I remember last year on this date I wanted to do a broadcast over KZRH about St. Valentine. I went down to Church House to consult the library and Father Gray about certain facts relative to St. Valentine. I ran into Bishop Binsted—new in our diocese, had been banished from Japan—and Bishop Wilner. They dropped their own work and turned to and helped me find all the data available. Those happy days!

Bishop Binsted had been interned with the staff of the High Commissioner. He has just been released to his own home, and is doing a splendid service for everyone, as he speaks Japanese and seems to know how to get along with them.

This is Saturday night, the night when everyone always flitted about and had fun. The French restaurant was always gay with special dinner parties—ladies in beautiful evening gowns, men in elegant white dinner coats before going on to jai alai or dancing. Jai alai was always a favorite sport of mine. I used to see the last game very often, leaving my maitre d’hétel to close up the restaurant. Today as I passed the building long lines of soldiers’ undies were flying from the sun porches of the Sky Room—that gay and sophisticated rendezvous of all Manila—all frivolous Manila, at any rate. Curse this war, curse it heartily! This Saturday night all that I see is tinged with yellow, and all that I hear is that hideous sound of dragging feet and guttural grunts.

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