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Vol. 60. No. 1 A Publication of UMA, Inc. January – March 2020 Editor: Daniel Gomes, 2021 Ptarmigan Drive #1 Walnut Creek, Ca 94595 E-Mail:[email protected] UMA Website: www.uma-casademacau.com. Webmaster: Maria Gomes. E-Mail:[email protected] Memories of World War II Henry d'Assumpcao, An Oral History It was December 8th 1941, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary, one of the ten Holy Days of Obligation. For me, then seven years old in Hong Kong, it was a holiday from school, for my older brother Carlinho’s a half-holiday. So breakfast was leisurely served that morning when our father announced solemnly: "War can start any time: next month, next week or even tomorrow.” In fact it started about an hour later that morning. This is a potpourri of memories of World War II – some my own, many passed on from my parents and others. My parents had moved from Macau to Hong Kong in about 1930, along with thousands of other families seeking jobs. We lived in Ho Man Tin, the suburb developed by Anthony Correa’s great-grandfather Francisco "Frank" Soares. There were some grand mansions there but we lived in a small rented 3-bedroom apartment— my parents, three children and our devoted amah. Let me introduce you to a couple of our neighboring families, because they feature in this story. Behind us, on one side, lived the Gosanos. This is a picture of the Gosano family taken after the war - Mrs. Adeliza Gosano had been widowed tragically and had to raise not only her own nine children but also four orphaned nephews. Those were the days before social security and I cannot imagine how they coped, but cope they did. The older boys left school at the age of 14 to work to support the family and give the younger children an education. UMA News Bulletin Winter Issue 2020 Page 1 of 20 Old Mrs. Gosano was tough and devout; one of my earliest memories was of her urging me to pray: "You can pray anytime, anywhere", she said, "even when sitting on the toilet". The Gosano boys were famous in the Portuguese community for their prowess in a variety of sports — soccer, cricket, athletics, baseball, rowing and swimming. Also at the back lived the Yvanovichs, Portuguese but with their surname from an ancestor from Dalmatia. Ours was a close community. This is a photo of a birthday party for my brother Carlinho in 1936, You may know some of these people: Calau Yvanovich and Chappy Remedios; Therese Remedios between Gerald and Shirley Van Langenberg (Arthur’s brother and sister); Frank and Bosco Correa, Anthony’s father and uncle; and me in the arms of one of the Yvanovich girls. Life seemed to me secure. But in 1941 war threatened: Japan had already occupied Canton (Guangzhou) and preparations were made in Hong Kong for likely hostilities: there were air raid wardens and practice blackouts and we had been trained on what to do if bombed: crouch under a table, lock your hands over your head and open your mouth wide so that the blast would not burst your ear drums. My parents had stocked up the larder with food in anticipation. At 8am on December 8, not long after breakfast, the Gosano men at the back called to us from the roof of their house to point out Japanese planes attacking Kai Tak airport. So war came to us in Hong Kong just four hours after the attack on Pearl Harbor. Hurriedly we took shelter next door in the Houghton’s underground garage. I was not at all worried and sat on the floor reading my comic book. An older boy — Danny or Bobby — shoved my head down when we heard bombs fall — I do not know where — but they could not have been too far away. I can remember clearly the shrill whistle of bombs, sliding down in frequency. Now that I know a little physics, I understand that that changing Doppler frequency meant that the bombs would miss: if the frequency had remained steady, the bombs would have been heading straight for us. UMA News Bulletin Winter Issue 2020 Page 2 of 20 The Japanese invaded Hong Kong with overwhelming military superiority, launching three Divisions against two Brigades of Commonwealth troops, with complete dominance of air and sea. It took only a few days for them to overrun the defences of Kowloon and drive the British in retreat to Hong Kong Island which surrendered on Christmas day. All British men, women & children were put into concentration camps. We were Portuguese national, and Portugal was neutral in this war, but many Portuguese men had enlisted in the HKVDC; they too were imprisoned. In the short interregnum between the retreat of the British to Hong Kong Island and the Japanese occupation, there was a collapse of law and order in Kowloon followed by widespread looting. For safety, we with 393 other Portuguese citizens took refuge in the home of Frank Soares, who was the Acting Portuguese Consul. We were all cramped in and sleeping on the floor. I cannot imagine how toilets were managed because there were no sewage system. Of course we had to pull our resources and my father’s carefully hoarded supplies were shared with those who had not prepared. We were not sure how the Japanese will respect our Portuguese neutrality? Would the women be raped? Fearing for her safety, my Aunty Bachay made herself as unattractive as possible, even dusting her hair with ashes, in the event, the Japanese did respect our neutrality and we could return home. My Uncle Assau had taken the decision to stay on in his apartment in Kowloon with his family. I remember that his front door had a small square glass peep-hole through which one could look out, and also look in. When looters came they saw his young children through the peep-hole and threatened to harm them unless they were admitted. Now before the war everyone was supposed to hand in their hunting rifles to the British authorities but Uncle Assau had retained his. He raised the muzzle up to the peep-hole, fired and heard the looters scamper away. A little later he noticed some liquid under the door and thought someone must have urinated, but it turned out to be the blood of a looter he had just killed. This anarchy did not last long: when the Japanese took over, order was restored, instantly and ruthlessly. I was told that looters who were caught were lined up on the waterfront and machine-gunned. One day my father chased and caught a petty thief whom he turned over to the Japanese. He later regretted his action because he saw the poor fellow, crestfallen, being led away in a party of criminals, no doubt to his death. There was another story about a family friend who was taking a walk through the hills when he came across a Japanese execution party beheading prisoners. He was ordered to help and was handed a sword. He started by holding the sword in one hand above his head but they corrected him: the proper way, they instructed, was to grasp the sword in both hands and bring it down. This image shows the execution of Australian commando Sgt. Leonard Stiffleet in Papua New Guinea. UMA News Bulletin Winter Issue 2020 Page 3 of 20 One hears so many accounts of Japanese atrocities during the war but we also saw their humane side. Japanese soldiers came to our apartment demanding my mother’s sewing machine. She begged them not to take it, offering instead to repair their clothes herself. So they brought their torn and bloodstained uniforms to her and made themselves at home while my mother did the mending. They repaid us with some food: I can remember a steaming hot tray of corned beef from their canteen. My first impression of the Japanese soldiers was their odd boots, with split toes. The Japanese soldiers were fond of us children and obviously enjoyed being again in a family environment. I had some American comics about US pilots fighting in China with the Chinese against the Japanese and was worried when they started to leaf through them, but was relieved when they only laughed. Here is a photo of me with Gilberto da Silva and two Japanese soldiers in our apartment. I didn’t want to be in a photo with the enemy so I cut it in half. That was the action of a seven year-old which to day I regret. One of the visitors was a Japanese officer. I was told that a samurai sword is never drawn in anger, but this officer showed me his sword. One evening some soldiers came to our apartment armed with bayonets and took my mother to a back room. I can imagine what was going through my father’s mind, but it was needless. It turned out they were protecting my mother from some drunken Korean and Formosan officers on a rampage looking for women. The Japanese soldiers were protecting my mother. That was one side of the Japanese. The Yvanovich family were not so lucky. Uncle Pito had been travelling between Hong Kong and Macau on business. On suspicion that he was a spy passing messages for the British he was captured and tortured by the Kapeitia, the Japanese Secret Police. One of his daughters Lolita brought a precious food parcel to camp every week for over three months before a kindly Taiwanese guard let her see her packages neatly arrayed along the wall.

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