‘Everywhere there were pitifully injured people’: how a newly unearthed memoir captures the devastation of Hiroshima
In an exclusive extract from his memoir, Kiyoshi Tanimoto describes the terrifying trip across the city to locate his wife and child
‘I didn’t want to be a victim of the bomb’: read an interview with Tanimoto’s daughter Koko Kondo
Most of the people of Hiroshima had neither seen nor heard any plane. They heard no sound of explosion. They had seen only a strange flash in open daylight, or merely felt the reflection of the flash. However, there had been a tremendous explosion.
The parents of Mr Konda, one of our church members, had been waiting for a train at Yokogawa station, located 2km [one and a quarter miles] away from the centre of the bomb’s explosion. They saw a B-29 and a parachute dropping through the air. Before they had time to wonder at the sight, they fell unconscious. Afterward, they could not remember sensing any sound or light. When they regained consciousness, they found themselves lying on the ground, burned and without any clothing. The houses all around had been crushed to the ground. After getting to their feet, they ran toward the suburbs. Other people rushing along the Koi highway had the same experience.
After crossing the Koi and Fukushima bridges, I reached a place about a kilometre away from the explosion. From the suburbs to this spot, houses were heavily damaged but somehow were still standing. However, the houses from here to the centre of the explosion were all flat on the ground, as if they had been toy buildings crushed by a hammer. Painful cries of “Tasukete!” – “Help! – could be heard from under smashed houses.
People seemed to be buried in the ground. I knew full well how hard a job it would be to pull out even one log from a collapsed house, because I had helped with the clearing of houses. Nothing whatsoever could be done, with the strength of only one person, to help the people beneath those houses. Yet there were people buried here and there – everywhere.
After I had stopped to try to do something for these people, the thought that my wife and baby and neighbours must be in the same state flashed through my mind. I was the defence coordinator of my neighbourhood, and there were 120 lives entrusted to me. I had to hurry back to my post. I ran away in tears, saying, “Excuse me, I’m sorry, but excuse me!” I ran like a wild man. At Fukushima bridge, I saw Mr Matsuo, who had been with me when the atomic bomb exploded. He came running up, out of breath. “Mr Matsuo, please excuse me, for I have responsibilities,” I said, and ran on.
I followed the riverbank of the Fukushima river, looking to find a place where the fire was not so furious. Then I came to Nakahiromachi, a northern neighbourhood, where there were many farm fields and not so many houses.
Everywhere there were pitifully injured people. They could no longer keep moving, so they were lying in the streets. The further I moved into the city, the more wounded I saw. I grabbed my panama hat and threw it on the ground. In my heart I cried, “Forgive me!” because I felt no reason for why I had been left uninjured. I thought my wife and baby must be injured like these people and might be buried under our house. I asked their forgiveness for not being there to rescue them.
The usual way home was to take the Misasa Bridge across the Ota River toward central Hiroshima and go out to Hakushima, but the foot of the bridge and the Hakushima district were in flames. Fortunately, the Ushita district, which was on the other side of the river, seemed to be unscathed by fire. If I could get past Ushita, my own neighbourhood of Noboricho would be within a stone’s throw.
In a determined manner, I plunged into the river. It was not that I had confidence in my swimming ability, but there were no other means of reaching my goal. The Ota River varies in water level according to the tides. There was not much water, but the stream was swift. Naturally, I lost control of my limbs. I had already run continuously for about an hour and was dead tired.
I began to swallow water, which ran into my nose and mouth. My body was heavy, and my head started to sink into the water. My gaiters became loose and dangled about my legs. One of my shoes came off. I thought I was drowning. I would not have resented being killed by American bombs, but it seemed regrettable to be drowned. I prayed while sinking, “Oh God, do help me. Protect my body until I can save my wife and child and my neighbours.” Then I calmed myself and became lighter by taking off my gaiters, coat and the other shoe. With all my remaining energy I swam through the water.
Soon I reached shallow water about my height and was saved. When I got to the opposite bank, I could not move any longer and rested for some time with my head on the ground. After I regained some strength, I got on my feet and started walking toward Ushita. I was completely undressed and only differed from others by having no scars from burns.
As the treasurer of my church lived nearby, I went to his house and saw that it was also crushed and deserted. Praying for his safety, I passed through Ushita. I saw no other residents and thought that everybody must have escaped by now.
Mrs Tada’s house, where my wife often stayed overnight, was nearby, and I thought of dropping in. Although she usually was back home by half past six or seven o’clock in the morning, I wondered if she might have stayed until nine or 10 that morning at Mrs Tada’s place and thus would have been saved. Praying, I took a few steps toward the house, and, to my surprise, I found my wife carrying Koko in her arms, in a line of refugees. She was wearing a blood-stained chemise, her hair was hanging about her shoulders, and she had a ghostlike appearance.
I called to her. She turned around, looked at me, and stood quietly with tears in her eyes. I looked away and asked, “What happened to you?”
She said, “Just as I reached home, Mrs Takaki came for a visit. We were both talking at the door when we were buried.”
“And what happened to Mrs Takaki?”
With a miserable expression, she said, “I don’t know.”
I had not experienced the slightest pleasure seeing my wife and child safe. Rather, I was filled with indignation. It was unpardonable that a church member who was paying a visit to the parsonage should be killed during an air raid and the family of the pastor still be saved. Should not the wife of the pastor have died together with the church member? I was filled with accusatory feelings toward my wife.
Afterward, I learned that my wife had been buried under the house in an instant and nearly crushed under the pressure of heavy wood. She could not breathe for a while and began to fall unconscious. However, she was brought to by the screams of Koko, who was still in her arms. She struggled with all her strength to save her baby. Calming herself, she noticed a small hole in the attic. Both of her arms were strongly pinned in the ruins, but she could move a bit and finally managed to stretch out one arm.
She gradually made the small hole wider. Every time she struggled to move, broken pieces of roofing fell on her head. Koko continued to cry loudly. Struggling with all her strength, she enlarged the hole and was finally able to push out Koko. Then she did everything she could to free herself and managed to get out.
By then, the house next door was on fire, and smoke was rising from it. She staggered along the alley with Koko in her arms. She thought of getting someone to help Mrs Takaki, but every house in sight was smashed and already deserted. The fire was spreading, and the smoke was getting thick. With the baby in her arms, she could not return to our house. Finally, she reached the Sentei gardens, after being pursued by the fire and smoke. However, her thoughts were with her neighbour.
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