My Uncle was a POW. Here are 4 Things His Diary of that Experience Taught Me

My uncle was a POW in the Philippines during WWII. He survived more than three years under horrific conditions. He kept a journal the whole time, which was later destroyed in a barracks fire. He recreated it later, typing it up on onion skin paper. There were two copies of it. He gave one to me.

In the journal, he speaks of a time when dysentery was ripping through the camps and killing a lot of people, prisoners and guards alike. He himself was so sick that he spent most of the day and night, for days on end, going back and forth to the latrine. Some of the men simply lay down by the filthy latrines and slept there because the effort of going back and forth to the barracks was so terrible.

But he noticed that the men who did that almost always died. So he simply decided that he would not, and he did not, even though it meant a constant back and forth trip in his weak and sick condition.

He lived.

Toward the end of the war, Allied forces were bombing the region and some POWs were killed in the raids. But the Allies were also dropping supplies - food, cigarettes, clean clothes - into the camps. My uncle said they were all glad of the supplies and also glad of the raids, even though they were dangerous, because it meant the US was winning and they might get to go home soon. They would cheer when the bombers flew overhead.

After more than three years of horror, he was liberated and rehabilitated (they were all very sick and weak by the time they were liberated) and brought home. He lived a very happy life after the war. He was blissfully married to a wonderful, well-matched woman, and was a cheerful and creative man, one of my favorite people growing up. He was always whistling and making delightful animal sounds. He taught me to witch water when I was a girl.

His journals teach me many lessons and one of them is that the battle isn't over when it's over. It's over when you give up, so don't give up before it's over. No matter what it costs you, never voluntarily relinquish your life to a pile of someone else's shit. And even in the midst of despair there is always something to be glad of.

Finally: life can become a nightmare, and still, on the other side of the horror, a remarkable life may be waiting for you.

Thank you, Uncle Pierce. I will never forget you.