by Nunilo M. de Leon
One night, a few weeks into the 1944-1945 school year, at a little past midnight, we were awakened by a fusillade of gunshots. They came from Pariancillo St., from in front of the Cine Estrella, one block from Tampoy. The exchange of gunfire went on for, perhaps, five minutes then suddenly died down. A midnight-to-dawn curfew was in effect and no one could go out to find out what had happened. The following morning, we got the news. A group of suspected “Huks” had tried to make a hit-and-run raid on the municipio and got as far as the edge of the town square, where the municipio’s policemen stopped them and drove them away. The “Huks” came from the direction of Canalate. They must have travelled in bancas and landed on the banks of the river there, from their strongholds downstream. Lucio Tan, my classmate, lived across the street from Cine Estrella. He said that the “Huks” reached as far as the front of their house. He could hear them shooting and talking beneath his bedroom window. He could not understand them. They were probably using Kapampangan, the dialect used in the province of Pampanga. His account was corroborated by two of my classmates, by Victorino Hizon, who lived across the street, and by Manuel Crisostomo (who lived next door. (“Manoling” Crisostomo was to meet a tragic end a few years later, in his first year of medical school. He had come home for the weekend and was just entering their family house on Calle Pariancillo when he met the robbers, who were on their way out. He was shot dead by members of a notorious criminal gang led by “Ben Ulo”, from Tondo and Hagunoy. Manoling was a descendant of the Manuel Crisostomo who, with Inkong, was sent on exile during the last years of the Spanish era. )
That was the end of the period of relative peace and quiet that had prevailed in Malolos since early 1943. The war had come back.
One night, a few weeks into the 1944-1945 school year, at a little past midnight, we were awakened by a fusillade of gunshots. They came from Pariancillo St., from in front of the Cine Estrella, one block from Tampoy. The exchange of gunfire went on for, perhaps, five minutes then suddenly died down. A midnight-to-dawn curfew was in effect and no one could go out to find out what had happened. The following morning, we got the news. A group of suspected “Huks” had tried to make a hit-and-run raid on the municipio and got as far as the edge of the town square, where the municipio’s policemen stopped them and drove them away. The “Huks” came from the direction of Canalate. They must have travelled in bancas and landed on the banks of the river there, from their strongholds downstream. Lucio Tan, my classmate, lived across the street from Cine Estrella. He said that the “Huks” reached as far as the front of their house. He could hear them shooting and talking beneath his bedroom window. He could not understand them. They were probably using Kapampangan, the dialect used in the province of Pampanga. His account was corroborated by two of my classmates, by Victorino Hizon, who lived across the street, and by Manuel Crisostomo (who lived next door. (“Manoling” Crisostomo was to meet a tragic end a few years later, in his first year of medical school. He had come home for the weekend and was just entering their family house on Calle Pariancillo when he met the robbers, who were on their way out. He was shot dead by members of a notorious criminal gang led by “Ben Ulo”, from Tondo and Hagunoy. Manoling was a descendant of the Manuel Crisostomo who, with Inkong, was sent on exile during the last years of the Spanish era. )
That was the end of the period of relative peace and quiet that had prevailed in Malolos since early 1943. The war had come back.
The Tampoy folks began to worry about the situation. Of course, there was the constant underlying dread of what could happen because of the war. But there was also a more immediate fear, an upsurge of petty crimes. Some of the houses near the “dulo” had actually been victimized by thieves. During their regular “huntahan” the Tampoy men folk talked about this and decided to act. They organized themselves into a neighborhood alert group with several sub-groups, or “rondas” of about six men each. Every “ronda” was assigned the “guard duty” for one evening, from nightfall to midnight, when the nightly curfew would begin and everyone had to be home. A “ronda” usually was on duty every three days. The ronda members, which included all the adult men from the neighborhood, would patrol the area, from Tableria Shim Huat to Dr. Santiago’s “dulo” house. In between patrols, they would stay in a nipa-roofed kiosk, which they had built at the spot where they had been holding their daily “umpukan”. The kiosk had a plain nipa roof, open on all sides and had bamboo benches and tables. From this watch-kiosk, the members of the ronda could see both ends of Tampoy and detect any intruders. They carried bamboo poles as weapons and had a leashed dog to sound the alarm.
The “Huks”, for “Hukbalahap” (Hukbo ng Bayan Laban sa Hapon), or National Anti-Japanese Forces, were gaining strength. They were organized by Luis Taruc, Casto Alejandrino, Horacio Lava and Jesus Lava, all well-known socialist reformers, a few months after the fall of Bataan. They were to fight, guerilla style, against the Japanese. They recruited their first partisans from the farmers and fishermen of Pampanga and soon spread to the nearby towns of Bulacan, Tarlac and Nueva Ecija. By the middle of 1944, they had become strong enough to make lightning raids on urban centers in an effort to get firearms, ammunition and other equipment.
Following this incident, a 50-strong company from the GSC, for General Services Corps, came and was based in the old municipio or “casa real”, a short distance across the creek from the new municipio. The GSC was to be used against the “Huks”. The GSC soldiers were Filipinos, USAFFE veterans from the 71st and 91st PA Inf. Div. for the most part, Ilonggos and Warays from the islands of Negros, Samar and Leyte in the Visayas. Their uniform was khaki; short-sleeved shirt, Bermuda shorts and overseas cap. There was a Sgt. Turku, one of the platoon sergeants; a Cpl. Pasaporte and a non-USAFFE Maloleño private. There was also a lieutenant, one of the platoon leaders, whose identity I did not know then. Six years later, in college, I was to see him again.
One afternoon, not long after the GSC came, we heard the unusual buzzing of many voices coming from the town plaza. From our azotea, we could see a crowd crossing the bridge towards the crossroads in front of the casa real. We rushed to join what promised to be an exciting event. In front of the casa real, bound to a street post in the middle of the crossing, was a man, clad only in his “karsonsillo”. Uniformed GSC soldiers kept watch from the front gate of their base. Sergeant Turku was there, orchestrating what was going on. From the whispered conversations in the crowd, we learned that the GSC had captured the man, that he was a “Huk” who had been caught spying. Every few minutes, Sgt. Turku would approach the captive, shout at him, poke him with a bayonet and then go back to the “casa”. We soon grew tired of the show, went home and looked for better things to do. We later found out that the “Huk” was brought back inside the “casa” at sundown. Nothing more was heard about him.
We were certain that the Huks remained just at the western outskirts of town and we had a spent slug from a 30-caliber bullet to prove it. One afternoon, a group of us boys were playing on the roof of the parish church. Some of us climbed up the walls of the church tower to the belfry. One of the boys, Felino “Jun” Fernando, Jr., the elder brother of my playmate and classmate, Antonio, was pointing out a group of men in the fields just outside of town. Suddenly, we heard distant gunfire, followed by a sharp “ping” from one of the bells in the tower, and saw a spent 30-caliber slug fall on the tower floor. Jun retrieved it and we all clambered down to the ground. Everyone who was there kept the incident secret. To reveal it would have meant being banned from playing on the church roof, or worse.
The 1944 to1945 school year began. I was in Grade 6, still at the Immaculata Academy. There were a few changes in the composition of our class, but I cannot recall who had come or gone. We had a new class teacher, Mother Amparo, an Ilocana, and a “terror”. She had also been my teacher in Grade 5, where she taught Nippongo or Japanese and music. She was very strict and was notorious for her ear-pulling and arm-pinching ways. During her reign, the punishment tours I had to go through were more frequent and longer in duration. She was, however, an effective teacher and, besides, gave me good grades, not only in Nippongo but in all the other subjects she handled, which was almost all of them.
At the time, the Japanese military, never numerous, were in control of only the places where they were in sufficient numbers and which they could guard and patrol regularly. These were the areas around their bases and garrisons, important installations and along major transportation arteries. They were relying on the GSC and the police to keep the peace in, to the Japanese, less important areas.
In central and northern Luzon, anti-Japanese guerillas reigned outside the Japanese-controlled areas, with varying degrees of effectiveness. The more numerous US-supported guerillas had their command and supply bases in the Sierra Madre mountains of eastern Luzon, the Zambales mountains of western Luzon and the Cordillera and Caraballo mountains of northern Luzon. They had under their sphere of influence all of Northern Luzon, north of and including Pangasinan and Nueva Vizcaya, plus the provinces of Zambales and Bataan. They also had all of Tayabas province and the entire Bicol region. These places were both mountainous and accessible from the sea, essential for guerillas supplied with arms, ammunition and communication equipment by US Navy submarines. They went in and out of urban centers in those areas but avoided being too conspicuous. The local government officials were allies of the guerillas, for the most part, but could not show their true colors. Neither the government nor the guerillas wanted to have armed clashes between the guerillas and the Japanese. The guerillas were not yet strong enough. Besides, no one wanted to push the Japanese to the point where they would turn on the civilian populace.
These guerilla groups were not under any unified command. They were like independent tribes, with their own local chieftains. Every province had its own guerilla “regiment”. The only thing they had in common was that they had the same training, operating practices, nomenclature and experience; most of their top brass being USAFFE veterans. Only later, when they had received reliable communications equipment via submarine and started to be coordinated by the AFWESPAC (Allied Forces in the Western Pacific), did they begin to cooperate with one another.
The less numerous Huks had the land-locked Central Plains provinces of Tarlac, Nueva Ecija, Pampanga and half of Bulacan. Their main base was thickly forested Mount Arayat, right smack in the middle of the plains, far from any sea or ocean. Because of their more compact territory, the Huks were more cohesive than the other guerilla groups. The Huks were neither supported nor supplied by the US, except for one of its units, the Banal Regiment, led by Jose “Banal” Poblete, embedded in Macabebe, Pampanga, on the Pampanga-Bulacan border. This Huk unit had links with the nearby ex-USAFFE BMA guerillas in Calumpit and shared in some of the support which the BMA received from the US. Like the other guerilla groups, the Huks enjoyed the support of the civilian population and local government officials.
The province of Bulacan was split between the Huks and the guerillas. The north and west of the province were under the Huks while the east and south were under the guerillas. Malolos, situated in the middle of the province, was on the demarcation line and was also split in halves. The “poblacion” or town proper was guerilla territory, and so were the eastern suburbs. The barrios to the west were the Huks’. At first, the guerillas and the Huks kept out of each other’s way. However, they were later involved in boundary disputes and deadly skirmishes soon erupted between them.
The GSC, who were secretly allied to the guerillas, began to conduct regular squad-sized foot patrols in the western outskirts of Malolos, which they knew to be frequented by the Huks. The Japanese worried about the northern outskirts and the areas next to the national highway and railroad, which ran parallel to each other. They did not bother about the east and south since these were relatively peaceful. It was not long before the GSC patrols ran in harm’s way.
One morning, at about ten o’clock, a group of us boys were idling in front of the church. Suddenly, we saw Sgt. Turku hurriedly trotting down the street from the direction of Atlag, headed for the GSC base. He was alone, all-sweaty, and out of breath. He was carrying his rifle in one hand while a loaded “bayong” dangled from the other.
Some time later, towards noon, two army trucks with machine guns poised on top of their cabs and filled with Japanese soldiers trundled up the street towards Atlag. The GSC remained out of sight. It was lunchtime; we were hungry and went home. Besides, the Nippon soldiers did not seem to be in the mood for audiences this time. They were grimly alert and looked like they were ready to start shooting at the slightest provocation.
Later that afternoon we went back to our usual haunts in the church patio where we saw a throng gathering. In the shadow of the tall wooden cross outside the church door were rows of uncovered bodies, about a dozen of them, clad in khaki shirts and shorts but shoeless. The Japanese, upon arriving in Atlag, had found nothing but dead GSC soldiers there. The barrio had been evacuated by its residents. No shots were exchanged then and no Japanese got hurt. With no enemy in sight and probably feeling that they had to report back some results, the Japanese burned down some of the houses, went back to their garrison at the capitol grounds and left it to the Filipino civilian officials to sort things out. Dead Filipino soldiers were not the Japanese’s concern. To them, it was just an inconsequential fight between Filipinos. The municipal government retrieved the bodies and brought them to the churchyard. There were no coffins. The municipio had very limited funds.
We went from body to body, some of whom looked familiar; Cpl. Pasaporte was one of them. We waved away the flies, examined the wounds, wondered at how bullets would leave hardly-visible holes where they entered the body and huge ones where they exited, remarked at the peculiar smell of dried human blood and kept our ears open. After a while, from the wealth of rumors being floated around, we pieced together what had happened in Atlag.
Early that morning, the GSC foot patrol went past Atlag, had reached the outer limit of their reconnaissance in the barrio of Matimbo, and were headed back to the poblacion. The patrol had been routine and they were relaxed as they made their way home. Arriving back at the river bridge in Atlag, they saw some men in bancas, loaded with milkfish. Seeing a chance to get some free “bangus” (kotong) for lunch, and maybe even supper, the detachment halted at the foot of the bridge. Some of the soldiers, including the patrol leader, Sgt. Turku, went down to the river’s edge, talked with the fishermen and came back to the road with their share of the bangus. The bangus-laden patrol had reached the fields at the outskirts of Atlag when the ambush was sprung. Huks hidden behind the pilapil, on one side of the road leading out of the barrio, opened fire on them. The sergeant, who was in the lead, took to his heels and escaped with his rifle and his bangus-filled bayong. The others were killed on the spot or hunted down. The private from Malolos managed to elude his ambushers for a while. He ran back to the Atlag “bisita” or chapel, where he was intercepted by the fishermen-Huks waiting at the riverbank, cornered and killed. His body was not among those in the churchyard. It had been claimed by his family and brought home.
Later that afternoon, a priest came out to bless the dead who were afterwards wrapped in woven grass mats or “banig” and buried that same night in the municipal cemetery. They were all from the Visayas and there was no money for their proper wake and burial or return home.
A few days later, we learned that the much-weakened GSC company in the “casa real” had disappeared. One rumor had it that they had been assigned elsewhere. Another said that they had gone to the mountains, fully armed and equipped, to join their guerilla-allies in the BMA. Another said that they went out to hunt down their comrade’s ambushers in the fields outside of town, that they were met by a much larger force of Huks and annihilated. I found out what really happened to them six years later, during my first year in college.
In my first year in college, during ROTC, I recognized and had a chat with one of our tactical or supervising officers, the platoon leader in the GSC company in Malolos, Lt. Jose Puerto. (During his stay in Malolos, he had met one of the Reyes young ladies; a meeting which led to a wedding some years later.) He was an Ilonggo, an ROTC graduate, an officer in the 71st PA “Ilonggo” Div. and fought in Bataan. He could not return home after release from concentration camp and was forced by circumstances to join the GSC. After the Atlag ambush, they knew that their days were numbered, that something bad was waiting for them in the hands of either the Japanese or the Huks. So they decided to disappear from Malolos and later reappear with their ex-USAFFE guerilla comrades in the BMA, taking their firearms and scant supply of ammunition with them. Before they left, they floated the rumor that they were leaving that night to search for and destroy the Huks who had killed their comrades.
The BMA, for Bulacan Military Area, was the USAFFE-affiliated guerilla group which covered eastern and southern Bulacan, including most of the towns. The rest of the province, which included the towns of Bulacan, Hagunoy and Paombong, was under the Huks. The provinces to the south, including Manila, were under other USAFFE guerilla groups, such as the Hunters-ROTC group in Rizal, the Marking Regiment in Laguna, the Vinzon’s Guerillas in the Camarines. The BMA was organized and led by Alejo Santos, a captain in the USAFFE. He was a native Bulakeño, from the eastern town of Bustos. Most of his top men, including Pedro Viudez, Adonais Maclang and Patricio Lapuz were, like him, veterans of the Luzon and Bataan campaigns.
There was no replacement for that GSC unit. Only the short-handed and poorly-equipped town police force was left to cope. Their side arms had been confiscated by the Japanese and they were left with only their “batuta” or nightsticks. They stayed mostly inside the municipio, venturing out only during the day. The midnight-to-dawn curfew was extended to ten hours, 8 PM to 6 AM. Pairs of Japanese soldiers patrolled the town’s main streets during curfew hours.
Tampoy’s neighborhood rondas ceased to operate.
Almost every morning after that, at the end of the curfew, we would hear of bodies being found in town. Some of them were probably caught violating the curfew and were summarily killed. Others were caught in regular raids conducted by the military, suspected of being Huks or guerillas, tortured in the Japanese garrison, executed and left in the streets to be collected by the civilian authorities. Most common causes of death were bayonet wounds and slashed throats. There was one victim I knew. He was Jeremias “Jerry” Angeles who lived at the Barrio Santiago portion of Pariancillo St. He was a freshman college student when the war began and was the elder brother of Aznar, who was to be my classmate in high school. He was found one morning on the glorietta of Barasoain church, almost completely decapitated. Later we learned that he was part of the BMA guerilla network in Malolos, a courier and spy.
But not all of the killings were done by the Japanese. Sometimes, early in the morning, we would hear about a “viaje”, or trip, being held the previous night, in the depth of the curfew. It was easy to know when a “viaje” was going on, if one was a light sleeper. One would hear running feet and a “cariton” or push cart rushing down Tampoy headed towards the “dulo”. One of the neighborhood kids, Eduardo Garcia, claimed to have seen one of the “viajes”. He saw several men running down Tampoy towards the “dulo” dead-end, pushing a cariton with a long sack-wrapped bundle on it. Later the men walked back towards the municipio, still pushing the already empty cariton. The older folks would not talk about these “viajes” but the gossip was that the deserted and overgrown “dulo” was being used by the guerillas for burying their prey. This was confirmed, to our minds without any doubt, when the Tampoy kids received parental orders, in no uncertain terms, to keep away from the “dulo”, or else.
A shoeshine boy who was called “Manyo”, who lived near the abandoned and unused local bus depot near the town plaza, claimed that he witnessed something scarier than the “viaje” Eddie Garcia had seen. He was at his usual daytime post at the bus depot when a Japanese soldier came and asked him for a shine. He was busily working when he noticed two men, whom he knew were guerillas, approaching the Japanese from behind, one of them motioning at him to keep quiet. He was, of course, scared silly, but he continued working and kept his head down, hoping that the Japanese would not notice his fright. The guerillas choked the Japanese with a piece of wire and dragged him away. His body was probably hidden away somewhere nearby and then brought to the “dulo” on a “viaje” that same night.
Money-driven economic activity had ground to a halt. The Japanese-issued currency was worthless. It took a whole “bayong” filled with Japanese notes to buy a “salop” or ganta of rice. Business reverted to barter trade. That was not much of a problem for the Tampoy folks. We had plenty of palay, which had become a valuable barter commodity. Everyday Eya, Tia Helen and Inang would go to the market, bringing with them a bagful of palay. They would come back with food which could not be grown in the backyard. Other household needs were bartered for; bar laundry soap or “sabong intsik”, made from lye-laced coconut oil and the only soap available, charcoal for the clothes iron, coconut oil for the lamps, and matches. Footwear like “bakyas”, “sapatillas” and “chinelas”, made of wood and leather, were also purchased that way. We could also barter for used flour sacks, curtains or drapes which could be recycled and sewn into clothes. Inang proved to be adept at this recycling and sewing. Our “new” clothes either had flour sack markings on them or were “bulaklakin”, printed with colored flowers, just like what they hang on windows.
Government ceased to function effectively, although public markets and schools were kept open. Civilians were left mostly to their own resources but because of inbred discipline, which was part of Filipino character then, there was no descent to anarchy. Of course, bodies continued to be found, sprawled on the streets or floating on the creek, part of the three-cornered duels between Japanese, Huks and guerillas. The authorities took care of burying the dead in the streets but those on the creek were left to float downstream to Manila Bay. There were too many. Pulling them out of the creek, bringing them to the cemetery and burying them would have been too messy and expensive a job.
We soon adapted to the new smells, sights and sounds produced by the creek. Whenever there was a hint of a distinctively odious odor in the air, we knew what was coming. All the windows, which opened on the creek, were shut tight and everyone stayed away from that side of the house. The stink would become progressively stronger and more unbearable as the creek brought the source closer. After a few minutes, the creek current would bring gradual relief to our nostrils and the “nose alert” would be lifted, which was what quickly happened during the rainy season, when the river flowed very rapidly. But things were very different during the dry season, when the creek’s downstream flow was more sluggish. Then it took much longer before the “all clear” could be sniffed. Things got worse when the tide was high in Manila Bay and the creek stopped flowing or even reversed itself and flowed upstream. Then, we had to suffer for hours. The worst was when the “floater’ would be snagged on one of the tree branches which hang over the creek and long bamboo poles had to be brought out to free it. Sometimes the pole accidentally would pierce the already distended body and cause a geyser of indescribable colors and stench. But the worst, at least for the kids, was that we could no longer fish in the creek nor use it as a swimming pool and playground.
