still young. My mother left her home to live with
her aunt, Tita Isyang, who lived near Fort William McKinley in Manila. Her uncle, Tito
Domine, was an old Philippine Scout.
I was named after my father, Joaquin Silfavan. He was raised on another island in the south
called Ilo-Ilo. His parents were very poor, and he had four brothers and a sister. He was,
along with his brothers, adopted by wealthy relatives and worked as field hands so he grew up
without knowing his parents. His sister was adopted in the same way to work as a maid. When he
was seventeen-years old, he ran away to a large city on Ilo-Ilo. That may have been where he
joined the Philippine Scouts. My father was in the same outfit as my mother's uncle and I
suppose this is how they met.
While he was still alive, I never learned much about what happened to my father during the war.
Later I found these military documents that reveal his story:
"When the war began [on] December 8, 1941, I was stationed at Ft. Wm. McKinley. My job was
construction foreman in Co. "C," 14th Engrs (PS). I also served as platoon commander. My
battalion C.O. was Maj. Frederick Saint. My company C.O. was Capt. P.R. Gregory. We were
ordered to pack our equipment and move to Tree Hill in the vicinity of Ft. McKinley. At 2:00
p.m., Dec. 9, Nichols Field was attacked by Japanese bombers. The same day we proceeded to
Manila to pick up a pontoon bridge. After doing so, we went to Bustos, Bulacan to construct a
wooden bridge. Here we remained for three days and then proceeded to KM. 98 near Bagoc Highway.
Here we joined Co. "F" 31st Infantry consisting of American Troops. We were here for four days
and proceeded to Alungapo [Olongapo], Bataan. We were here for one week, destroying bridges and
everything of military value as the Japanese were advancing on Alungapo [Olongapo]. From Alungapo [Olongapo] we
proceeded to Denalupikan [Dinalupihan], remained one day and retreated to Hermosa. We made our stand along
the Layok River. We fought for three hours with the Japanese. We were heavily shelled by the
Japanese artillery so we retreated to Mabatang, Bataan. Here we established our firing line and
made a 1-week stand. We were again attacked by the Japs and suffered heavy casualties. We
retreated again to Orion Hill, Bataan. This was our last defensive position. We were here
about four months. As we were a company of engineers, our job was mainly to construct roads and
bridges. Also we annihilated the enemy whenever we contacted him. I was in charge of 46 men in
my platoon. I acted as platoon commander. April 6 we retreated to Lamao Ridge. We were there
for six hours during which time two of my comrades were killed...
"...[O]n or about April 7, 1942, the 3rd Platoon, under my command established a defensive
position on the right stream at Lamao Ridge [in the front lines at Bataan]. My first squad was
assigned to the machine gun emplacement at the right end of the position. At about [three] in
the afternoon] we spotted a column of Japanese soldiers approaching our position. We waited and
kept silent for a while until they were within range of our guns. We started to fire when
suddenly a Japanese sniper threw a hand grenade on the machine gun crew. Pfc Felipe Gargarita
threw his body over the grenade before it exploded. After the explosion I saw the body of Pfc
Felipe Gargarita blow to bits, together with one Pvt Banasan also from the machine gun crew.
The fighting continued for a while until the Japanese were forced to withdraw under heavy fire
from us. Immediately, when the firing ceased, I sent a messenger to our Company Commander,
Captain Paul R. Gregory, that Pfc Gargarita and Pvt Banasan were dead. The messenger came back
with the orders, that we bury the remains of Pfc Felipe Gargarita and Pvt Banasan on the spot
where they were blown up."
-Joaquin Silvafan S/Sgt, 660703 (PS), 29th day of August, 1945
(witnessed by Major Mike C. Donovan, Summary Court Officer)
"...We then retreated to Rail River, Bataan. We were here for three days until ordered to surrender
April 9, 1942.
"...After I escaped from Rail River Bataan I hid for ten days between Rail River and Manila. I
then proceeded on foot to my hometown of Sta. Maria, Laguna, P.I. Here I engaged in farming
until about April of 1943. I worked for Cilio (last name unknown). I raised rice, corn,
camotes, etc. In April, 1943, I joined the guerilla forces under Col. Hugh Straughn, formerly
provost marshall of Ft. McKinley. Col. Straughn appointed me captain in the guerillas. Job was
'Planning and Training Officer.' It was my job to explain the plans of General Martin to about
150 men, and supervise their training. To carry out these plans. This took place in the
mountains of Sta. Maria...
"S/Sgt Dominador Villaflor [whom I have known since 1929] was captured by the Japanese soldiers
and was brought to Camp O'Donnell, Capaz, Tarlac, P.I. When he was released from the concentration
camp in 1942, he was sick with malaria, dysentery and Beri-Beri. In May 1943, I met him a Buting,
Pasig, Rizal, P.I. I told him to join the Guerilla under Col. Hugh Strong [sic], Field Commander
and he informed me that he had already joined, so we worked together in our assigned job
conducting men being Executive Officer of Guadalupe Group.
"On or about July 1943, our Headquarters had been discovered and raided by the Japanese kempeitai
[Japanese police] and as a result, our organization was dissolved and all of the personnel were
scattered away, so S/Sgt Dominador Villaflor and I went to San Mateo Mt. We reported to Col.
Hugh Strong [sic] for instructions. Since that time, we stayed in the Mountain and maintained
our organization.
"On or about August, 1943, S/Sgt Dominador Villflor and I went to Manila to do an intelligence
job of all enemy activities in the city and suburb and make weekly report[s] to Col. Hugh Strong
[sic] personally.
"On or about November 1944, the Japanese soldiers surrounded all male civilians and Scouts in
Barrio Buting, Pasig, Rizal who were suspected as Guerillas. S/Sgt Dominador Villflor was among
them. They were brought to Fort Santiago and from that time, nothing has been heard about him.
"That I considered S/Sgt Dominador Villalfor killed by the Japanese soldiers in Ft. Santiago."
-Joaqin Silfavan, Sgt 1/Cl
(witnessed by Gaudencio M. Ramirez, 1st Lt., Summary Court Officer)
"...I continued in this job until returning to American military control 12 March, 1945 at 127 ?
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My father retired in 1946 and then attended
school with the assistance of the G.I. Bill. He was made a naturalized citizen in the same year and the official who handled the paperwork
changed his name to Jacquin Sulivan. I was in the sixth grade at the time so I didn't really
care, but that explains why I am a Filipino with an Irish name. I remember that my father tried
on some heavy jackets at home and had other heavy cloths then one day he told us he was going
to the United States. He didn't bring all of us here when he came in 1950. I don't know why,
but I'm sure he had his reasons. I was petitioned later.
The the illustrations for these pages were derived from pictures published in a Japanese
propaganda cartoon pamphlet created to promote the idea of the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity
Sphere amongst Japanese children. |