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March 17, 1942

The hundredth day of the war—another Hundred Days ended the career of Napoleon who thought he was supreme. It’s going to take us a little longer, obviously. News sounds pretty good but Hi, that old realist, always analyzes news and rumors right down to their pockets, ending by depressing me beyond all words. Riding the Green Dragon is somewhat depressing too, to say nothing of scarred shins and knees. The Jap truck drivers have a nasty habit of running cyclists into the ditch and then snickering happily when one falls off—as I always do! I ought to get a citation, bloody knees rampant on a field of crossed wheels. Can’t even listen to the radio. Japs are jamming it.

We are really silly people. Had another meeting of the Social Pariah Club this afternoon. Impromptu, and varied. Even the Bishop dropped in for a few minutes and had a cup of coffee. He is a splendid person and seems not to mind a little frivolity and levity. He is working hard. At our Round Table this afternoon we were reminiscing about the Japanese habit of sending ashes home in those queer little boxes. So we thought we could start another club: the Send Your Ashes Home For Fifty Cents Association.

I am not really suffering, except mental anguish, but it’s horrible knowing that Bataan and Corregidor are slowly being murdered, that all my friends are locked up in camp, feeling that awful sense of complete isolation from my own country, and to have to bow to these yellow swine—all this fills me with such impotent rage that I’m seething with apoplexy I’m sure. Somebody told me that a good hearty rage brought out the adrenalin in one’s blood stream and created energy. Then I ought to be a human dynamo!

Heard that MacArthur has gone to Australia. That’s somewhat of a blow. Suppose that means that Corregidor is really finished. Guess he wouldn’t be much use to the United States or the Philippines if he were captured. Maybe he can do something with the convoy we hear went to Australia or New Zealand or someplace. It sure never got here. Anyhow, Coregidor 1s keeping the Japs so busy they haven’t time to start on Australia yet.

Are the Japs mad? They’ve found out there is very little money left in the banks. Most of the cash and securities were rushed to Corregidor and have (so I hear) been sent out via submarine to the United States!

I also hear that the Intelligence records were saved, but in getting them over, the boat was rammed and sunk,
so all the dossiers of Manilaites are at the bottom of the sea.

Japs were here today about this place. They are still treating me as a neutral but they do want the place. They even offered to let me stay as manager and keep the staff going. But I had to run it as they wanted it run—as a night club, and heaven knows what else.

I do not dare go to the French consul who is a Vichy man. He hasn’t turned me in as an ardent DeGaullist yet, probably because I sent him such a good cook. He knows my sentiments, but certainly won’t do anything to help me, nor will he harm me.

Food prices are getting alarming. Another year of this and we will be hungry. We’re better off than Europe, for we have no cold season and we could grow food. Maybe my farm origin will come in handy.