Sarugaku-cho, neighborhood around A-bomb Dome, Part 5: Camphor trees at birth home have grown into “forest of peace” as dead father wished
Jul. 29, 1997
With their backs against the A-bomb Dome, two sisters born during the Taisho era (1912–1926) in Japan took turns pouring out their deep emotions. “I usually try to pass by quickly, but I still have good memories, I guess.” The other sister said, “I do, too. It brings tears to my eyes.” The sisters were born and raised at the address “12 Sarugaku-cho,” located between the north side of the A-bomb Dome and the street on which streetcars ran, on a corner in what is now Peace Memorial Park.
Kawamoto Shokai, their birth home, was a major wholesaler in Hiroshima, with “capital of 7,000 yen and 70 employees.” The company supplied bicycles to the fifth Divisional Headquarters of the Japanese Imperial Army. From a family album of photographs can be seen how the business, which also had a three-story building on the north side of the streetcar street in front of today’s Hiroshima Municipal Baseball Stadium, thrived at that time.
Masako Kawamoto, 79, the family’s second daughter, pointed at a lone stone gatepost standing within the fenced grounds of the A-bomb Dome and said, “There was originally a pair of posts, but one was blown as far away as to the front of our house, trapping a woman wearing loose work pants underneath it. We worked to remove the gatepost with the help of others but only a cord had been left unburned.” Masako now lives in the Hatchobori district of Hiroshima’s Naka Ward, less than a 20-minute walk from the Dome.
Younger sister’s bones found underneath rooftiles
Yoshie Nakatani, 74, the family’s fourth daughter, who had come from her home in Hatsukaichi City despite having recently undergone surgery, described what she had seen at their former home at the time. “When we dug up the rooftiles, my younger sister’s powdery bones emerged from underneath. Our father said, ‘She must have been waiting for us.’”
There were nine people in the family. Of the parents and six daughters who had been in Hiroshima, Tsuyako, the 48-year-old mother, and Ikue, the 17-year-old sixth daughter, died in the atomic bombing. Both sisters interviewed for this story experienced the atomic bombing at the workplaces where they had been conscripted to contribute to the war effort. Masako was at the Mitsubishi Heavy Industries’ Eba Plant, located in Hiroshima’s Naka Ward, and Yoshie was at the Ujina Shipbuilding Yard, in the city’s Minami Ward. Despite that, they set about walking around the city looking for their parents and younger sister.
“We found our father in the area of Oko (in Minami Ward). He was covered in blood from glass shards piercing his entire body. We placed him in a tub filled with iodine and removed the glass pieces one by one with disposable wooden chopsticks,” Masako said. Yoshie revealed deep-seated, unspoken emotions beyond words when she said, “The best days for our family were when my mother was well.”
Enduring sorrow of being alive
The atomic bombing tore apart even surviving families like a living tree being ripped limb from limb. Their father’s second marriage was something his sensitive daughters preferred not to admit and could not accept. They harbored bad feelings against him, especially because their mother was still missing after going to Gokoku Shrine that day, August 6, 1945, to pray for the safety of their only son, who had been sent to the front as a student soldier. But the father, promptly reopening his business in front of the Dome, also endured the sorrow of being alive.
In 1964, the Chugoku Shimbun published an article with the headline, “Tree-planting on site that remained in ruins for 19 years.” The story was about Fukuichi Kawamoto, who had been transplanting and growing camphor tree seedlings around the A-bomb Dome ever since he found a sprout growing inside the Dome from a nut that had been carried there by a bird. The article introduced his wish to transform the area into a “forest of world peace memorial trees.”
Mr. Kawamoto was the two sisters’ father. Yoshie said, “He dug a well by himself and grew trees from seedlings. Now that I have reached this age, I am painfully aware of how my father must have felt back then.” Masako said, “He let his children do what they wanted to do.”
After the war, Masako and her younger brother, who had returned home safely after being demobilized from the military, started a dressmaking school, ultimately leading Hiroshima’s fashion industry. After her younger brother passed away, she became the head of the family and continues to look after the shrine her father had built on the remains of the former Gokoku Shrine. Yoshie’s only daughter became a physician, and now her two grandchildren are following the same path.
Fukuichi passed away 27 years ago. The camphor trees he planted have grown into the “forest of peace” he had wished for before his death. “Trees are living, but humans are fragile, aren’t they?” Masako murmured, as if unable to contain her strong feelings as she looked up at the thick growth of trees surrounding the former site of their birth home.
(Originally published on July 29, 1997)
Kawamoto Shokai, their birth home, was a major wholesaler in Hiroshima, with “capital of 7,000 yen and 70 employees.” The company supplied bicycles to the fifth Divisional Headquarters of the Japanese Imperial Army. From a family album of photographs can be seen how the business, which also had a three-story building on the north side of the streetcar street in front of today’s Hiroshima Municipal Baseball Stadium, thrived at that time.
Masako Kawamoto, 79, the family’s second daughter, pointed at a lone stone gatepost standing within the fenced grounds of the A-bomb Dome and said, “There was originally a pair of posts, but one was blown as far away as to the front of our house, trapping a woman wearing loose work pants underneath it. We worked to remove the gatepost with the help of others but only a cord had been left unburned.” Masako now lives in the Hatchobori district of Hiroshima’s Naka Ward, less than a 20-minute walk from the Dome.
Younger sister’s bones found underneath rooftiles
Yoshie Nakatani, 74, the family’s fourth daughter, who had come from her home in Hatsukaichi City despite having recently undergone surgery, described what she had seen at their former home at the time. “When we dug up the rooftiles, my younger sister’s powdery bones emerged from underneath. Our father said, ‘She must have been waiting for us.’”
There were nine people in the family. Of the parents and six daughters who had been in Hiroshima, Tsuyako, the 48-year-old mother, and Ikue, the 17-year-old sixth daughter, died in the atomic bombing. Both sisters interviewed for this story experienced the atomic bombing at the workplaces where they had been conscripted to contribute to the war effort. Masako was at the Mitsubishi Heavy Industries’ Eba Plant, located in Hiroshima’s Naka Ward, and Yoshie was at the Ujina Shipbuilding Yard, in the city’s Minami Ward. Despite that, they set about walking around the city looking for their parents and younger sister.
“We found our father in the area of Oko (in Minami Ward). He was covered in blood from glass shards piercing his entire body. We placed him in a tub filled with iodine and removed the glass pieces one by one with disposable wooden chopsticks,” Masako said. Yoshie revealed deep-seated, unspoken emotions beyond words when she said, “The best days for our family were when my mother was well.”
Enduring sorrow of being alive
The atomic bombing tore apart even surviving families like a living tree being ripped limb from limb. Their father’s second marriage was something his sensitive daughters preferred not to admit and could not accept. They harbored bad feelings against him, especially because their mother was still missing after going to Gokoku Shrine that day, August 6, 1945, to pray for the safety of their only son, who had been sent to the front as a student soldier. But the father, promptly reopening his business in front of the Dome, also endured the sorrow of being alive.
In 1964, the Chugoku Shimbun published an article with the headline, “Tree-planting on site that remained in ruins for 19 years.” The story was about Fukuichi Kawamoto, who had been transplanting and growing camphor tree seedlings around the A-bomb Dome ever since he found a sprout growing inside the Dome from a nut that had been carried there by a bird. The article introduced his wish to transform the area into a “forest of world peace memorial trees.”
Mr. Kawamoto was the two sisters’ father. Yoshie said, “He dug a well by himself and grew trees from seedlings. Now that I have reached this age, I am painfully aware of how my father must have felt back then.” Masako said, “He let his children do what they wanted to do.”
After the war, Masako and her younger brother, who had returned home safely after being demobilized from the military, started a dressmaking school, ultimately leading Hiroshima’s fashion industry. After her younger brother passed away, she became the head of the family and continues to look after the shrine her father had built on the remains of the former Gokoku Shrine. Yoshie’s only daughter became a physician, and now her two grandchildren are following the same path.
Fukuichi passed away 27 years ago. The camphor trees he planted have grown into the “forest of peace” he had wished for before his death. “Trees are living, but humans are fragile, aren’t they?” Masako murmured, as if unable to contain her strong feelings as she looked up at the thick growth of trees surrounding the former site of their birth home.
(Originally published on July 29, 1997)
