Bataan and Death March remembered

Yesterday, I noted that only a few still recall the fall of Bataan and the death march. Details of the tragic episode in our history I still remembered as told to me by Pedic Patosa, the nephew of the late Fr. Jose Patosa, parish priest of Our Lady of the Holy Rosary of Fabrica parish in Sagay.

I was then barely eight years old when Pedic, still trying to rehabilitate from his ordeal, showed up in Fabrica. He was there looking for a source of livelihood for his family. And, naturally, the parish priest was in the best position to help him. He was immediately employed as a sacristan of the parish.

Although still young, I listened with interest to his tales of the ordeal of the fighting 71st Regiment had undergone in the peninsula.

For some, the tales of heroism appeared to have been exaggerated. But his recitation of the death march was the thing that stuck to me.

Anyway, it is good that the whole thing is just remembered by a handful now. I managed to relive the tales when I visited Mt. Samat memorial with my late wife, Dr. Lourdes Espina and grandson Julio.

But the thing that I remembered was the story of the sacrifice undergone by the survivors of the march.

With that, I also remembered the Holy Saturday Paschal Vigil in Paraiso, together with the late Amalio Jayme, later also a seminarian.

That thing that I best remember was the long hours which my late father, Sir Knight Fulgencio Espina devoted himself to paint the picture of the crucifixion and the resurrection of Christ.

Only a few were aware that Papa was a painter whose works were treasured by the parish. And we, the three of us, spent hours together readying ourselves for that Paschal Vigil.

At the time, the church was religiously dedicated to the rite of the First Fire and the distribution of the first seeds of the farm – vegetables, corn, etc.

There was no problem of lights. There was hardly any available. Frankly, through, Fabrica looked more like Hong Kong because the former Insular Lumber Company generated enough power to light up Villacin Uno and the neighboring barangays.

Although we had not yet reached puberty, we also spent the night keeping vigil. Early the next morning, we woke up and joined the rite for the meeting of Christ with his mother, Mary. The girls, although it was wartime, did manage to dress in white. The encuentro, as they used to call it, was something which truly thrilled us. Of course, today, that rite is usually attended only by a handful of teenagers. But at that time, it was the favorite of the youngsters. There was no other as festive as it.

And, yes, when the parish priest intoned that Gloria, most of us youngsters had our necks seized by the collar and were hoisted up. The belief then was that it would help us grow.

Today, such belief is considered as pure superstition or mere cultural lore believed by us and we went into it with gusto.

I remember that the convent of Fr. Patosa was the usual meeting place of the intelligence agents in Fabrica at that time. I wondered why the Japanese had never managed to get it. Well, I guess, the garrison then, just did not mind the religious.

Sometimes, the late Arthur Cooper would show up at the convent and used to draw into Fr. Patosa’s enclave some of the known anti-Japanese elements of Fabrica.

My father and mother were then members of the intelligence network of the guerilla along with others like Tiyo Miguel Jeanjaquet, Tomas Bagatsing, elder brother of the late Manila Mayor Ramon Bagatsing, the Angeles sisters, among others.

Anyway, these are just my disjointed remembrance of those years triggered by yesterday’s commemoration of the fall of Bataan which has slowly faded into the background among the young – which is quite good. For years, I have questioned why our country loves the recollection of a national tragedy. But, perhaps, that was the thing that also kept us together through the wars. The memory of our fall and surrender. Plus, of course, the promised “I shall return” by the late General Douglas MacArthur. But, for me, I thought that was best that we had developed celebrations for our victories as a people.*

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