Ping and His Chickens and World War 2 - Softcover

Vernon, Phil

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1546263993 ISBN 13: 9781546263999

Verlag: AuthorHouse, 2018

Inhaltsangabe

"Ping and His Chickens and World War II" are based on true stories set in 1950's and 1940's (World War II in the South Pacific). Phil Vernon relates his unique and heart warming experiences of raising chickens from an original two that were destined for a cooking pot. Phil tamed his chickens and they (and offsprings) soon made home of the Vernon household, and, soon after that, the neighborhood. Numerous humorous anecdotes are portrayed, including a hen laying eggs in the Inbox of the President of Silliman University in the Philippines. The World War II section portrays experiences in the South Pacific of Phil Vernon's father, Douglas Vernon...a Presbyterian missionary in Philippines. Namely, in the Marine Corps beach head incursion of Tarawa in 1943, which resulted in 2,000 Marine Corps deaths. My father was in the 3rd wave of Maines to hit the beach in face of withering Japanese gun fire. This section is based on my father's written personal account of the beach head...events leading up to beach landing and its aftermath.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Phil Vernon lives in Kent. He returned to the UK in 2004 after spending two decades in different parts of Africa. He retired in 2024 after working in the international humanitarian and peacebuilding field. His version of the mediaeval hymn Stabat Mater was set to music by Nicola Burnett Smith, and has been performed internationally. His most recent publications were Foreshadowing, a micro-pamphlet based on the life of Martin Luther (Hedgehog Poetry Press, 2024), and his third full collection Guerrilla Country (Flight of the Dragonfly Press, 2024), which brought together his interest in landscape, peace and conflict. Phil is on Twitter/X as @philvernon2

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Ping and His Chickens and World War 2

By Phil Vernon

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2018 Phil Vernon
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-5462-6399-9

CHAPTER 1

My home in the Philippines

We lived in Dumaguete, a small coastal city on Negros Island in the Philippines, which is about 300 miles south of Luzon, the major island. It was 1951, and I was 11 years old, having been born right before the Japanese invaded the Philippines. To avoid the Japanese, our family escaped to New York City to wait out the war (See the 2nd section of book).

We returned to Dumaguete in 1946 so my dad and mom could continue their missionary work at Silliman University where my father, Douglas Vernon, was Presbyterian Church Minister. Our return to Dumaguete took some adjustment for me. It was so different from the hustle and bustle of Riverside Drive in Manhattan, New York City, where we lived in an apartment complex for missionaries on furlough.

My dad didn't have a middle name, just Douglas Vernon. I had a middle name. I was named after Philip Harwood Vernon who was my great great grandfather. Although I had _4 this big name, I was called Ping by our servants Liling and Simuna. In our part of the Philippines, children's nick names often were made by taking the 1st letter of the 1st name (P) and adding "ing" to get Ping. They never called me anything else; but not my friends, they wouldn't dare.

Mom's name was Dorotha, but her friends called her Dot. To me this seemed like a silly nickname, but she didn't seem to mind.

CHAPTER 2

Mountain Vacation

I'm awake and I can hear kitchen sounds. Liling and Simuna are starting to pack for our trip into the mountains. I had been sick for over 6 months, mono or some other condition. Our family doctor told my parents fresh air and rest might do me some good. I packed my clothes, a couple of layers in prep for cool mountain air. I felt OK, just never good; and I was tired all the time. I was OK with our trip into the mountains, although the trip meant time away from my friends, and I would have to entertain myself.

The mountain group included Mom and I, Liling and Simuna and our 2 drivers. Dad was staying home to handle his church work. My older brother Hugh was in boarding school.

Liling and Simuna were patient with me, Mom would get a Little testy. She was concerned I was becoming a spoiled brat. True, I demanded attention, and when I wanted something I did all I could to get it.

I recall one time when I spotted a little figure hanging from a Christmas tree branch. After closer inspection, I was looking at a toy soldier; just what I needed to command my troops outside in the bushes. I was pulling the soldier off the branch when Mom saw me ... "What are you doing?"

"I want to play with him."

"No, Phil, he's a tree ornament, I've had him for years, you know that, keep him on the branch."

That did it. I started to cry, first I primed the pump, then I was into a full-out brawl. My brother, home for Christmas vacation, heard the commotion and walked out of his room. He had a scowl on his face. He had watched this fight of wills many times, you know he wanted Mom to win. For me no turning back. Crying so hard, my face became beet red and I sputtered, gasped for breath.

Mom stiffly took the soldier from the branch, handed it to me, turned around and left the living room, Hugh retreated into his room. Immediately I stopped crying. I felt no remorse.

My stick figure fighting force was much stronger now. I declared my new toy soldier experienced and a general; you could tell by his uniform. I even assigned him his own security guard. The other side would have to account for leadership skills in attacks. Since I moved both sides, wasn't hard to have the bad guys in full retreat. Stick figures, many shot in the back with rubber bands, falling out of branches, lying in the grass. I made sure to pack my stick men for our time in the mountains.

CHAPTER 3

The Chickens

I was outside watching Liling and Simuna pack when I noticed the 2 chickens, a hen and a rooster, lying in the dirt beside the rice bag, canned goods and other food stuffs, pots, and drinks. I could hear feeble clucks, could see them struggle uncomfortably.

Their legs were tied; I felt sorry for the chickens because I knew chickens were not joining us for their health. Later, they would have their heads chopped off and be defeathered and then placed in a pot for supper, probably some kind of a yummy chicken adobo.

Liling was rough with the chickens. She didn't seem to care about them and threw them into the back of the jeep. They landed with a thud, bound legs thrashing.

The trip took about 3 hours. Our two jeeps took us up the mountain. Trees along the route thrust their branches upward to reach open air as if to avoid the thick underbrush that threatened to cover the road. The road was asphalt to start with and then dirt and then we reached the thatched roof house on stilts we would live in for 2 months. Mom and I had different reactions to this house in the jungle.

The house was up in the air on stilts to keep rain water from seeping in. A tall person would have to bend over to go under the house.

Mom, Lilling and Simuna and our two drivers helped unpack the jeeps. Lilling equipped the kitchen with its wood- burning stove with canned goods, rice bag, soft drinks. Tap water would be boiled, left to cool, and then used as drinking water. Our 2 chickens were kept on dirt floor under the house.

Our small house in the mountains had been very important to us in the past in our escape from the Philippines right before the Japanese invasion.

We settled into mountain living routine. Not feeling well I stayed close to home; I didn't have much to do.

I began thinking about the chickens. I noticed Liling had untied their legs and would give them food and water and some kind of seeds. Before long they were foraging for food around our house. Because of the plentiful food and water, they had no reason to leave, and they stayed below the house.

Every morning the rooster would greet us with the cock-a-doodle-doo. I could tell the chickens felt comfortable around our little house. I started to feed the hen from my hand. At first she was hesitant to approach me, but before long I had the chicken pecking seeds out of my palm. Peck, peck would tickle my palm, make me giggle.

CHAPTER 4

Chicken Little

Soon, the hen was not afraid of me; I worked out a call and every time I made this call she would come running, and I would feed her. Chicken and I developed a special bond. I decided to call her Chicken Little, a name I got from one of my books.

Chicken Little became my pet, my pet chicken. When I would call, Chicken Little would come running, even if it wasn't feeding time. When I came out in the yard Chicken Little would follow me around.

I lost interest in my stick men and war games. Chicken Little entertained me.

I grew to "know" my chicken. I began to train Chicken Little to sit on my shoulder. At first I would pick her up and set her on one of my shoulder blades. I could feel her feet digging into my shoulders as she balanced herself as I walked. I did this repeatedly, and soon Chicken Little would fly up to my shoulder and land safely. I could hear the "whoosh, whoosh," of her wings as she came toward me. Chicken Little couldn't fly far, but she could fly high enough to reach my shoulder or reach a low tree branch where sometimes she would roost at night.

I could tell Chicken Little enjoyed sitting on my shoulder as I walked around, working to keep her balance. She would be...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: AuthorHouse
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2018
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1546263993
• ISBN 13: 9781546263999
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 112
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: gpsr@libri.de; gpsr@libri.de; ; Europaallee 1; Bad Hersfeld; 36244; Deutschland