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GODS ARMS AROUND US
One Familys Struggle to Survive in War-torn Philippines
By
WILLIAM R. MOULE
Sketches by George Mathis
Gods Arms Around Us was originally published in 1960 by Vantage Press, Inc., New York.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Contents
TABLE OF CONTENTS
REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
William R. Moule was born in Seattle, Washington. During the Depression the sixteen-year-old boy struck out for himself, thumbing rides and hopping freight trains. He saw most of Montana, Idaho, Oregon, Washington, and California. Then he worked in a paper mill. Later, following an accident, he went back to finish high school, and afterward joined the CCC. Mining intrigued him, so he got a job in California, then in Colorado, Alaska, and back to California. Glowing letters from a miner friend in the Philippines led him to try his luck there.
And it was in the Philippines that Moule and his wife and children were trapped by the Japanese in 1941as told in this book.
William Moule is no longer a miner. The ravages of malaria and polio contracted in the Philippines forced him into another type of work. He owned and operated a paint-and-glass store in in Grass Valley, California, and was also a licensed painting contractor. Moule ran the business until retiring in 1975, at which time the couple had 12 children.
The Moule family, which now consists of William, Margaret, and their eleven childreneight of them born after Mr. and Mrs. Moule returned to this country from the Philippinesappeared in February, 1959, on the It Could Be You television program from California.
Sadly, William and Marge Moule were killed in a car accident in Nevada in 1989.
FOREWORD
Fantastic as it may appear, the events in this book are true. My attempt to relate them on paper may seem dramatic, but when we were fighting, praying, and running for our lives, the terrifying drama existed. Likewise, with very few exceptions, the character names are their own. The Moulaka-Odine Clan still get together whenever its possible and celebrate. Ironically enough, our last big dinner was held at the Tokyo Sukiyaki. As Virginia McCuish jokingly said, A fine place for ex-Jap-prisoners to celebrate!
Our get-togethers arent to remind us about our suffering and losses, but to hash over the days when we had faith and lived for tomorrow, above all to appreciate our freedom. Prisoners of war have a language all their own, but the little settlement including Moulaka, Odine, and Teds hideout has its own dialect.
My primary purpose in writing this book was to leave a true account of our lives in the Philippine Islands to my children. When I mentioned to a friend of mine about writing a book, he very tactfully told me I was capable of painting a house, cutting glass, and raising a family, but writing a book was for someone with something I wasnt supposed to have. That was when I knew I could write a book.
The Lord has been very good to me since the war, but very niggardly with my spare time. Part of this book was written in the Marine Hospital in 1945-46 as I was convalescing from a muscle transplant on my leg. Two years ago the children gave me a tape recorder. This helped me in outlining the material, most of which I wrote in longhand to be typed when deciphered. I would write when I came home for lunch, during commercials, in doctors and dentists waiting rooms, and at retreat. (Father Damian wont like that!) Two years now and I havent fixed the screen doors or painted the house. Many times on my trips to Sacramento for supplies Ive pulled off the road and written on every scrap of paper I could find when suddenly I became satisfied with something that had bothered me. I felt a collection of data beyond what I held in my head would be an attempt to create a historical or military piece; therefore, I write as we lived from the day of the news of Pearl Harbor until we started down the gangplank in San Francisco.
Now that the book is finished, and Ive had time to read it, I feel Margaret may have suffered from her association with me in it. My side of it needs no clarification, but Margs does. She came from a good family and lived a quiet life in the same town from the time she was born until she was eighteen years old. One would wonder how or why she came to marry me; but as this book will testify, I can be damn persistent. Once we fell in love we never changed. We have as many problems as most people, and maybe more, but we never let them get us down because we tackle them together.
CHAPTER ONE
Idaho-Maryland Mine
Grass Valley, California, 1939
Some damn fool from the Lava Cap Mine went to the Philippine Islands. That in itself was okay. But he had to write back to a friend what a wonderful job he had and all the dough he was making. News was first circulated two days ago by said friend and today as I waited at the shaft to go underground a very disturbing word kept repeating itself somewhere in the far corner of my mind and that word was Philippines. This drive was no stranger to me. It had pushed me around for years. When I worked at the Lava Cap Mine, my partner was a fellow from Climax, Colorado. Before long I could see Climax in my sleep. One night the hoistman and I got into a mild argument that ended up in a first-class battle. When the watchman and assistant super separated us, I was informed that I was fired. Two weeks later I was working at Climax, and fell heir to a Swede for a partner who had spent most of his life in Alaska. Three months later, half frozen, I disembarked from a freight train in Anchorage, Alaska. That out of my system, I came back and married Marg, and settled down. After two and a half years at a mine I hated, she and I had our little home paid for, so I quit and after a time got on at the Idaho-Maryland Mine. Three days ago the only thing that bothered me was getting on a contract. Now for the past two days, Id been having that restless feeling again; but it was impossible even to think of it now as we had Bill, Jr., and Marg was pregnant. But on the other hand, what difference would that make?
The ore skip roared past the collar of the shaft; and when it dumped its load into the bin, I got ready to go underground. As I started for the skip, the shift boss, Jim Barry, came up to me and asked if I was a shaft man. That was the same as asking me if I liked money. Shaft work was the toughest of the lot, but it was a chance to double my days pay, and I was just young enough to think I could outwork any man in the camp. Anyway I planted that little morsel in Barrys bonnet. He looked me over as if to say, What started all this? then said, See Jack Langley the leadman.