by Sr Constancia V. Peña RVM

The writer is number 16, the lone survivor in a family of twenty: 12 boys and eight girls. The living descendants of her parents number more than 200 grand, great-grand, great-great-grand, great-great-great-grand, and great-great-great-great-grandchildren, five generations. Interestingly, there are ten sets of twins: one set of male and female, six sets of females and three sets of males. There was that so-called ‘baby boom’ in the fifties and sixties, but members of this large family were born in 1902 through 1930.

Sr Constancia with family members and Fr Kevin McHugh SSC

Being the lone survivor, I can’t keep track of all my relatives since they are scattered all over the Philippines, Canada, the USA and Europe.It is quite an experience in the Philippines that those who have large families live close to each other, and help sustain and encourage each other in times of calamity, death, accident or some tragic happening. This is a common trait among Filipinos. Children in large families are closer emotionally than children in small families. There is a notion that as children multiply, parents love them less and cannot give them the time and interest necessary for their proper development. This is a misconception. God grants the necessary grace to accept all children and love them equally.

My father, Tiburcio, was a self-employed man and my mother, Constancia Valenzuela, a housekeeper. Although we were 20 siblings, I lived to see only thirteen of us because some had died before I was born and others had gotten married and lived independently with their own families. I lived and grew up with only six of my brothers and sisters. The seven of us were the last to be born and at intervals of one to two years. Camilo was 14th, Adel 15th, Cons (myself) 16th, Pachy 17th, Angie 18th, Tancho 19th and Resty 20th.

In the beginning

My parents were parishioners of Sta Ana, grew up there and received the sacraments of Baptism and Confirmation at Sta Ana Catholic Church. On 15 August 1901 they were married there. The twenty siblings were baptized and confirmed in the same church, except the first twins who died immediately after birth.

Narciso (2nd), through his perseverance, worked while studying, became a lawyer and sent Adel (15th) and me (16th) to college.  We both graduated on 19 March 1941, with Archbishop Michael O’Doherty of Manila officiating at Adel’s ceremony at St Paul’s Hospital, while I had mine at Malate Catholic Church with the Apostolic Delegate, Archbishop Guglielmo Piani SDB, presiding. We missed each other’s graduation rites. I feel nostalgic whenever I recall this wonderful event.

Sibling pride

Esmeralda Peña (one of the author's brothers)
and family. He died during WWII

Narciso, all through the years, served the government at the office of the Register of Deeds, Manila. He rose from the ranks to Deputy Register and eventually put up a law office at the Madrigal Building in Escolta, while teaching part time. He went back to God on Ash Wednesday 1986 at the age of 83 after a life fully lived. My favorite brother whom I loved so much . . . a truly upright, self-made man in the true sense of the word; he was a fourth-degree Knight of Columbus.

Camilo (14th) followed in the footsteps of Narciso. Determined to be a lawyer, he worked his way through. He was a self-made man and aspired to be a criminal lawyer. He succeeded and earned his LL.B. degree. Among his clientele were financially poor people whom he did not charge for his professional services. There was a client whom he defended in court who became so excited when acquitted he suffered a fatal heart attack.

After graduation, the Maryknoll Sisters employed four of us graduates to teach at Maryknoll in Lucena from June till December 1941 when the Philippines got involved in World War II. We teachers from Manila had to leave Lucena to join our families. People in the city were just restless and seemed not to know what to do or where to go.

The war years

Family memories with Fr Thomas Connolly SSC

The married members of the family and their children evacuated from Manila, some to Pililla, Rizal, others to Teresa and Baras, and still others to Cavite. Four of us with our parents fled to Cardona and stayed with a friend of my father. My younger brother Tancho (19th) joined the guerilla movement in the mountains while Adel (15th) served in hospitals to minister to the wounded and the sick. It was in Cardona that we met Columban Father Arthur Price, the parish priest. [Editor’s note: Father Price, a New Zealander, came to the Philippines in 1936. Apart from a stint in Australia and New Zealand from 1948 to 1950 he spent all his time in the Philippines and died in Manila in 1996. He was interned by the Japanese in Los Baños in 1944.] I agreed to catechize the children of the parish while schools were closed. I hadn’t started when we learned that Manila was declared an ‘Open City’. So my parents decided that we should return to our house there.

Memories of war

In 9 February 1945 at high noon, Japanese soldiers stood in formation on both sides of Del Pan St in Sta Ana where we lived, all pointing their machine guns at the houses. We thought it was merely a rehearsal of the kind which they usually had, only to find out after the Liberation that they were waiting for the signal from their superior officer to open fire on the houses with all the occupants in them. My mother, a 150-lb woman, in her great fear and anxiety, aided by a burst of adrenaline, climbed the five-foot concrete wall all by herself to get to the yard of my uncle, our next-door neighbor.

I shall always remember my mother for her forte, cooking delicious Spanish dishes for us and for the families of my married sisters and brothers.  Her legacy to us and to all her grandchildren is genuine mechado and morcon, our favorites among all her dishes.  To this day, I hear the grandchildren speak with pride of her delicious Spanish dishes. They have even tried to cook her recipes, and not a few have been successful.  How we all enjoyed and relished her cooking with its zestful flavor!

One day, tall, lanky American soldiers in fatigues swam across the Pasig River which separated Sta Ana from Mandaluyong, for the connecting bridge had been blown up by the Japanese. Upon reaching the shores of Sta Ana, they walked in single file down Del Pan St. Seeing them passing by, we rejoiced in gleeful triumph shouting at the top of our voices: ‘We are liberated! The Americans have liberated us!’

Price of liberation

At the same time this was happening, the Japanese fled with their guns from the end of Del Pan St towards Paco, Ermita, Malate and Intramuros, where the great massacre took place. In the nick of time the people of Sta Ana were saved from the Japanese. Tens of thousands were killed by the ruthless Japanese before they retreated; others were killed by friendly fire.

A touching experience

Many witnessed ‘dog-fights’ in the air between American and Japanese fighter-planes. One day at noon a US plane was shot down by the Japanese after a long ‘dog-fight’. The US pilot was shot by the Japanese several times from all directions as he parachuted so that when he touched down he was already dead. From his plane a tiny baby’s sock was carried by the wind in our direction and fell near our house. When I examined the little sock, my heart went out to the baby and his dad; I whispered a prayer for them. The pilot must have kept his baby’s sock with him all the time since he bade goodbye to his family before his departure for the Pacific War.

A family reunion

My younger brother Tancho (19th) emerged from the mountains one hot day in June after surviving with the guerillas for three years. Then 19, he was back home with bouts of malaria. It was really heartrending for the family to witness this broken young man during his nightmares and attacks of malaria. Adel, the nurse, had just married and was reunited with us.  God brought them back to us and we were gratefully happy. Indeed, the war years were fraught with fear and anxiety, horror, uncertainty and unbearable agony.

The joys that are mine

This narration would not be complete if I failed to mention the happy memories and experiences at Maryknoll College in Malate, at that time the only parish for English-speakers in Manila. I relish those memories of my happy days at Maryknoll and Malate.

Although I belonged to Sta Ana parish from childhood through high school under the Spanish-speaking Franciscans (OFM), I had learned to love Malate-Maryknoll so that whenever I recall my college days at Maryknoll it is always associated with Malate, and vice versa. Malate had become my parish. The College was then located at Mabini St, opposite Romero Salas St. We used to attend Mass in Malate church, and the good Sisters would walk us there for confession on Saturday afternoons. The place is a storehouse of countless loving memories so very dear to my heart.

I shall never forget how the Columban priest-martyrs of WWII used to help us spiritually during our college years and after. I can still remember with nostalgia the very spot where I sat during the graduation rites that sunny afternoon of March 1941 with Archbishop Piani officiating. I recall with kind affection the good Columban priests, the spiritual anchors I had, who touched my life in their respective generations: Fr Thomas Connolly, Fr Arthur Price and Fr Kevin McHugh. No wonder some of my sisters used to dub me ‘a Columban girl’.

On 27 April 1990, 49 years later, the Providence of God brought this ‘Columban girl’ to Malate Catholic School where she worked happily to her heart’s content for ten successive years in the guidance department.

Guiding others

The best ten years of my religious life – fruitful, enriching, fulfilling – were spent in Malate. The work at the Center was joy for me. The ‘helping profession’ apostolate is always a joy. You want to care, to help people and when they are open, responsive and receptive, you experience a kind of inner joy which no one can take away from you. It leaves a warm, happy feeling in the hearts of those whom you have helped. Meeting various types of personalities from time to time is both enriching and challenging. You learn from them and they learn from you . . . like lessons taught behind-the-scenes. Indeed, the work is very rewarding.

My beloved’s call

It is not uncommon in the Philippines that when a member of the family decides to leave home in order to become a religious or a priest, the parents show opposition. This has changed since Vatican II.

In my case from postulancy, through the novitiate, to first profession of vows, my mother and I were poles apart. At the end of my five-year juniorate before my perpetual profession, I decided to change my religious name, as many Sisters do, from  my baptismal name, Conrada, to that of my mother, Constancia. Upon learning this and with the help of my prayers, her heart was softened and in May 1956 I was in for a big, pleasant surprise . . . she came to greet me at this very joyful moment of my perpetual profession. My happiness was complete!

It is worth noting that whenever a death occurred in the family I would request Father Arthur Price during his time, as I do now Father Kevin McHugh, if he’s available, to celebrate the Funeral Mass and read the Prayers of Commendation at the Sta Ana church mortuary. Consequently, we have adopted Father McHugh as the quasi-chaplain of the Peña family.

Where to from here

At this point in my religious life, my ministry is no longer in the active school apostolate; instead it is the Ministry of Presence and Prayer at the RVM Motherhouse where I am peacefully happy. My personal vision is for a joyful and discerning community like that of the foundational community of our foundress, Mother Ignacia del Espiritu Santo; and my mission is fidelity in my prayer-life, seeking and doing the will of God in all things as I commit myself to grow as a contemplative in action, so that I can help contribute towards the transformation of society.

Being the lone survivor, I can’t

keep track of all my relatives since they are scattered all over the Philippines, Canada, the USA and Europe.

It is quite an experience in the Philippines that those who have large families live close to each other, and help sustain and encourage each other in times of calamity, death, accident or some tragic happening. This is a common trait among Filipinos. Children in large families are closer emotionally than children in small families. There is a notion that as children multiply, parents love them less and cannot give them the time and interest necessary for their proper development. This is a misconception. God grants the necessary grace to accept all children and love them equally.

My father, Tiburcio, was a self-employed man and my mother, Constancia Valenzuela, a housekeeper. Although we were 20 siblings, I lived to see only thirteen of us because some had died before I was born and others had gotten married and lived independently with their own families. I lived and grew up with only six of my brothers and sisters. The seven of us were the last to be born and at intervals of one to two years. Camilo was 14th, Adel 15th, Cons (myself) 16th, Pachy 17th, Angie 18th, Tancho 19th and Resty 20th.

In the beginning

My parents were parishioners of Sta Ana, grew up there and received the sacraments of Baptism and Confirmation at Sta Ana Catholic Church. On 15 August 1901 they were married there. The twenty siblings were baptized and confirmed in the same church, except the first twins who died immediately after birth.

Narciso (2nd), through his perseverance, worked while studying, became a lawyer and sent Adel (15th) and me (16th) to college.  We both graduated on 19 March 1941, with Archbishop Michael O’Doherty of Manila officiating at Adel’s ceremony at St Paul’s Hospital, while I had mine at Malate Catholic Church with the Apostolic Delegate, Archbishop Guglielmo Piani SDB, presiding. We missed each other’s graduation rites. I feel nostalgic whenever I recall this wonderful event.

Sibling pride

Narciso, all through the years, served the government at the office of the Register of Deeds, Manila. He rose from the ranks to Deputy Register and eventually put up a law office at the Madrigal Building in Escolta, while teaching part time. He went back to God on Ash Wednesday 1986 at the age of 83 after a life fully lived. My favorite brother whom I loved so much . . . a truly upright, self-made man in the true sense of the word; he was a fourth-degree Knight of Columbus.

Camilo (14th) followed in the footsteps of Narciso. Determined to be a lawyer, he worked his way through. He was a self-made man and aspired to be a criminal lawyer. He succeeded and earned his LL.B. degree. Among his clientele were financially poor people whom he did not charge for his professional services. There was a client whom he defended in court who became so excited when acquitted he suffered a fatal heart attack.

After graduation, the Maryknoll Sisters employed four of us graduates to teach at Maryknoll in Lucena from June till December 1941 when the Philippines got involved in World War II. We teachers from Manila had to leave Lucena to join our families. People in the city were just restless and seemed not to know what to do or where to go.

The war years

The married members of the family and their children evacuated from Manila, some to Pililla, Rizal, others to Teresa and Baras, and still others to Cavite. Four of us with our parents fled to Cardona and stayed with a friend of my father. My younger brother Tancho (19th) joined the guerilla movement in the mountains while Adel (15th) served in hospitals to minister to the wounded and the sick. It was in Cardona that we met Columban Father Arthur Price, the parish priest. [Editor’s note: Father Price, a New Zealander, came to the Philippines in 1936. Apart from a stint in Australia and New Zealand from 1948 to 1950 he spent all his time in the Philippines and died in Manila in 1996. He was interned by the Japanese in Los Baños in 1944.] I agreed to catechize the children of the parish while schools were closed. I hadn’t started when we learned that Manila was declared an ‘Open City’. So my parents decided that we should return to our house there.

Memories of war

In 9 February 1945 at high noon, Japanese soldiers stood in formation on both sides of Del Pan St in Sta Ana where we lived, all pointing their machine guns at the houses. We thought it was merely a rehearsal of the kind which they usually had, only to find out after the Liberation that they were waiting for the signal from their superior officer to open fire on the houses with all the occupants in them. My mother, a 150-lb woman, in her great fear and anxiety, aided by a burst of adrenaline, climbed the five-foot concrete wall all by herself to get to the yard of my uncle, our next-door neighbor.

I shall always remember my mother for her forte, cooking delicious Spanish dishes for us and for the families of my married sisters and brothers.  Her legacy to us and to all her grandchildren is genuine mechado and morcon, our favorites among all her dishes.  To this day, I hear the grandchildren speak with pride of her delicious Spanish dishes. They have even tried to cook her recipes, and not a few have been successful.  How we all enjoyed and relished her cooking with its zestful flavor!

One day, tall, lanky American soldiers in fatigues swam across the Pasig River which separated Sta Ana from Mandaluyong, for the connecting bridge had been blown up by the Japanese. Upon reaching the shores of Sta Ana, they walked in single file down Del Pan St. Seeing them passing by, we rejoiced in gleeful triumph shouting at the top of our voices: ‘We are liberated! The Americans have liberated us!’

Price of liberation

At the same time this was happening, the Japanese fled with their guns from the end of Del Pan St towards Paco, Ermita, Malate and Intramuros, where the great massacre took place. In the nick of time the people of Sta Ana were saved from the Japanese. Tens of thousands were killed by the ruthless Japanese before they retreated; others were killed by friendly fire.

A touching experience

Many witnessed ‘dog-fights’ in the air between American and Japanese fighter-planes. One day at noon a US plane was shot down by the Japanese after a long ‘dog-fight’. The US pilot was shot by the Japanese several times from all directions as he parachuted so that when he touched down he was already dead. From his plane a tiny baby’s sock was carried by the wind in our direction and fell near our house. When I examined the little sock, my heart went out to the baby and his dad; I whispered a prayer for them. The pilot must have kept his baby’s sock with him all the time since he bade goodbye to his family before his departure for the Pacific War.

A family reunion

My younger brother Tancho (19th) emerged from the mountains one hot day in June after surviving with the guerillas for three years. Then 19, he was back home with bouts of malaria. It was really heartrending for the family to witness this broken young man during his nightmares and attacks of malaria. Adel, the nurse, had just married and was reunited with us.  God brought them back to us and we were gratefully happy. Indeed, the war years were fraught with fear and anxiety, horror, uncertainty and unbearable agony.

The joys that are mine

This narration would not be complete if I failed to mention the happy memories and experiences at Maryknoll College in Malate, at that time the only parish for English-speakers in Manila. I relish those memories of my happy days at Maryknoll and Malate.

Although I belonged to Sta Ana parish from childhood through high school under the Spanish-speaking Franciscans (OFM), I had learned to love Malate-Maryknoll so that whenever I recall my college days at Maryknoll it is always associated with Malate, and vice versa. Malate had become my parish. The College was then located at Mabini St, opposite Romero Salas St. We used to attend Mass in Malate church, and the good Sisters would walk us there for confession on Saturday afternoons. The place is a storehouse of countless loving memories so very dear to my heart.

I shall never forget how the Columban priest-martyrs of WWII used to help us spiritually during our college years and after. I can still remember with nostalgia the very spot where I sat during the graduation rites that sunny afternoon of March 1941 with Archbishop Piani officiating. I recall with kind affection the good Columban priests, the spiritual anchors I had, who touched my life in their respective generations: Fr Thomas Connolly, Fr Arthur Price and Fr Kevin McHugh. No wonder some of my sisters used to dub me ‘a Columban girl’.

On 27 April 1990, 49 years later, the Providence of God brought this ‘Columban girl’ to Malate Catholic School where she worked happily to her heart’s content for ten successive years in the guidance department.

Guiding others

The best ten years of my religious life – fruitful, enriching, fulfilling – were spent in Malate. The work at the Center was joy for me. The ‘helping profession’ apostolate is always a joy. You want to care, to help people and when they are open, responsive and receptive, you experience a kind of inner joy which no one can take away from you. It leaves a warm, happy feeling in the hearts of those whom you have helped. Meeting various types of personalities from time to time is both enriching and challenging. You learn from them and they learn from you . . . like lessons taught behind-the-scenes. Indeed, the work is very rewarding.

My beloved’s call

It is not uncommon in the Philippines that when a member of the family decides to leave home in order to become a religious or a priest, the parents show opposition. This has changed since Vatican II.

In my case from postulancy, through the novitiate, to first profession of vows, my mother and I were poles apart. At the end of my five-year juniorate before my perpetual profession, I decided to change my religious name, as many Sisters do, from  my baptismal name, Conrada, to that of my mother, Constancia. Upon learning this and with the help of my prayers, her heart was softened and in May 1956 I was in for a big, pleasant surprise . . . she came to greet me at this very joyful moment of my perpetual profession. My happiness was complete!

It is worth noting that whenever a death occurred in the family I would request Father Arthur Price during his time, as I do now Father Kevin McHugh, if he’s available, to celebrate the Funeral Mass and read the Prayers of Commendation at the Sta Ana church mortuary. Consequently, we have adopted Father McHugh as the quasi-chaplain of the Peña family.

Where to from here

At this point in my religious life, my ministry is no longer in the active school apostolate; instead it is the Ministry of Presence and Prayer at the RVM Motherhouse where I am peacefully happy. My personal vision is for a joyful and discerning community like that of the foundational community of our foundress, Mother Ignacia del Espiritu Santo; and my mission is fidelity in my prayer-life, seeking and doing the will of God in all things as I commit myself to grow as a contemplative in action, so that I can help contribute towards the transformation of society.

Sister Constancia lives at:
Religious of the 
Virgin Mary Motherhouse, 
214 N. Domingo St, Cubao, 
1111 QUEZON CITY. 
The website of the RVMs is www.rvmonline.net