Fr. Arthur Price
We arrive in Manila on a beautiful tropical evening just before sunsets, four newly ordained priests, Father James McDevitt, Dermot Feeny, Martin Strong and Arthur Price. We made our way to Malate church, which we found in a festive mood as that annual novena in honor of Our Lady of Remedies was then in Progress. It was on November 15, 1936. A wonderful atmosphere of relaxed enjoyment. Religion was really seemed to be the center of the lives of these people in more ways than one.
Within the next few hours we met the priest of the parish: Father Patrick Kelly, the genial priest who was well known to most people in Manila as he was also the parish priest of the English- speaking community; Fr, John Henaghan, famed as a special preacher and the spiritual director counselor and friend; Fr. Joseph Monaghan, the tireless propagator of the Legion of Mary; Fr. John Lalor, a veteran from China who had been left dead along the roadside after an encounter with the bandits, but who had survived to begin the new missionary career in the new entirely environment of the Philippines. Fr. Ned McCarthy, founder of Student Catholic Action and a tireless worker for youth, especially in the University of the Philippines and non-sectarian colleges
We four are graciously welcomed by the Malate priest and we soon received our assignments. Mine was to go to Silang where Fr. Peter Fallon was industrially trying to restore an old Spanish church, as well as the faith in the area. My assignment was to learn the language. Fr. Fallon got the local boy for me; we studied together in the morning and went out in the afternoon for practice our simple words and sentences on the people - poor people!
The even tenor of our way received the rude interruption with the outbreak war on December 8, 1941. At the time I was parish priest of Cardona, a new parish we had taken on some time previously, where I was to spend the next two years trying to keep an even keel between the Japanese Imperial Army, the patriotic guerillas and the opportunistic collaborators. I still used to make an occasional sortie into Manila, but every journey was a risk both for me and for those I visited, especially as I was supposed to wear a Japanese- inscribed red armband telling the people that I was definitely non grata, and was to be avoided at all costs.
As time moved on and the war turned more and more against Japan, the crew’s tightening was felt more keenly. Hunger everywhere; fear of such an intensity that the people where afraid to talk to their closest friends except about vague generalities; torture, death, uncertainty, inability to communicate - these were some of the thing most felt. In some ways people in the provinces had more resources, and local supervision was less intense but you could see the physical condition of the people deteriorating day by day. The great phrase of hope at the time ‘Pagdating ni Cano’ (When the Americans come back things will be better).
I remember seeing Fr. Henaghan making the station of the Cross in Malate Church after Fr. Frank Douglas was taken in Palilla in 1943. I never realized the meaning of ‘vicarious suffering’ till then. It was an atmosphere of the Legion of Mary thrived greatly, and indeed all-church organization gave hope to the people in their long torturous road to Calvary.
Fr. Kelly being the parish priest of the English people in Manila, was able to wangle a pass from Japanese Headquarter early in the war when enemy national were intended at the University of Sto. Thomas, and he use the pass to the full. Although there were a number of priests in the UST camp, he insisted on his rights to maintain the contact with his parishioners, and he took tremendous risk in so doing, as he was one of the few sources of the contact between the internees and the outside world. His finest hour was when caring for the sick and wounded war victims during the liberation of Manila he was killed by an American shell.
On July 4, 1944, the Japanese made a sudden swoop to pick up all enemy aliens not previously interned. I was missed in the round – up, but realizing the difficulty I would have to face later if found, and the punishment liable to be inflicted on the people who had harbored me - as they wanted to do – I sent a message to Manila to say I was still in Cardona. A reply came back to come to Manila and report to Fort Santiago. This I decided to skip, but I made a contact with the Apostolic Nuncio and was finally told to stay in the Malate Church until picked up.
Fr. Martin Strong and myself were there for several weeks and we began to think we have been forgotten, when, one fine afternoon, a military truck came, loaded us on board with the secretary of he Apostolic Nuncio, picked up a lone American Maryknoll Sister, who was actually taken from her sick- bed, and a totally blind Jesuit priest, Fr. McCafrey.
They took us to the UST gymnasium and from there we were taken to new concentration camp in Los Baños, which held some 1,500 people including about 500 priests, religious and missionaries. Truly they ‘ had a little list’ and if you were on it there was no place for dialogue.
The four Malate priest were there to see us off, Fr. Henaghan, Lalor, Monaghan and Kelly. Not much was said but they probably thought they would not see us again. They worried for us. Little did we know that it was we who should have worrying for them. Because, strangely enough, we were the ones who survived…
Shortly after our dramatic liberation from Los Baños, by the 11th U.S. Airforce Division, Arch-bishop O’Doherty of Manila came to visit us. He was the first to tell us about the tragedy that had happened in Malate. He told us that the whole area had been devastated and that thousand of parishioners were unaccounted for, and that the four Malate priest were missing…missing forever.
What had happen to Malate? All the priests had stayed at their posts serving the people in every possible way for as long as they could. One February day, while the siege of Manila was in progress, they were rounded up in Malate, together with a group of parishioners who happened to be around, and march off to the Syquia Apartments, a large building near the church. They were never heard of or seen again, their bodies have never been found- they lie somewhere under he soil of Manila in a nameless grave.