The Asia-Pacific Journal | Japan Focus Volume 12 | Issue 14 | Number 2 | Article ID 4103 | Apr 06, 2014

1

Surviving the Battle of Okinawa: Memories of a Schoolgirl 沖縄戦を生き延びて　ある女子生徒の思い出

Yoshiko Sakumoto Crandell

Translated by Mieko Maeshiro

Introduction by Steve Rabson

Introduction

Below are translated excerpts from YoshikoSakumoto Crandell’s autobiography, TumaiMonogatari: Shōwa no Tamigusa (TomariStory: My Life in the Showa Era), published byShimpō Shuppan in 2002. The translation is byMieko Maeshiro. Born in 1931, the 6th year ofShōwa, the author was raised in Okinawa’sfamous port town of Tomari, a section of NahaCity, the prefectural capital. Her father workedas a ship-builder and her mother made Panamahats, a major export from Okinawa at the time.The portion of her autobiography presentedhere describes her harrowing experiencesduring the Battle of Okinawa, in which she waswounded by shellfire and narrowly avoidedrape by an American soldier. It concludes withher internment in a refugee camp during thebattle’s chaotic aftermath. In the early monthsof the 27-year-long U.S. military occupation ofOkinawa (1945-72), the author worked brieflyfor the American forces in food service andlaundry, and later for the Ryukyu LifeInsurance Company. In 1969 she married anAmerican in the U.S. Air Force stationed inOkinawa. They live today in Newport News,Virginia.

Other accounts available in English of women’sexperiences during and just after the battle areA Princess Lily of the Ryukyus by Jo NobukoMartin (Shin-Nippon Kyōiku Tosho, Tokyo,

1984) on her service with other high schoolgirls as a battlefield nurse; and interviewstranslated in Steve Rabson, The OkinawanDiaspora in Japan: Crossing the Borders Within(University of Hawaii Press, 2012), pp.128-137.

Life in Okinawa Before the War

I was born on March 3rd in Shōwa 6 (1931) inTomari, a section of Naha City, the capital ofOkinawa, an island surrounded by coral reefs.When I was little, I often saw the bright sunsetting on the horizon, a scene beautifulbeyond description. The rippling waves mademe want to play in the water like the fish.Those shiny silvery ripples under the bright sundazzled my eyes. But winter made the blueocean gray and brought a stiff, cold wind.Typhoons pounded the island regularly with theraging ocean beating the shore and splashingthe wharf in a cloud of spray. It seemed

that, like humans, Mother Nature alsopossessed yin and yang.

At dusk after dinner, lights were lit in familydwellings. After the day's work, the sound

of the sanshin (three string banjo-likeinstrument) resonated in the stillness of theevening. When my father started playing hissanshin, elders in our neighborhood tuned uptheir own instruments

and joined him. They played Ryukyuan classicalas well as folk music. When I was in the secondor third grade, I took Ryukyuan dance lessons.Sometimes I danced accompanied by myfather’s sanshin music.

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

2

The sea in midsummer was cobalt blue andcrystal clear. Boats came and went with the“pong-pong” sound of their diesel engines, thememory of which makes me yearn for timespast. These boats were the only means oftransportation between Okinawa’s main islandand other islands, such as Miyako andYaeyama. Yanbaru junk boats with huge brownpatchwork sails filled with wind set out fromthe port. They went to villages in Yanbaru, thenorthern part of Okinawa. Some days later theyreturned with cargoes of firewood andcharcoal, which were offloaded and piled up bythe whar f . When the boats arr ived ,neighborhood children crowded the area.Among the bundles of firewood, we searchedfor garaki (rosewood) that had the smell ofcinnamon and we peeled the bark to suck thespicy sweet juice. These were one of the fewentertainments for us little girls who wore ourhair in the Dutch-cut style.

Deigo (tiger's claw) flowers captivated our eyeswith their passionately red tropical color. Thedeep blue sky and splendid crimson of deigo(also: Indian coral bean) presented aspectacular contrast, along with the deep greenleaves of cycad ferns and banyan trees thatmaintained their color throughout the year onthis subtropical island. The red hibiscus flowerswere the symbol of our home prefecture. InJapanese they are called bussoge (literally,“Buddha's mulberry flowers.”) When we visitedour ancestral tombs, we picked them fromhedges.

Tomari, Naha and vicinity

Tomari consisted of Maejima, Kaneku, andShinyashiki (new district), Meimichi (the front

street), Kushimichi (the back street),Gakkōnume (in front of school), and Sōgenji(Sōgen Temple). The residents were united byesprit de corps, and local patriotism. “Iisogwachi de yaibiiru” (Happy New Year) is theNew Year’s greeting in Okinawan language.People visited their relatives and adults sippingsake to celebrate the New Year. Next cameMarch 3rd. In the past, families went to abeach with boxed food, but this was no longerpracticed. Instead we celebrated the day withMarch 3rd sweets (square-shaped donuts).Born on the 3rd of March, I had thought thespecial dishes were made for my birthday.When I discovered that every family madethem, and that they were not just for me, I wasdisappointed and a little embarrassed.

The March 3rd celebration was followed by theYukka nu hii festival on May 4th by the lunarcalendar. My mother cooked wheat and redbeans with sugar, and added rice dumplings.We called them amagashi (sweets). Another

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

3

sweet delicacy my mother made was thepancake-like “chinpin” and “po-po.” Life at thattime was simple, but we were never short ofjoyful events. When Yukka nu hii arrived, storesdisplayed various toys, and shop ownerswelcomed children with big smiles hoping thattheir parents would buy them toys. We felt likewe were in heaven. Girls received colorfulbouncing rubber balls decorated with paintedflowers. They were the most popular toys andalmost all girls had their parents buy them.Boys’ favorite toys were swords, tops andgittcho sticks. My brother loved swords. Healways had a difficult time selecting one amongthe many sold at stores.

Yukka nu hii also brought haarii, the “dragonboat races” of fishing canoes to Tomari.

This was also the festival for fishermen to prayfor good catches. The dugout canoes weredecorated with dragons in bright colors. Crewmembers for each canoe included an oarsman,a flag bearer, a helmsman, and a coxswain whobeat on a metal drum. My mother told me thatpeople had to pay for reserved seats along theriver banks from Tomari Bridge to the TomariPort. When the race started, men, women andchildren all cheered for their favorite canoeteams. Some whistled through their fingers.The crew members wearing special teamuniforms gave their all to reach a marked half-way point and then return to the finish line,rowing, striking the metal drums, wavingbanners, and chanting ”sa sa sa hai hai hai.”

Tomari is also known for its unique ji-barii,(land races of canoes on wheels). The crew

members paraded through the neighborhoodstreets in a boat-shaped structure as if theywere rowing on the ocean. Before the event,they practiced at a neighborhood park or at myfamily boatyard. My father, as ji-barii teamcaptain, trained crews when the ji-barii seasonapproached. My best friend Kikuko’s father,Mr. Arume, was the only person who could singthe traditional ji-barii song in Chinese. I was

fascinated by this strange song, whose words Idid not understand. Boys played the gittchogame with two sticks, one shorter than theother. At the sound of a bell, began hitting theshorter stick with the longer one. The boy whohits the shorter stick farthest is the winner.

I remember my grandfather as a formal man.He was tall, handsome, and dignified-looking.His gentle eyes gave the impression that hewas also very methodical. He talked slowly andpolitely. On the other hand, my grandmotherwas short and happy-go-lucky. We oftenlaughed at her absent-mindedness. She wasborn around 1868, the beginning of the MeijiEra. Her skin was fair and her hands werecovered with blue hajichi (tattoos). Wegrandchildren were fascinated by them. Girlsreceived tattoos when they reached seven oreight years of age. Tattooing was a kind offashion or status symbol among Okinawanwomen who competed for the most attractivelytattooed hands, saying with a touch of envythat so and so “has beautiful tattoos.”

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

4

Tattoed hands

Tattoos are now in style worldwide. Gettingtattoos in those days required enormouscourage. Girls went to tattoo artists with theirfriends or aunts with special dishes inlacquered lunch boxes. First, designs weredrawn on their hands with a rubbing stickdipped in sumi India ink and awamori brandy.Then the artist inscribed the tattoos with fromthree to twenty-five needles bundled togetherwhile wiping away the blood. Friends whoaccompanied the girl kept talking to her todistract her from the pain. It took four or fivevisits to complete the process on both hands.Girls endured the pain in order to befashionable, but on the fingers near thefingernails, it was almost unbearable.

Tattooing was the r i te of passage towomanhood. It was said, “No tattoos, noadmittance to the next world,” and “You cannottake your money after you die, but tattoos willstay with you into the next world.” Thus thecustom may have had religious significance.The higher a girl’s social status, the moreslender were her tattoo designs.

People in those days were very polite andbowed low when they greeted one another. Igrew up watching my parents, especially mymother, carrying on conversations with herfather or greeting him with very politemanners. It seemed that for my grandfatherand mother good manners were extremelyimportant. With all that low bowing, it was likewatching a classical drama, and I always felt alittle embarrassed. My grandfather lived nearthe Shuri Castle in Shuri, the old capital of theRyukyu Kingdom. He owned a general grainstore. The descendants of the Shō family (kingsof the Ryukyus) were living nearby, and mygrandmother took me to v is i t them.Grandfather visited us in Tomari once or twicea month after he finished his business in thecity. When he visited, my mother knelt ontatami and bowed to him very deeply. My

grandfather also bowed, and asked her how shewas doing. I sat close to my mother and cast anupward glance. I heard that when he came tovisit, our neighbors peeked through the fence.They were fascinated by their formal manners.

I learned about our neighbors “peeping” onesummer evening under a banyan tree. Womencame to the tree to enjoy the evening cool withtheir fans when the sun set behind the tree,finally bringing shade. This was the time torelax and gossip while sipping tea or munchingblack sugar coated with toasted ground wheatflour. One evening the subject was mygrandfather. One person caused a burst oflaughter among the women by imitating theway my grandfather carried himself. Mymother did not know how to react and blushed.I wish I could be under the banyan tree oncemore. Smiling faces of good-natured neighbors,the big banyan tree, the evening ocean, and thered evening sky are treasured memories of myhome. I wish I could visit it at least in mydreams.

My paternal grandfather was a ship builder. Healso owned junks, and had people working forhim. They set sail and brought back white coralto be used as building materials. He wasphysically handicapped. His back was bent overat a 90-degree angle due to a back injury hesuffered when he was young. However, henever complained. He always sat in the livingroom near the veranda facing the ocean,because from there he could see his boats.When they did not return on time in fairweather he grumbled and became irritated.When the weather was good the boats couldbring back coral twice a day. When the weatherwas bad they could bring it once a day. "Time ismoney" was his motto, and he was a hard-working man. He was self-employed with anoffice that was far from luxurious. At home healways had newspapers, an abacus, a brush andink stone box and white rolled paper in hisroom. There was a magazine, Women's Friendamong the pile of newspapers. I did not

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

5

understand why he read Women's Friend. LaterI learned that his wife passed away, leavinghim to bring up eight children alone, and heneeded help.

My father was the fifth child and when hismother died he was ten or eleven years old. Amiddle-aged couple lived with them. The wifeworked as a maid and the husband as acaretaker. Since grandfather could not walkstraight and perhaps was a little embarrassed,whenever he went to a barber shop, publicbath, or downtown, the caretaker took him byrickshaw. His home consisted of a big and asmall house connected by a covered roof. Inbetween there was a yard and a pond filledwith carp. Near the pond was a kumquat treebearing fruits. At the corner of the yard was atall banana tree. My mother used bananaleaves to wrap rice balls. During summer, welost our appetites because of the heat and heatrashes. To improve our appetites, my motherwould often make rice balls wrapped in bananaleaves, put them in a basket, and take us to abreakwater where we enjoyed a picnic lunchwhile watching pon-pon boats. The oceanbreeze cooled us and seemed to cure ourrashes.

When bananas were on the tree, I could notwait until they were ripe, and begged my fatherfor them. My father picked the green bananas,wrapped them in newspaper, and put them in arice barrel. By the time we forgot about thebananas a few days later, they were ready toeat. About ten meters away from the verandawere four or five banyan trees. They weretrained to grow sideways and were 20 or 25five meters long. A banyan tree with a bigbranch was ideal for hanging a swing set.During summer nights, we could see fishingboats with their flickering lights; the eveningbreeze blew gently; and stars in the dark skyglowed mysteriously. When my grandfatherwas about 70 years old, he remarried. Thewoman he married did not have children. I amsure they were happy to find companionship in

their old age. It did not take too long for usgrandchildren to become attached to our newgrandmother.

My parents were not blessed with children for along time. I was born after nine years of theirmarriage. I cal l my mother Kunibu inOkinwawan (bergamot orange, written in thecharacters for “nine-year mother,” Kunenbo inJapanese). Afterwards, like a horse that startsrunning and never stops, she bore three morechildren, and finally joined other mothers whowere busy with child rearing. When I was sixyears old, our family experienced manytragedies. My younger sister suddenly becameill with encephalitis. The day before she died,my 5-year-old younger brother, Kōshin,drowned at the Tomari Port. My parents weretoo busy taking care of my sister and did nothave time to pay attention to my brother. Guilttormented them. The house was in turmoil. Mymother’s sobs of despair pierced my littleheart. When we returned home after entombingmy brother, we learned that my sister hadpassed away. My mother’s refusal to leave ourfamily tomb made others cry with her.

When the anniversaries of their deaths cametwo days in a row, my mother prayed in front ofour family shrine and cried quietly, sitting onthe veranda watching the ocean. I felt sorry forher, and when I sat next to her to comfort her,she wiped her tears and smiled at me. Thehouse at that time was gloomy and oppressive.I still remember vividly these tragic events thattook place 63 years ago. My younger brotherwould be 68 years old now. I wonder what kindof grandfather he would be if he were alive. My3-year-old sister was a strange, mystical child,different from ordinary children. When mymother was going out, my sister would ask her,“Where are you going?” using the honorificexpression like a grown-up talking to an elder.Our neighbors commented on her mysteriousbehavior.

Five years after the tragic incidents, my

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

6

brother Kōkichi was born. Our family finallywas relieved of gloomy obsession, and thehouse again was filled with laughter. I waseleven and my younger brother, Kōzen, was six.With the youngest boy, Kōkichi, we three grewrapidly and stayed healthy.

When I was in the first grade my father used tocomb my hair, and put rouge on my cheekseven though I did not want him to. As soon as Ileft the house, I rubbed the rouge off mycheeks.

For us the sea was our second home. Whensummer arrived, we played by the sea withneighborhood children. We taught ourselves toswim. When junks and Yanbaru boats left theport, there were no obstacles, and we couldswim to our hearts’ content. Small childrenswam or splashed water in the shallows. Thosewho could swim swam between Tomari andKaneku beaches. I took a wash basin, put smallkids in i t , and swam. We also f loatedcucumbers in the salty water, eating themwhile we swam. The salt water enhanced thetaste of the crunchy cucumbers. In those daysthe unpolluted water was safe. We had no toys,but found ways to entertain ourselves innature. My mother, who had lost her child inthe water, did not want me to play by the sea,and often came to warn me.

Beyond Tomari Port was Kaneku beach andMitujii. On the other side was Shinyashiki andbeyond was Aja. The area was filled with seawater at high tide, but low tide created a vastbeach and people came to collect sea shells. Ialso went to collect shells with my neighbors.Chinbora and Hicharan shells were foundunder rocks. They were cooked and the meatwas added to aburamiso (sautéed bean paste)as a nice addition to my school lunch. Once Iwas turning over rocks looking for sea shellswhen an octopus suddenly attached itself to myfoot and calf with its suctions. I tried to take itoff, but it refused to come loose. I screamedand shook my leg. I took off my shoes and

almost fainted with fear. Fortunately an elderlyman approached and removed it. I was sofrightened that I never again went to collectshells. The man, ignoring my fright, just left myside smiling with his lucky harvest, an octopus.

My mother used to wear traditional Ryukyuankimono with her hair coiled in a specialRyukyuan knot with a shiny silver hair pin ontop. Indigo linen kimono worn loosely inushinchi style went very well with her hair. Mymother looked especially beautiful when shewas carrying a parasol. Okinawan kimono doesnot require heavy sashes as in Japan, and looksvery natural and comfortable. The Ryukyuanstyle of kimono that was adopted during theperiod of the Ryukyu Kingdom is suited to theclimate and very beautiful.

My father was an uminchu (man of the sea) andfrequently wore only a loin cloth. I wasembarrassed by his attire, and was worriedabout my friends’ reactions. Whenever he worenothing but the loin cloth, I wanted him to divebefore my friends saw him. The loin cloth wasthe standard attire among uminchu at thattime, but it always irritated me. I hated his loincloth, but he was a good father. According tomy mother, in winter my father always warmedcloth diapers inside his kimono for the next use.My children and my younger brothers' childrenalso used these diapers as if it was his privileget o w a r m t h e m f o r h i s c h i l d r e n a n dgrandchildren. My father was a shipbuilder,and dedicated his life to shipbuilding. He was atalented builder, but I do not think he was agood businessman.

The Lull Before the Storm as WarApproaches

Shōwa 15 (1940) was a year before theoutbreak of the Pacific War. It was a quiet timeon Okinawa with half of the roughly 600,000citizens making a living fishing and the otherhalf farming.

Assimilation into the mainstream Japanese

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

7

culture was making inroads into our localculture, but the islanders still adhered totradition. My mother and our neighbors, forinstance, were still wearing Ryukyuan stylekimonos and daily conversation was inOkinawan. I spoke standard Japanese at schooland Okinawan at home. People in my parents'generation had names that were distinctive toOkinawa. For example, men's typical nameswere Makaree, Taruu, Sanree, Machuu andKamijuu. Women's were Chiruu, Ushii, Kamii,Utuu, and Makatee. The schools ran campaignsto "Speak Standard Japanese." If pupils spokedialect, they were punished, or had to carry aspecial placard to show that they had spokenthe forbidden tongue. When we slipped into itaccidentally, we looked around sheepishly tomake sure that the teachers hadn’t heard us.The school was somewhat oppressive in thatway. Daily life, on the other hand, was carefreeand peaceful. My neighborhood was so quietthat the only sounds we could hear were acarriage’s squeaking wheels and the pleasantechoes of horses’ galloping. Food was ratherlimited in variety. The main staples were rice,sweet potatoes, fresh fish, vegetables, freshtofu, and seaweed. Occasionally, whenfinancially possible, fish cakes, meat, and eggswere served. Our eating habits were verysimple, but everybody had enough to eat. Menwere strong, and women were hard working.Neighbors were thoughtful, warm, generousand forgiving. The island was small, but theislanders' hearts were many times bigger.

We celebrated the New Year of Shōwa 16(1941) as usual by decorating the frontentrance of our home with bamboo, pine trees,and the rising sun flag. New Year’s greetingswere exchanged among neighbors. My motherwas busy making special soup, a sauteedseaweed dish, red bean rice, fish tempura andsashimi. The fire god (hi nu kan) in the kitchenwas decorated with a piece of charcoalwrapped in seaweed, pine tree branches, andan orange. Children were looking forward toreceiving New Year monetary gifts (o-

toshidama). We would count the money wecollected with great excitement as the dayprogressed.

Families donned their best clothes to go to theNaminoue Shrine. We crossed Tomari Bridge,went through Suiwataibashi and on to Wakasa-machi which was crowded with people.Whenever we visited the shrine on New Year’sDay, the sea wind blew and piercing coldchilled our bodies. When we finally came toNaminoue Street, the road was already packedwith worshippers. There was a group of middleschool students in karate uniforms runningtoward the shrine shouting in unison throughthe icy cold wind. Summer arrived in thesouthern island, seeming to skip springaltogether. In June we were surrounded by theshrill chirping of cicadas, which seemed tomake mid-summer even hotter. Neighborscame out and gathered under the treescarrying their fans. They brought popo (rolledpancake), sweet potato pudding, and donuts.My mother brought tea. The women enjoyedgossiping. The islanders knew how to cope withlong, hot summers.

Gigantic masses of clouds looked like floatingcotton balls in the endless blue sky. In the

sweltering heat, children’s foreheads and neckswere covered with heat rash. My mother wipedus with towels and sprinkled on talcum powder.Our favorite summer food was watermelon.Since we did not have a refrigerator or airconditioning, we filled an urn with water andkept the watermelon there all day. When coldwatermelon slices were served, children tookbig bites, ignoring the sweet juice that randown their faces. Arrival of the fall made usforget the mid-summer heat and healed ourweariness from it. One day I took a walk towardSōgenji Temple through a pine forest. I pickedflowers which I intended to press fordecorations. I got the idea from a middle schoolgirl, Higa Akiko. The area was surrounded bytombs that made me nervous. So I turned back.

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

8

Pampas flowers were in full bloom and shakinglike long-necked dolls. The white blossomswere as smooth as velvet. In the evening of theAugust moon (August 15), every familycelebrated the full moon by offering pampasgrass with its flowers and fuchagi (bean-covered rice dumplings). I always wonderedabout the old belief that on that night a rabbitmade rice dumplings on the moon. The autumnpassed as usual, and we were unaware that thewar was about to pounce on us.

The Pearl Harbor Attack and EarlyVictories Celebrated

On December 8, Shōwa 16 (1941), we heardthe news that Japan had attacked Pearl Harbor.At school during morning assembly, ourprincipal announced, “Japan had no choice butto declare war against Britain and the UnitedStates because they attacked and damaged aJapanese Red Cross ship.” I felt somewhatnervous, but in the past, Japan’s wars (theRusso-Japanese War and the Manchurian andChina Incidents) were fought far away, and thecurrent war apparently had nothing to do withOkinawa, so we were not afraid.

Immediately after the attack, all Japan wasimmersed in militarism. I, too, was very proudof Japan and admired the brave Japanesesoldiers. Japan had never experienced defeat,and we had a feeling of superiority. All daylong, news of victories was broadcast overradios where crowds gathered. "We won," "Wewon." People were intoxicated as if at a festival.I was only a child, but was swept up by thevictorious mood and high spirits. We heardabout the Imperial Declaration of War over theradio. I was only a fifth grader, but sensed thatthis was a big event for Japan.

After the Pearl Harbor attack, people’s spiritsrose steadily, like the rising sun, and the coldnorth wind from the sea did not bother us,Celebrating the New Year of Shōwa 17 (1942)was most memorable, and the military moodheightened my spirits. I was burning withpatriotism, and pledged that I would do myutmost for the nation. Our family visited theNaminoue Shrine as usual. The shrine wasmore crowded and animated with worshippersthan in other years. After praying, we boughtFukusasa (bamboo branches to bring goodluck). Along the road to the Shrine were two orthree noodle shops. It was our custom to stopfor bowls of noodles on our way home from theshrine, but that year we went straight home formy mother’s New Year dishes, ignoring thearoma of chopped green scallions coming fromthese shops crowded with customers.

January and February passed quickly, and Ientered the 6th grade in April. Around thattime, the presence of soldiers in army and navyuniforms became conspicuous, but they werenot carrying weapons, and looked relaxed.News of Japanese victories was broadcast inrapid succession. Japan had already invadedthe Philippines, Borneo, the MalaysianPeninsula, Celebes, and Singapore. We made ahuge map at school, and put little rising sunflags on locations that were occupied by Japan.

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

9

Befitting a nation training for war, girls learnedhow to use a shafted axe called a naginata(halbard) at school. We realize now how absurdthis practice was. However, we really believedthat we could stop the enemy’s shells with ahalberd. Never having experienced war, we didnot know the real power of weapons, and wepracticed very hard.

Music also reflected the war mood. Children'ssongs were gradually replaced with songsabout soldiers, warships, and fighter planes.When I was small, the songs or stories welearned fostered in us wonderful imaginingsand dreams, but adults now used music to leadus to war. Adolescent girls, expected to be“guardians behind the guns,” fell in with themartial spirit by singing military songs in whichwhite lilies, mountain cherry blossoms, andplum blossoms were used allegorically toidealize the war.

“Yamazakura” (Mountain Cherry Blossoms)

Mashiroki Fuji no kedakasa o

Kokorono tsuyoi tate to shite

Mikuni ni tsukusu ominara wa

Kagayaku miyo no yamazakura

Chini saki niou kuni no hana

Mountain Cherry Blossoms

Noble Mt. Fuji covered with white snow

Is the powerful shield for young women’s soul

Who dedicate their lives to their country,

They are mountain cherry blossoms in fullbloom,

Their Sovereign’s beautiful flowerers

“Umi yukaba” “When We Go to Sea”

Umi yukaba mizuku kabane

Yama yukaba kusamusu kabana

Okimi no he ni koso shiname

Kaeri wa sezu

Across the sea, corpses soaking in the water,

Across the mountains, corpses heaped upon thegrass,

We shall die by the side of our lord.

We shall never look back.1

The Tide of War Turns Bringing anExpanded Draft, Civilian Mobilization, andFood Shortages

Japan’s string of victories was short-lived. Thewinds of war shifted by the latter half of Shōwa17 (1942). The massive U.S. offensive broughtdefeats to territories occupied by Japan.However, the Japanese government madeutmost efforts to convince us that “Victory iscertain.” The military and the government weremost afraid of spies, and coined the slogan, “Ifyou see a stranger, consider him a spy.”Nobody dared criticize the national policy.

Life became harder day by day. Food rationingwas implemented in every village. A long lineformed early in the morning in front of theneighborhood store where food wasdistributed. This was where we went to buycandies as children. We received rice, potatoes,cigarettes, candles, sugar (unprocessed blacksugar), and cooking oil, but it was impossible toget enough. Worse, we never knew when thenext distribution would become available. Inorder to supplement shortages, people obtaineditems on the black market or exchanged goodswhile being careful to avoid arrest by thepolice. However, they did not feel that theywere committing crimes. This was just a way tosurvive. About this time, my mother’s brother,

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

10

Soju Nitta, was drafted into the army andshipped to China. My mother and I made carepackages for him. After the war he returnedhome, nothing but skin and bones. We thenlearned that he had received none of thepackages we sent.

I welcomed the last summer vacation ofelementary school that year. It would becomethe last school summer vacation of my life.When it arrived, my friends, now freed fromschool work, looked radiant and lively. We weretogether almost everyday. The vacation,however, was not filled entirely with funactivities. We went to Shinyashiki Park by 6:00a.m. to do exercises broadcast on the radio. Wehad to get up earlier during summer vacation.Children went to the park rubbing their eyesand grumbling. No child was excused from the“radio exercises” unless sick. But exerciseaccompanied by radio music in the coolmorning air woke us up and refreshed us.Teachers drew circles on attendance cardswhen we were there or an “x” if we wereabsent. When school started again we had togive the cards to our teachers. Therefore, wedared not miss morning exercises.

We also had lots of homework: crafts, drawing,and sewing aprons. The worst was the“Summer Vacation Companion Notebook.”Daily homework was assigned for each page.While having fun, we were constantly remindedof the unfinished pages. I tried to complete themissing days’ information at the end of thesummer, but each page required that we recordthat day’s weather conditions. When thesummer was almost over I had to “create” theweather for the days I had skipped. I could notask my parents about the weather, so Iborrowed my neighbor’s notebook to copy theconditions for each day. This last vacationbrings a smile now. In spite of the hardships, itwas an enjoyable time. Those friends I playedwith are all in their 70s now.

During Shōwa 18 (1943), we felt the war

encroaching upon us. Islanders were at a losswhether to go to mainland Japan or to Yanbaru,the northern part of Okinawa Island. It wasrumored that the United States had invadedGuadalcanal, that Japanese soldiers hadsuffered honorable deaths, and that Japaneseforces were beginning to retreat. The militarytried to suppress news of Japanese defeats. Webusied ourselves with preparations to defendthe nation. Neighborhood associations” wereorganized everywhere and air-raid drills wereconducted. Middle school students between 14and 18 were mobilized. Housewives wereherded into “Japanese Imperial Women’sDefense Associations.” Under the “NationalMobilization Law,” all Okinawans, with theexception of young children and the elderly,were subject to forced labor by

the military and the government. Eachneighborhood association was comprised of 10to 15 households, headed by a honchō (leader).The honchō’s duty was to distribute rationcards and survey the neighborhood in theevenings to make sure that no lights werevisible. They were also responsible for relayingmessages and for the welfare of the members.

Our honchō was Mrs. Heshiki Tsuru .Sometimes during the night, she yelled,“Sakumoto Tsutsu (my mother’s name), this isthe official announcement of an air-raid!!!!”Then she ran to the next house yelling again. Itwas just a drill, but it sounded very real, andwe obeyed her orders. As soon as we heard the“air-raid” announcement, my mother and Ichanged into monpe (pants made out ofkimono), put on anti-air-raid hoods, and ran tothe drill location carrying air-raid bags filledwith emergency kits. The drills assumed thatone of our neighborhood homes had beenbombed. Men climbed a ladder to the roof, andpeople on the ground ran a bucket brigade withwater from the water supply tank, finallyhanding the buckets to men on the roof toextinguish the imaginary fires. The drills tookplace three to four times a week, day and night.

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

11

“Mobilized students” were engaged in theconstruction of air-raid shelters or artilleryemplacements. As a middle school student, Iwas sent to high ground at nearby Oroku orAmeku:, or, to Urasoe behind Shuri. Girls’ softhands became as coarse as those o fconstruction workers. When soldiers, who weresupervising our work, signaled a break, wewent under pine trees and licked small piecesof seaweed and cubed black sugar, listening tocicadas chirping. After a short break weresumed work. Soldiers dug with picks, and putthe dirt into small baskets. The first girl in aline handed each basket to the next girl, andthen to the next. When lunch time wasannounced we washed our hands and gatheredunder the pine trees to open our lunch boxes ofrice mixed with sweet potatoes and peas, andsometimes sautéed bitter melon or tofu withvegetables, but rarely meat. If an egg dish wasin the lunch box, my eyes glowed big withexcitement. If there was no

side dish, I ate rice balls with sautéed beanpaste inside. However meager the lunch boxcontents were, after hard labor, any food was adelicious, welcome feast.

Our Shinyashiki Women’s Defense Associationwas very active. When young men in ourneighborhood were drafted and left their lovedones and homes for mainland Japan, the womengot together and performed kachaashii (freeform dance) with sanshin accompaniment anddrums played by elderly people. My mother wasnot comfortable performing kachaashii. Oncewhen she was pushed forward to dance, sheraised her arms, but was too embarrassed tocontinue and quit within a minute. My fatherwho had never seen Mother dance stared wide-eyed at her.

Around that time “banzai” (Long live theEmperor) send-off cheers were heard frommany directions starting in the early morning.When ships departed, they were sent off withwaving rising sun flags and military music. We

sent soldiers sennin bari (thousand-stitchbelts). They were sewn by women with redthread praying for soldiers’ success and safetyat war. I stood on a street corner requestingwomen passers-by to add a few stitches. Thecommercial port became a military port.Military ships were seen often, heightening thefeeling of approaching war. The masculinewhite uniforms of sailors were most becomingwith matching sailor hats. When young sailorspassed by we were excited, but did not havethe courage to start a conversation.

After I finished Tomari Elementary School, wedid not know whether to stay in Okinawa or goto mainland Japan. My father finally decided tostay, and I enrolled in Shōwa Girls School laterthan usual. We had classes for the first sixmonths, but soon English was abolished, andeventually classes were replaced by physicallabor for the military. This is why I only haves ix th -grade schoo l educat ion . Oneunforgettable memory toward the end of thesixth grade was the time I had a coupon for apair of sneakers. Our teacher inspected oursneakers, and a child who the teacher thoughtneeded new shoes was given a coupon. Myshoes were so torn that my five toes weresticking out and the heels were completelyworn. It took a year for me to get the necessarycoupon.

One morning I was in a line to get rations formy mother in front of the Iha Store. Familiarfaces were all there waiting their turns. Womenwere wearing monpe and men were in black orkhaki shirts and pants with gaiters, and rubber-soled tabi (two-toed sneakers). All of us waitedour turns while exchanging pleasantries. Whenmy turn finally came, I received about 20 cupsof rice, 13 or 15 sweet potatoes, two or threepacks of cigarettes, and several candle sticks.Getting the four kinds of items pleased meimmensely, but they were the bi-weekly rationsallocated for all five members of my family. Andthere was no guarantee that we would getanother distribution in two weeks. In December

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

12

of that year, the military began draftingstudents over the age of twenty. Studentsoldiers were sent to the front after brieftraining. Shortages of materials became moresevere day by day.

Evacuations to the Mainland Begin asTensions Rise

Following the New Year of Shōwa 19 (1944),the number of soldiers and civilians working forthe military increased, and military vehicletraffic became heavier. I could feel the tenseatmosphere. Refugees who were escaping tothe north passed our neighborhood constantlyday and night: young mothers carrying babieson their backs, parents holding children’shands and a bundle of their belongings; askinny elderly couple with their backs bentwalked unsteadily carrying what they couldhold. They were all heading north.

One day in April, my father got on the ShuriBus at the Higashi-Machi bus stop after hefinished some business in downtown Naha. Onthe bus a stranger asked him where the TomariReservoir was located. My father becamesuspicious of this man who asked about thereservoir that was a lifeline for the citizens, andconcluded that he must be a spy. Also on thebus, there happened to be a teacher, Ms.Arume, from Tomari Elementary School. Heasked her to keep an eye on this stranger. Myfather got off at the next bus stop, Uenokura,and ran into the police station. The policearrested the man at the Wakasa bus stop, thesecond stop after my father got off. Nobodyknew what happened to him, but my fathertalked about this spy incident with great pridefor a long time afterwards, as if it were a greatachievement.

My classmates started disappearing one byone, and I spent hours wondering about theirwhereabouts. They went away without evensaying, “Good bye.” Some might have gone tomainland Japan, and others might haveremained some place in Okinawa. They were all

scattered by the whims of fate.

In May, the government ordered my father togo to Miyako Island to repair ships. He was 46years old, and most men his age were draftedinto a defense corps, or rounded up as civilianworkers for the military. This was somethingeveryone expected to happen; however, it wasunusual to be sent on temporary duty. Soonafter my father left, my mother went out to buysweet potatoes from a farmer with whom shehad become friendly. She was wearing monpeand took a bundle in which she had kimono toexchange for food. This amounted to shoppingon the black market, which was prohibited.Police surveillance was strict, but it wasnecessary to break the law to obtain food. Aftershe left, I steamed sweet potatoes and friedeggs. Sweet potatoes had been given to us bythe Uezato family across the street. After thebreakfast of potatoes and fried eggs, myyounger brother became sick. Then Iremembered too late that he had gotten sickonce before after eating eggs. I carried him onmy back to soothe him, but he was not easilycomforted. I decided to give him “wakamoto”stomach medicine. Three of us licked thetablets. Since he liked “wakamoto,” he calmeddown and stopped crying.

Early in the afternoon I heard my mother’svoice from the kitchen. I ran to the kitchen tofind her standing with a huge belly, soakingwet with perspiration. Anybody would think shewas about to have a baby. Shocked by my herappearance, I went to my neighbors beggingthem to come by my house. About 7 or 8 cameto find out what had happened. They firstlooked puzzled by my mother’s condition. Thenmy mother untied the obi saying, “I’ll take itoff. They’re just too heavy.” As she untied theobi, potatoes rolled down on to the tatami mats.Realizing what she had done, my neighborsburst out laughing. It was the first time we’dlaughed in a long time. When my mother lefthome she was wearing her monpe, but shecame home in kimono wearing a kimono coat

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

13

over it to cover her protruding stomach.Apparently, the police did not suspect apregnant woman. I always felt that my motherwas a gentle person, but was surprised to learnthat she also possessed this tough side. Afterthis incident she became very popular amongthe neighbors.

Later, I left to work on the hill in Oroku whereartillery emplacements were being built. Theconstruction had been going on for a week. Thetedious job of handing baskets filled with dirt tothe next person in a line was physicallyexhausting. Students were supposed to get tothe work site by themselves. Meeting at schooland walking there with my classmates wasenjoyable, but walking about three miles alonefrom home in Tomari to the workplacedepressed me. I had to cross the wooden MeijiBridge in which there were many holes. Somewere so big that I could see the water throughthem, and my legs became shaky. When a horsecarriage passed, the bridge shook hard. Assoon as I crossed the bridge, I breathed a sighof relief.

Evacuation Ships Sunk by U.S. NavyTorpedoes

On August 19, Shōwa 19 (1944) I had a strangeexperience. We were close friends with thefamily living across the street from us. UezatoTadanobu and Ushi had three sons and twodaughters, Kami and Tsuru. The sons were inmilitary service, and the older daughter wasalready married. About 7:00 PM, Tsuru came tovisit us. Her parents had gone out to pick up akimono that had been ordered for her. Tsuruasked my mother if it was all right for me tostay with her until her parents returned. Tsuruwas 18 years old, and she was like my bigsister. Ever since learning that she was goingto the mainland, I felt lonely. I went to herhouse. Tsuru put out a futon in her 6-tatamimat room and we talked while lying on thefuton. She said, “I hear there are many cutedolls on the mainland. I’ll send you a doll.” We

talked and talked. A mosquito net was hung inthe room, but I could see things through thenet under the light. Adjacent to her room wasanother 6-tatami-mat room. After a while Ibecame tired and yawned. Then suddenly thewooden door opened and there stood a femalefigure. I could see through the net that waterwas dripping from her long hair. I was soscared I thought I would faint, and I screamed.I felt cold, unable to open my eyes, and I keptscreaming. Tsuru was frightened by my strangebehavior, and ran to get my mother who camequickly and held me tightly. She told me toexplain what had happened. During this time,Tsuru’s parents returned home. As I explainedto them what I had seen, they listened withgrave concern. Tsuru’s mother cleared awaythe net, and prayed in front of the family’sancestral shrine. Then they went out to checkthe pig and sheep pens, and the chicken coop.They looked under the floor and behind theback door, but found no one.

Two days later on August 21, 1944, Tsuru wason board the Tsushima Maru at Naha Portheaded for the mainland. She was going towork at a military parachute factory. About1700 passengers including some 800 schoolchildren were being evacuated. On August 22,the ship was sunk by torpedoes near AkusekiIsland off Kagoshima Prefecture. Fifteenhundred passengers perished; Tsuru was one ofthem. This tragedy followed the sinking of theKōnan Maru the previous year. My father'ssister had gone to Argentina right after hermarriage. But just before World War II, herhusband decided that their four children shouldbe educated in Japan, and in Shōwa 15 (1940)my aunt returned with the Argentina-bornchildren. Her husband stayed behind to run abig coffee farm. My aunt loved fashionableclothes. She wore a fur coat in winter, high-heeled shoes, and a hat decorated with birdfeathers. She looked so different that everyonestared at her. The children were all dressed incute clothes. The boys’ names were Akira andMasatake, and the girls were Mariko and

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

14

Tamako. My aunt sought my father’s advicewhenever there were problems. She called myfather “Yatchi,” brother in Okinawa dialect. Myfather always took good care of them. My auntgave us a blanket with tiger designs that keptus warm. She also gave us white sugar cubeswith coffee in them. When the cubes wereplaced in hot water, the coffee was ready.

My aunt seemed to be living comfortably, butwhen the war started, she became worried anddecided to evacuate to the mainland. All five ofthem boarded the Kōnan Maru at Naha Portwith 568 passengers. The ship left onDecember 19, Shōwa 18 (1943), but around1:30 a.m. on the 21st it was sunk by torpedoes.About four hundred passengers were rescuedby the Kashiwa Maru, but this ship, too, wassunk one hour later, and nearly all passengersaboard perished. The news that the ship wasbombed and sank caused frantic confusionamong the passengers’ families who weredesperate to learn the fate of their loved ones.Along with my aunt and her children, hundredsof school children perished. My fatherfrantically tried to make contact with theauthorities, hoping that his sister and herchildren had somehow survived. After twomonths passed with no news of them, he lookedsuddenly aged. According to the OkinawaPrefecture Government, a total of 32evacuation ships were sunk or damaged. Theyonly know the full details about 13 ships. Oneof my classmates, Nakasone-san, who livednear us, was a Tsushima Maru survivor. I havebeen told that of 1700 passengers aboard theTsushima Maru, only 177 survived. The ToyamaMaru was also sunk on the way from mainlandJapan to Okinawa, east of Tokunoshima Island.Very few of the roughly 4000 soldiers on boardsurvived. These victims are still at the bottomof the sea. Television always broadcasts theannual memorial services for the atomic bombvictims at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but not forthe thousands who died at sea. I wonder if myaunt, her children, and Tsuru-san are resting inpeace at the bottom of the ocean. I hope that

all those ships will be discovered one day tobring closure to their families.

Sea planes that I had never seen before startedto appear on the ocean in front of my house.One young pilot was wearing a flier’s uniformand a hat. His white scarf was flowing in the airand he looked very strong. Many boys and girlswere curious about such gallant figures, andfelt great admiration for them. Their planeszipped over the water at full speed, and thentook off toward the sky.

This reminds me of one sailor, Ken-chan, andhis brother. Ships requisitioned by the militarywere anchoring at Tomari Port. We becamefriendly with the crew of one ship from EhimePrefecture and they came to visit us every day.Captain Sakamoto, about thirty years old, andhis engineer Ken-chan, about twenty. We weretold that Ken-chan was the captain’s brother.The other crew member was about fifty. Theywould visit us after dinner. Sometimes theybrought us a bar of soap, cigarettes, or cannedfish. I do not know what happened to themduring the war. I hope they survived and areliving in Ehime.

In late summer of Shōwa 19 (1944), autumnwinds started to blow, bringing cool air in themorning and evening. My favorite pampasgrass flowers swayed gently in the breeze, butthe heavy reality of the war weighed down onus. Soldiers, civilians working for the military,defense corpsmen, mobilized students, andother civilians believed the military’spropaganda and clenched their teeth,determined to give their utmost. All of us knewwhat we were expected to do, and did not feeldepressed when told that we had to endureuntil we won the war.

American Firebombs Destroy Naha in10-10 Air Raid

October 10, Shōwa 19 (1944) was a beautifulday with soft rays of sunshine. I never dreamedthat such a bucolic town as Naha would be

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

15

raided from the air without warning. Mybrother and I were on our way to school. Whenwe came to Tomari Bridge, about twenty peoplewere gazing toward Naha Port. Among themwere several army soldiers. Flying low, three or

four airplanes approached Naha Port anddropped some black objects. With boomingexplosions, black smoke and flames soared highinto the sky. Then gasoline tanks at Naha Portblew up one after another. At first, bystandersthought this was an air-raid exercise, but thenthey started saying, “It’s unthinkable topractice with real bombs.” Aware of thedanger, the soldiers yelled at us, “Everybody,go home!” I ran to our house pulling mybrother’s arm.

My mother had already started taking thingsoutside. When she saw us coming, she lookedrelieved, handed me my two-year-old youngerbrother who she was carrying on her back, andcontinued to take furniture and clothingoutside. Until then I had never felt so helplessin my father’s absence. With as manybelongings as she could carry, my mother ledus to higher ground where tombs had beenbuilt, a place she thought would be safer. Thearea was called Enjun, and was the location ofa natural cave, Fusu Ferin, that had beendesignated as an evacuation shelter for theresidents of Shinyashiki. We escaped to thecave, but as soon as we were settled inside, mymother went back to the house, telling us not toleave the cave. She returned with clothing andfood; then, telling us she had forgotten to bringthe family shrine, she went back home again.

Our neighbors were doing their best to bringtheir belongings. I had been told that at thefirst sign of an air-raid there would be awarning siren, followed by the air-raid siren,but there were no sirens before the 10-10 airraid, as the October 10, 1944 bombing came tobe called.

After bringing our belongings to the cave, wewere too afraid to go home. We all squeezed

inside and waited. I peeked furtively at the cityfrom behind a tomb. We were told that wecould see signs of bombing in the sky. Soon theentire city was in flames. The fires spreaduncontrolled, and soon engulfed Shinyashiki.First, Higa’s Barber Shop near the TomariBridge went up in flames. After that the firespread rapidly and the wind blew sparks on tohouses along the shore. Once the housescaught fire, they collapsed one by one with aroaring sound. Finally my house startedburning. My mother and I watched in tears. Allthe furniture and other things that had beenleft inside were lost. Almost all the houses inShinyashiki burned down. Only a few close tothe tomb area escaped the disaster. One ofthem was my grandfather’s house. Meanwhile,the fires in the city were raging ever morefuriously. Residents whose escape route wasblocked by fire ran along the shore lines ofNaminoue to Wakasa-machi, to Kaneku, to theTomari Bridge, then to Uenoya and Aja. Longlines of hundreds, maybe thousands, of peoplewere running, but many did not survive. Wecould not imagine why the Japanese militarydid not resist. The city of Naha was destroyedeasily by just a few enemy planes.

Then, as suddenly as they had arrived, theenemy planes were gone along with the soundsof falling bombs. Later, the sun rose as usual,and people started coming and going amongthe pampas flowers. After sunset, the sky overthe city glowed. When night fell, people cameout of the cave and watched their houses burnin silence. I looked at the fire burning in thenight. The only sound was insects chirping.Then I heard my mother’s voice. She hadbrought steamed sweet potatoes and sautéedturnips. I suddenly felt starved. I had not eatenanything all day. Later, my mother told me toget some sleep. I went back inside the cave, butwas unable to fall asleep. I could hear adultswhispering.

The eastern sky became white and morningdew glistened in the grass, but insects kept

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

16

chirping at the tomb sites. Cool air filled thearea refreshingly as if the bombing raid thenight

before had been a bad dream. However, thesunlight revealed white and black smoke risingfrom my house. Small flames could still be seenfrom the charred objects in the kitchen wheretwo or three pots lay overturned. I could notbear to look at the pitiful sight of that place Iused to call home. All the houses along TomariBridge had burned to the ground. I wonderedhow we were going to survive after this.

Two days after the 10-10 air-raid, I saw a crowdgathered at Kaneku beach across from TomariPort. I was trying to figure out what hadhappened when, seized by curiosity, I took offfor the beach, though it hurt my feet to runacross the coral. When I finally got there, whatI saw made me want to cover my eyes. AnAmerican fighter plane was down with thepieces scattered all over. Next to it, I saw onethigh and part of a leg. They must have beensevered from the rest of the body that wasnowhere in sight. The red-burned skin was soswollen it seemed about to burst. I felt sorry forthe enemy soldier. But then I remembered thattwo days before, the American military hadkilled many people in Okinawa. I felt confused.Twenty or thirty people were standing about.Some looked sad, some wore blank expressions,and others threw stones at the severed limbs.

Then we heard sirens, and everybody hurriedaway, running across the beach toward thestreet. There was no place to hide at the beach,and the fear that a bomber might spot us andkill me with a machine gun made me run as fastas I could, ignoring the pain stabbing at thesoles of my feet. The bottoms of my sneakerswere so worn out that it was like goingbarefoot. At school I had been given a new pairof sneakers, but I could not bring myself towear them, and had stored them in myemergency kit bag. I intended to keep wearingthe old shoes until they were completely gone.

I did not tell my mother about this incident fora long time. During the next few days, I wasobsessed with the ghastly sight of that leg.Later I learned that the tide swept it away. The10-10 air raid left many people homeless. Wewere relatively lucky. My grandfather sent hisservant to us with an offer that we could live inone of his rental houses that had becomevacant because the tenant had emigratedabroad. We moved in r ight away. Mygrandparents were living there with a boythree or four years of age I had never seenbefore. When I asked my grandmother abouthim, she hesitated for a moment, but then toldme the truth. Apparently, before the warstarted, my father had gone to work on RasaIsland (present-day Okidaitō-jima), where hebefriended a woman from the northern Yanbaruarea) who gave birth to a boy. It seemed thatmy mother knew about this. I was not oldenough to comprehend the complicated adultworld. My mother looked as if there wasnothing out of the ordinary about this, and toldus his name was Kōsei and that we should callhim Sei-chan. “He is your brother, so you haveto be nice to him,” she added. We called ourmother "Okkaa." Soon Sei-chan, too, startedcalling her "Okkaa, Okkaa." We quickly gotused to him, and enjoyed having him around.My father at that time was in Miyako, and knewnothing of what was happening to us. Mygrandmother told me how Sei-chan came to livewith them. According to her, his birth motherplanned to marry someone else, and Sei-chanwas brought to my grandparents. Strangely, heresembled my grandfather most closely amonghis grandchildren. So Sei-chan became hisfavorite grandchild. At least this was how itseemed to me.

Sadly, toward the end of October we had toleave my grandparents’ house. The warsituation worsened and we were ordered tomove to the countryside. The Uezato family,our neighbors who had also lost their home,found a house in Mekaru Village near Koganeno Mori behind Tomari Elementary School and

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

17

we moved in with them. The Uezatos had threesons and two daughters. All three sons were inthe Army, and the youngest daughter had diedaboard the Tsushima Maru. The couple wasliving with their elder daughter who had adaughter of her own about four years of age.Her husband had a job with the military. Withthe war situation deteriorating, some of thetroops that had been stationed in Okinawawere transferred to Taiwan. Now specialvolunteer defense corps were organized inmany areas of Okinawa. We heard that the U.S.military was bombing Iwo-jima, and hadinvaded Mindoro Island in the Philippines. Wewere told that the U. S. mobile units wereadvancing on Taiwan and the SouthwesternIslands. Strangely, however, there were no airattacks, like the 10.10 air raid, during the twomonths between December, 1944 andFebruary, 1945. When we occasionally heardair-raid warnings, we got ready for the bombs,but they turned out to be just disturbances, the"calm before the storm."

At the beginning of November my father camehome from Miyako Island. He brought back lotsof emergency food supplies: pork fat, driedbonito, pickled pork meat, and bean paste. Ourhouse was in a festive mood. Usually we onlyhad rice balls, and occasionally bean pastesoup. To celebrate his safe return, Mothercooked rice and beans, radish mixed withseaweed, and pickled pork. She also madesaataa andaagii sweet donuts and vegetabletempura. We hadn’t enjoyed such a feast for avery long time and we all ate until we were full.Without even taking a rest, Father startedimmediately digging an air-raid shelter. Heworked from early morning until it got darkwith Mother, Mrs Uezato’s daughter, AuntKamii, and me. Father gathered up anythingthat might be useful from the ruins of the fires.And from an anti-aircraft emplacement nearby,he brought back leftover boards. The shelterwas finished in about three weeks. Inside theentrance, he built a “living room,” about 4tatami mats in size (20 by 12 feet). Every

morning the sun shone in and warmed it. Theshelter was big enough for fourteen people.Besides our immediate family, there were mygrandparents, my grandfather's brother and hiswife, Mr. and Mrs. Uezato, their daughterKamii, and her daughter. Six of these peoplewere seventy years of age or older. My father ‘swork reflected the heavy responsibility he feltto the community. Now elderly people did nothave to run for the shelter whenever an air-raidwarning sounded. They could stay in theshelter every day, and were grateful to myfather. Every morning three older ladies sat inthe sunny front entrance. They arranged theirhair in kampu style and enjoyed sipping tea.

One day I walked toward Tomari ElementarySchool for no particular reason. I saw manypeople heading north. There was a mancarrying a newspaper among other belongings.I gathered all of my courage and asked, "Ifyou’ve finished reading the newspaper, couldyou give it to me?" He looked surprised. Thenhe replied that the newspaper was old but for itwas too precious to let go. Then, afterpondering a moment, he decided to give it tome. After thanking him I ran to the shelter. Myaimless walk had resulted in such a valuableharvest that I sprang up and raced to theshelter. My grandfather's daily enjoyment wasto read a newspaper, but they were not easy tocome by, which made him unhappy. I put it inhis lap without saying a word As expected, helooked surprised and peered at me over hisglasses with his big eyes. He neither smiled northanked me. Since I knew him very well, hislack of emotional display did not bother me. Iwas sure he was pleased. I imagined that hewas saying to himself, "Hey, job well done,granddaughter." Later

I explained to him how I got the newspaper.The next day Grandmother told me how he’dsaid that, since I had such gumption, I couldhave gone far in life if only I’d been a boy.

The shelter was surrounded by potato,

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

18

vegetable, and sugar cane fields. Most farmershad already abandoned their farms and left.Thus, my grandmother and I dug out sweetpotatoes, and picked vegetables. Once in awhile I felt guilty, but these feelings werereplaced by the thought, “It’s unavoidable. Weare at war.” At night everything becamestrangely quiet as if we were not in the midst ofwar. When I heard insects chirping, I feltpeaceful, and could forget my fear of the war.We thought we could stay put in the shelteruntil it was over. However, within a month, wewere ordered to leave for the north. We hadworked so hard from morning until sunset tofinish the shelter that the mere thought ofmoving to the far-away north made me feelexhausted. My father hired a horse carriage.Walking more than 40 kilometers (about 25miles) would have been impossible for four oldpeople over 70 years of age and four smallchildren. We departed for the north with theowner of the horse carriage.

Evacuation to the North

At daybreak on January 6, Shōwa 20 (1945)nine people boarded the carriage--four elders,four small children, and my mother who was totake care of them. The carriage was overloadedwith all of us and our belongings. My mothermade many rice balls the night before. Thechildren were excited about their first horsecarriage trip. Their smiles eased our frayednerves somewhat. My father, Kamii, and Ifollowed the horse drawn carriage with morebelongings on a cart my father pulled. Our jobwas to help Father pull the cart more than 40kilometers by pushing from behind. Originally,fourteen people were to go north, but mygrandfather’s brother and his wife declined tojoin us. Their house had survived the 10-10 airraid, and visiting their intact home occasionallygave them great comfort. Another reason theydidn’t go with us was that there were abundantfood supplies, such as potatoes and vegetables,in the nearby f ie lds the farmers hadabandoned. Because our uncle and aunt

decided to stay behind, my father planned toreturn with Kamii and me to Mekaru abouttwice a month to make sure they were all right,and to take food back with us to the north.

Despite worries about rain that had beenfalling the past few days, the morning westarted our journey it was clear, although thewind from the north made us shiver. If Okinawahad been at peace, we would have sat aroundthe charcoal hibachi roasting special muuchii(rice cake), our favorite pastime in Decemberand February. The war deprived us of thesesimple pleasures. Nevertheless, I was gratefulto the gods that both elderly and young couldevacuate to the north in the horse carriage. Wepassed through the farm road of Mekaru, andentered the prefecture road at Gusukumawhere a long line of refugees was headingnorth to escape the war. Young mothers carriedtheir babies on their backs; small childrenclasped older family members’ hands; an oldman in a tattered kimono walked barefoot witha furoshiki (a large cloth for wrapping andcarrying) bundle tied around his waist. We hadour own burdens to bear, though, and could nothelp others. Fortunately, there were no air raidwarnings, and we continued our journey. Kamiiand I wore monpe suits and air-raid hoods. Iknew that in case of an air-raid warning I wasexpected to hide somewhere. The horsecarriage went far ahead of us. At first we triedto keep up, but fell farther and farther behind.

We left Mekaru about 5 o'clock in the morning.After that we rested a few times, quenching ourthirst with tea and imbibing some energy bysucking on lumps of black sugar. About oneo’clock in the afternoon, my father said, “We’rein Kadena Village, and have gone abouthalfway. Let’s eat some rice balls.” This was myfirst trip to the north, and I did not know wherewe were, but his suggestion made me happy.We stopped the cart and started eating riceballs with fried mustard leaves. I exclaimed,“How delicious.” Kamii said, “When we’rehungry anything tastes good. Even tea is

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

19

delicious, isn’t it?” Our stomachs full, we feltenergized. Now we had to face the second halfof the trip. Military trucks were heading northand south. By the time we passed Yomitan,Nakadomari, and Chatan, it was after 8:00, andit was dark when we finally reached ourdestination, the Toma family’s home inSeragaki Village. Their house was surroundedby fukugi (garcinia) trees. We learned that mymother's carriage had arrived four hoursearlier. She had cooked warm rice and misosoup to welcome us, and then it was bedtime.

The bright morning sun woke me. I still felttired, but was curious about the new placewhere we were to stay. I walked outside, andsaw five or six houses in idyllic settings amonggreen vegetable fields and rice paddies. Iwalked along the path through the rice fields.The house where we stayed was situated at thefoot of Mount Onna that rose before me. Thiswas a peaceful world, very different from Naha.The owner of the house had welcomed uswarmly. “You know we are blood relatives,” hesaid. I was not used to the northern dialect, butit sounded full of love and kindness. My fatherwas talking with the owner of the horsecarriage while he took care of his horse.

Later Father told us he had decided we wouldleave for Mekaru at 7:00 that evening. At first Idreaded the fifty-mile round-trip journey, buthe said, “The horse carriage will pull the cart,and you can ride in it.” This quickly changedmy mood, and I even felt a little excited. Myfather filled a bag with very sweet taropotatoes that the owner of the house had givenas a gift for Tanmee and Unmee. He alsoloaded charcoal while the carriage owner wasbusy piling on hay for the horse and checkingthe wheels. I brought a mat to sit on, my air-raid hood, and an emergency kit bag. Mymother made rice balls and side dishes for thetrip. Also added were a special snack, thepancake like chinpin that was hard to come byduring those times. Chinpin is made from flour,baking powder, and black sugar, then is rolled

up when done. My mother said the sweetswould restore our energy during travel.

We started out at 7 o'clock. Kamii's daughter,age 4 , d idn ’ t mind s tay ing wi th hergrandparents and didn’t cry when we left.Kamii looked relieved. Soon after we leftSeragaki village, the East China Sea loomedinto view on our right. The beach seemed closeenough to touch the sand. We could smell theocean and hear the gentle sound of the waves.The air was cold, but my padded air-raid hoodshielded me from the chill. My father and thecarriage owner were busy chatting. Perhapsdue to the age difference between Kamii andme, we had little to talk about. So I just listenedto the men's conversations or looked up at thesky. While listening to the sound of waves, Ientertained myself with romantic daydreams.On the dark road we occasionally encounteredrefugees heading north. Some were on foot,some in horse-drawn carriages or wagons.Military trucks headed full speed north andsouth. Some soldiers flew by on bicycles. Theywere wearing familiar khaki uniforms andcombat caps with arm bands that said"Official," indicating that they were carryingofficial messages.

I knew almost nothing of horses before thatnight. During the trip I discovered manyinteresting things about them. Horsesrhythmically shake their heads back and forthas if to keep their balance. I was fascinated bythe movement of their sensitive ears and thesounds coming out of those big nostrils. Theirtails wave left and right as if conducting music.These fond memories from my teenage yearshave stayed with me until today. At the sametime I remember feeling sorry for horses thathad to work so hard all their lives for humanbeings. A story that my father told us duringthe trip back to Mekaru has also stayed withme all these years. According to him, he wasdrafted and sent to Manchuria to repairbuildings and ships. Sometimes he made upexcuses to get permission to go out. He told his

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

20

commander that his tools needed repairs, so heleft the barracks with a saw, chisel, and othercarpentry tools. After leaving the gate he wentwherever he pleased. After spending about twohours outside, he returned. After a while hestopped using the same pretext, fearing hisruse might be discovered. He finished his storyby saying, “Item One: a soldier’s duty is to beshrewd.” His phrase parodied the militaryinstructions soldiers were expected tomemorize, and we all had a big laugh. Later,we stopped to feed the horse and ourselves. Wesavored rice balls, stir fried vegetables,delicious tea, and chinpin, as well as goodconversation. It was strange that we could stillhave an enjoyable journey at the same timethat terrible ordeals were tormenting others.

The horse carriage brought us back to Mekaruvillage while it was still dark. The driverdropped us at the entrance to the air-raidshelter. Tanmee and Unmee came outsidewhen they heard the commotion of our arrival.We called my father’s uncle “Tanmee”(grandfather in Okinawan) and his aunt“Unmee.” Unmee looked surprised. “You’reback so soon. I thought Seragaki was faraway.” We unpacked our belongings quickly,and Kamii and I went to a little cottage on thefarm where we would sleep. My father told ushe was going to sleep in the shelter. Kamii andI slept until noon. Unmee brought us a porridgeof rice and vegetables that we ate until wewere full. She also brought two kimonos fromher house and asked me to make monpe suits,one for her and one for myself. My father andTanmee went to the house to fetch a brazier.We had brought back charcoal from the north,and my father wanted the brazier to heat theshelter. Later in the evening the shelter wascomfortably warm, which greatly pleasedTanmee and Unmee who said, “We feel likewe’ve been reborn.” They only had onedaughter who was five or six years older thanmy father. He called her “Unmii” (sister). Shewas blessed with five sons, and had taken fourof them to be with her husband in Osaka. The

second son was in Okinawa as a student soldierassigned to the signal corps. In their absence,my father was looking after his uncle and auntin addition to taking care of his parents, theelderly Uezato couple, their daughter Kamii,and he four-year-old daughter, Kazuko. Thismeant he had to care for six people over theage of 70. We stayed in the shelter for a while.Unmee and Kamii were busy cooking andwashing clothes, while I was absorbed inmaking monpe suits. My father also kept busy,abruptly leaving and returning periodically.

We planned to return to the north with food,but the war situation got worse, and we couldnot leave as planned. One day a soldier came totell us that this area had become especiallydangerous because a Japanese military anti-aircraft emplacement was only two minutesaway on foot. Now we had to find a safer placeand, having nowhere else to go, hid inside thesame tomb where we had escaped the 10-10 airraid. But this time it was crowded to fullcapacity. Many people were then taking shelterin tombs. Refugees, constantly on the move, didnot have time to dig shelters, which was also awaste of their precious energy for walking.Underground cave shelters were wet, butOkinawan tombs that stood above ground weredry and seemed more welcoming. People alsofelt safer inside. In order to survive, most ofthem did not mind sitting next to urns filledwith human bones. As many as ten peoplewould stay in one tomb. It seemed that the U.S.military knew about the tombs where civilianrefugees hid, and did not bomb them. Still, thetomb that smelled like a mixture of warmtombstones and bones made me sick. I alwayssat next to the entrance where I could breathethe outside air. I hid rice balls in the grassoutside the tomb, and, despite my hunger,waited until an air-raid warning was lifted to gooutside and eat them. I just could not bringmyself to eat inside the tomb.

Sometimes we saw U.S. planes flying over thetombs toward Naha. When someone reported

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

21

that they could be seen 5,000 or 10,000 metershigh, we looked up. They were not easy todetect. Only when the sun hit a plane could wesee its glimmering image. If we blinked oureyes, we would lose sight of it. They lookedvery small and were hard to find again. Sinceno anti-aircraft gun could shoot so high, theyseemed to cruise arrogantly across the sky.

Once, a small child was crying because he wastoo scared to go into a tomb. He knew that thedead were inside, and I could certainlyempathize. An old woman explained, “Ourancestors love their descendants and areprotecting us from danger. You don’t need tobe afraid.” After repeated escapes and hiding,our chance to go back to Seragaki where ourfamily was waiting finally came. We planned tocarry food back to the others twice a month,but it became harder to find any. Soldiers alsostarted looking for food, and vegetables in thefields disappeared as soon as they were readyto be picked. Three of us planned to go out andlook for food one night near the end of January.Tanmee and Unmee decided to stay in tombsduring the day and sleep in the shelter at night.After a successful search, we started back atdusk, our cart piled with food. As we passedalong the farm road with the cart rattling, noisyinsects stopped chirping all at once. The starswere beautiful and sugar cane stalks rustled inthe wind. This time the cart was not as heavyas before. My father pulled it in silence. Kamiiand I talked and laughed as we walked along. Istarted singing military songs, and they joinedme.

Marching in the Snow

Marching in snow and walking on ice

Where is the river? Where is the road?

How can I abandon a dying horse?

Marching into unknown places

surrounded by enemies.

“Oh, well,” I mutter, puffing on a cigarette

With only two more left in my battlefieldbivouac.

I left home with bravado, pledging to bringvictory.

How could I die now without distinguishedservice?

Whenever I hear the sound of a bugle on themarch,

The image of waving flags comes to mind.

The song teaches us that soldiers are expectedto give their lives, that dying for the country isan honor.

Fateful Parting

After passing through villages, we walked onTako Mountain. Legend says that it wasinfested with bandits who stole travelers’money or belongings. Along the bumpy,winding path, we met a relative, Jirō Maeda, abaker who sold bread and pastries. He told ushe was hoarding flour on the mountain, andoffered my father some. He gladly acceptedthree big bags of flour, and loaded them ontothe cart. Soon it started raining, and Fathercovered the cart with a water-proof sheet. As itrained harder, my soaking wet air-raid hoodand monpe gave me chills. Now the bumpypath became muddy, and we had a hard timecontrolling the cart. My old sneakers finallygave out. I had in my air-raid bag a pair of newsneakers that I’d received at school manymonths before, but I decided to conserve themand walk barefoot. There were no houses onthe mountain. We were soaked to the bone, andtrembling with chills. My bare feet gave notraction, and I slipped constantly in spite of myexertion. I became so discouraged that Istarted crying. In order to hide my tears, Ilooked up at the sky as I walked, clinging to thecart, and ignored the rain falling on my face. To

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

22

make matters worse, the cart’s handle brokeunder the weight of the extra flour bags. Myfather looked for a piece of wood wheneverheadlight beams from trucks that passed usoccasionally lit up the surroundings briefly.Fortunately we found some wood, and hesomehow managed to repair the handle withthe tools he was carrying.

We finally reached our family. After taking offour wet clothes and eating warm food, we fellasleep quickly. A good night’s sleep restoredme to my usual self. Crows were cawing amongthe fukugi trees that morning when I heardsome good news. My classmate YamazatoYoshiko and her cousin Iha Tomiko werestaying in the neighborhood. I was surprised tolearn that all of us had relatives in this smallvillage. I also heard that my best friend, ArumeKikuko, was living with her family in the nextvillage. I wanted to see her, but I was notallowed to walk over there. My father told usthis time he intended to stay here for three orfour days to find a suitable hiding place for us. Iwas delighted that I could be with my family alittle longer, and hoped to remain with them.Many families in the village had shelters onOnna Mountain, including the owner of thehouse where we were staying, but it was notbig enough for all of us. My father told us thathe was not planning to dig a shelter on themountain, apparently remembering that we’dhad to abandon our shelter in Mekaru Village.He also said that the mountain was infestedwith mosquitoes that might give us malaria,and that cooking smoke might attract theenemy’s attention for bombing. After lookingaround, he found a natural cave facing theocean near Mehki Point. We were told that inthe past lepers lived in the cave, whichcontained many human skeletons. He gatheredthe bones in a big basket, buried them in theground, then piled rocks on the surface as aburial mound for the dead. He arranged themto look like a stone fence in an attempt to avoidscaring the children. Although it had a gloomyhistory, the cave, its entrance covered with

adan bushes, made the best hiding place. Froman opening at the top of about 50 centimeters(20 inches) the sun shone in. The sky lookedsmall from the cave, but, thanks to the sunlight,it was never too dark inside during the day. Thecave was about 20 minutes on foot from wherewe were staying, close enough to reach in caseof an air-raid warning.

While we were busy setting up the hidingplace, we had a surprise visitor, my cousinSakumoto Koga, grandson of Tanmee andUnmee. He’d been my classmate back inMekaru and was now a student at a middleschool, but currently assigned to the militarycommunications section, and staying on OnnaMountain with his unit. We were like a realbrother and a sister. He always handed downhis textbooks to me, and when he’d see meplaying outside at night, he used to bring mehome. He had to return to the mountain assoon he finished the food my mother served.His unit was allowed to stay out for only alimited time.

After the cave was ready as a hiding place forthe family, we left for Mekaru about 5:00 in theevening. It got dark after we passed the villageof Chatan. The road here was flat, and I askedmy father if I could pull the cart. He was morethan happy to let me try. Since we were notcarrying anything in the cart, its wheels spedalong effortlessly. I had my father ride in thecart with Kamii following behind us. “This wasa good idea,” he remarked cheerfully. “Youreally handle the cart well.” After about thirtyminutes, my father took over with Kamii andme riding in the cart. It was such an enjoyablejourney. We got back to Mekaru about 7:00 themorning of February 4th. We could see no oneexcept groups of soldiers passing by. Theentrance to the shelter was covered as if no onehad used it. There was nobody in the hut we’dbeen renting, and the main house was empty,too. The owner and his family seemed to haveevacuated somewhere. My father opened thedoor to the main house, and suggested that we

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

23

sleep there. I did not like my father’s snoring,but both Kamii and I fell asleep immediately.

I do not know how long I’d slept, but my fatherwoke us saying, “You’ve had enough sleep.” Icould hear an air-raid warning siren as wehurried to the shelter. I was expecting theactual air-raid siren soon after that, but noenemy planes showed up, and the warning waslifted about an hour later. “I’ll bring Tenmeeand Unmee,” Father said and told us to cookbreakfast. We used the kitchen at the mainhouse where we brought rice from the shelteralong with vegetables we picked from thegarden, and began cooking. Father broughtover Tenmee and Unmee, and we all hadbreakfast together. Tenmee and Unmee werevery happy with the food we served, “This issuch a treat,” they said. We told them abouttheir grandson Koga’s visit. They were sohappy to learn where he was and that he wassafe that they shed tears of joy. We tried topersuade them to go to Seragaki with us, butTenmee refused. “We’ll go when we have to,”she said. “You can continue coming back sincewe have a house here.” Both my grandfatherand his younger brother, Tanmee, were verystubborn, and would not listen to anybody oncethey’d made up their minds. For this reason,my grandfather was nicknamed “StoneheadTenmee of Sakumoto,” and his brother“Stonehead Tenmee to the west.”

No bombs fell while we were there, and thingsseemed rather quiet. After the devastation ofNaha on October 10th, the U.S. did not seeminterested in bombing the city again. Sixmonths had passed since the 10-10 raid, butthe enemy’s very inactivity made us nervous.One beautiful day in March, I went outside theshelter after getting permission from Unmeeand Kamii-san. I took my air-raid hood andemergency kit bag as usual. Going downKogane no Mori hill and turning right wouldhave taken me to our burned-down house, but Idecided instead to turn left at TomariElementary School. I passed houses still

standing with soldiers occupying some of them.Hesitantly, I stepped into one of the emptyhouses. It was dark inside, and the creakingsounds of the floor made me nervous. Igathered my courage, and opened the drawerof a chest where I found nothing but oldnewspapers and other discarded items. All atonce I got scared, and left in a hurry.

Next I entered another empty house thatlooked more cheerful than the first one. There,I found Anna Karenina by Tolstoy in twovolumes that I hurriedly put in my bag. I didn’tfeel guilty about taking them. “They are leftbehind. Why not?,” was my thought. What I wasdoing was a crime in peacetime, but the warhad swept away my morality. I wanderedaround the neighborhood for about two hours.On my way home, I picked some vines in asweet potato field, deciding to cook dinnerwhen I returned to the cave. There was stillenough time to make two dishes: chinpin withthe flour, black sugar, and baking powder thatwe brought from Seragaki, and dumpling soup.My mother had taught me how to makechinpin, which was not too difficult. For thesoup, I used shaved bonito as a seasoning. Thedumplings were made with flour and water,rolled out to about a quarter inch thickness,and cut into squares. After dropping thedumplings into the boiling soup, I added bean

paste, the sweet potato vines that I had broughtback, pork lard, and deep fried pork fat.

Everyone enjoyed this dinner made by a 15-year-old girl. Tanmee and Unmee asked, “Whenwas the last time we had chinpin?” Tanmeerecalled, “We used to eat it every day for athree o’clock snack. Do we have enough fortomorrow, Yoshiko?” Their positive reaction tomy cooking pleased me greatly. “I madeenough. Don’t worry. We can have it tomorrow,too.” “You’re so talented,” said Tanmee. “Youalso know how to sew monpe suits.” All of uslaughed when my father added, “She pulls thecart very well, too.” I was embarrassed by all

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

24

this praise, but Tanmee insisted “It’s true. Thisisn’t flattery.” To which I replied, “Tanmee, I’llmake extra chinpin for you.” Then we all hadanother hearty laugh.

On March 28, Kamii-san’s husband came tovisit her. She had told him that she was stayingwith us. He had been working for an electriccompany in Naha, but after the 10-10 air raiddestroyed the company, he went to work for themilitary. He told us he’d been given two days’leave. When he learned we were heading norththe next day, he decided to join us because hewanted to see his daughter, Kazuko, and wasplanning to return right away after that. Sincehe could push the cart, I was supposed to staywith Tanmee and Unmee, but when I saw myfather, Kamii, and her husband seeming togrow smaller in the distance, I felt left out. Itold Unmee I was lonely. “You’re a funny kid,”she said. “Hurry and go catch up with them.”Grabbing my air raid hood and emergency kitbag, I ran as fast as I could. “Be careful. Don’tfall,” I heard Unmee yell after me. It was stilldark, and farm roads were just faintly visibleunder the stars. Not a soul could be seen. Whilepushing the cart, Kamii and her husband werecarrying on endless conversations about theuncertain future, about their daughter, andother worries. I took up my position betweenFather and the cart handle. Gradually theeastern sky became whiter. After travelingalong farm paths, we came to a wider road. Theonly passersby we encountered were onehorse-drawn cart and a soldier on a bicycle.Where were people hiding? Did they all escapeto the north? I heard many also evacuated tothe south. I felt as if we’d been deserted, andthe lack of information made me anxious.

Wounded in U.S. Fleet Bombardment

We finally came to the prefectural highwayalong the seashore. Since the road was better,it was easier to maneuver the cart. When wecame to the central Chatan area, I looked out tothe sea where I saw an unbel ievably

frightening scene. The four of us fell intostunned silence. . The ocean was crowded witha colossal number of ships that stretched northfrom the Naha area. They had surrounded ourisland. We could tell right away they weren’tJapanese ships. When had they come? Wasn’tthe Japanese military aware of them? Whyweren’t kamikaze fighters attacking them? Nowwe rushed along with our cart as fast as wecould go, keeping our eyes fixed on the flotillaof ships. They were just floating soundlesslywithout moving, which scared us even more.What were they doing? What was their plan?Were they watching us? I tried very hard tosuppress my fear and look nonchalant.

When we came to Kue where the present U.S.Navy Hospital stands, the bombardmentstarted. It was the afternoon of March 29,1945. Shells flew over our heads making a“shoo-shoo” sound, and exploded with a hugethump. At the same time, planes begandropping bombs. I could see machine gunsfiring from the planes. Realizing that we werenow in the midst of a live war, we immediatelyabandoned the cart and hid under bushes bythe roadside. There was no other hiding place.On the right was a sugar cane field, and on theleft was the beach. Bombs fell near the busheswhere we were hiding, and pelted us with smallrocks and dust. We knew we had to escape to asafer place, but constant shelling, explosions,and machine-gun fire pinned us to the spot. “Ifwe stay here, we’ll all be killed,” my fatheryelled. “Let’s run to the woods over there.”When he thought it was safe, he gesturedtoward a wooded area about 30 meters away.We ran toward the woods, but repeatedexplosions forced us to lie face down along thebank, covering our eyes with our four fingersand our ears with our thumbs, When we finallymade it to the woods, we looked back and sawhuge holes, about the size of 8 tatami mats(about 48 by 24 feet), blasted open by thebombs. Seeing their power frightened us all themore.

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

25

In the woods were five or six grass-thatchedhouses and a concrete storage shed. Wegrabbed the Shishimai (lion dance) festivalcostumes inside and tossed them outside. ThenKamii, her husband, and I went inside. It wasjust big enough for three of us to squeeze in.My father sat outside at the foot of a pine treeas the bombing continued. Suddenly, a hugeexplosion

lifted the shed and shook the ground. I lost myhearing, and worried that my ear drums hadburst. The blast whirled dust and soil up intothe sky, and scattered tree branches all over. Iwas worried about my father, but had to takecare of the bleeding from my head and elbow.Kamii wrapped the wound on my elbow withbandages from my emergency kit bag, andcovered my head wound with a brown triangle-shaped bandage.

I was much relieved when I saw my fathergingerly approach the storage shed where wewere hiding. He pointed at a spot just behindthe shed where a huge hole had opened up inthe ground. And we saw another hole at thecorner of the shed. We were so shocked that wecould not utter a word. If the shed had beendirectly hit, we would all have died instantly. Amissing concrete chip from the shed had flownoff and cut my head. Fortunately, my fatheronly suffered a few cuts on his face. Kamii hada huge bump on her head. She might have hit itagainst the concrete wall when the shed shook.Her husband looked all right, but said he hadpains in his neck. We were very lucky that ourinjuries hadn’t been worse under the constantrain of shells. All the houses and trees aroundus were on fire. Planes were still in the sky, butthe bombing sounds were gradually movingaway. Then all of a sudden, to my relief, myhearing came back as if a closed door in myears had opened again.

Nevertheless, lacking shelter, we knew wecouldn’t stay where we were. My father told usthat if we walked back a little toward Naha, we

could find a good hiding place. So we left thecart and our belongings behind, and headedback toward a big rocky hill where the tomb ofChatan Moshi (Legend says he was a fabuloussinger.) was located. To camouflage ourselves,we carried two or three tree branches andgathered all our strength to run as fast as wecould. We intended to lie under the brancheswhen the sound of bombers approached. Weforgot about the pain from the injuries we hadsustained during the previous raid. And, likesoldiers, we followed my father’s orders andkept running with all our might. On the way,we came across the bodies of four Japanesesoldiers. One lay by the sugar cane field, thesecond on the roadside, and two others near abridge. The area had been covered with greensugar cane stalks when we’d passed by earlierthat day, but they all had burned down. Myfather finally led us to our destination, therocky hill. We decided to hide and rest thereuntil nightfall. As the bombing sounds fadedfarther away, we regained our calm. My fatheruntied the triangle bandage on my head tocheck the bleeding. He said it seemed to bestopping. Then he smeared pork lard on thewound, spread tobacco leaves on the lard, andput back the bandage. “This will stop thebleeding completely,” he told me. I wasn’t sureabout this, but I let him do things his way sincehe was the only person I could depend on.

My father and Kamii’s husband left the hillsaying, “We can’t fight on an empty stomach.”

Soon they brought back a bowl and a one-shōbottle (half a gallon) filled with water that theyfound in a nearby house. Kamii’s husbandpoured water into the bowl, then took outsquare dried biscuits from his bag, anddropped them into the bowl. Seeing themexpand into cooked wheat was like watching amagic show. I realized then that as a civilianworker for the military he was carrying his ownfood. Thanks to this instant meal , we ate ourfill and felt much better. This is one of my fewpleasant memories of the battle. From an

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

26

opening in the rock , I cou ld see theoverwhelming number of ships on the sea. Thesun finally set, and we left the rocky hill.Somehow no bombs were dropped on theprefectural highway. With utmost caution, wefinally reached our dust-covered cart. TwoAustralian pine trees had fallen on it, but therewas no damage so we could pull it out fromunder the trees. Fortunately, the wheels werestill intact.

We hurried along the road to be with our familyin Seragaki. When we came to Kadena,suddenly a blinding light surrounded us, andthe area became as bright as day. Later Ilearned that this was called a flare bomb. Itfrightened us, and we instinctively jumped intothe bushes. This happened several times untilwe came to Nakadomari. It seemed that therattling sound of the cart was advertising ourwhereabouts to the enemy. We reached ourfamily around 3 o’clock in the morning. Withoutresting, my father and Kamii’s husband carriedfive tatami mats to the cave by the sea.Seragaki village seemed unbelievably peaceful,as if the battlefield at Chatan had been just abad dream. Kamii and her daughter wereovercome with happiness. Kamii’s husbandhugged his daughter tightly, showering herwith affection. Two hours later he left for thesouth to join his military unit. Since the waywe’d come was too dangerous, he decided totake the western route to Naha throughNakadomari, Ishikawa, Ginowan, and Urasoe.We never saw him again.

After he left, 12 members of our family movedinto the cave; they were my grandparents, sixof my immediate family, and four of theUezatos. When we settled down, everyonestarted wondering what had happened toTanmee and Unmee. On March 30th, mygrandfather suddenly announced that he wouldgo to Haneji where my half-brother Kōsei’sbirth mother was living. He said that Seragakihad become too dangerous. As usual, once he’dmade up his mind, he would listen to nobody,

and left the cave with Kōsei for Haneji.

As U.S. invasion begins, we find a supply offood rations and I narrowly avoid rape

Marines come ashore on Okinawa

We were all worried about Grandfather andKōsei as sunset and dusk arrived with no wordof their whereabouts. The next morning, thefirst day of April, 1945, we told our familymembers about what had happened on our wayto Seragaki, the thousands of ships we saw andthe terrifying bombings. Then a villager cameto the cave, and started whispering to myfather. As soon as the man finished what hehad to say, he left the cave. My father told uswhat he had heard: The US military had startedlanding at Toguchi, between Kadena andYomitan. Then my father left the cave. Perhapshe wanted to confirm the news. I also wantedto know for sure. I too left the cave and walkedfast, taking a different path than the one myfather had taken. When I came to theprefectural highway, there were clear marks oftank caterpillars. Trees on the mountainsidehad been cut down, and the ground had beenleveled. I noticed headlights approaching fromabout two kilometers (1.5 miles) ahead of meon the straight road that stretched fromSeragaki to Afuso Village. There was no hidingplace nearby, so I stepped into a rice paddy to

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

27

walk across it for a quick escape, but to mychagrin, my feet stuck in the mud. Somehow Imanaged to run along a bank, but lost mywooden clogs in the paddy. A jeep withheadlights approached slowly. “Crack!!Crack!!” Two gun shots rang out. I was shakingall over. By now my legs and clothes werecovered with mud. I knew my parents would beangry when they found out about where I’dbeen, but I had no choice but to return to thecave. It was getting dark, and I walked by thebeach to wash off the mud. As expected, myfather was furious. “You’re acting just like aboy. You could have been killed.” I was made topromise never to walk alone again.

On April 3rd I could see through adan bushesthat many U.S. military trucks were carrying

soldiers toward Nago with tanks and jeeps.. Iwondered if the villagers were aware of theinvasion. We felt completely isolated in thecave. Four days after the landing, we saw manyboxes washed ashore. My father and I satbehind a rock and threw stones at the boxes tosee if they would explode. None did, so wepicked up a box and tried throwing it on theground. Again nothing happened. So weopened it carefully and found many wax-covered oblong cartons. Inside them werethings we had never seen before: biscuits,butter, canned ham, peaches, peanut butter,napkins, cigarettes, match boxes, cheese,canned corned beef hash, strawberry jelly, andmore. On the boxes were stamped the letters,“K” or “C”, as well as other letters in words wecould not comprehend. Inside were cans we didnot know how to open, but in one carton wefound a kind of a tool we thought might be acan-opener. After much trial and error, wefound a way to open the cans. We had notrouble opening the cartons, and wereoverjoyed to find more food than we had everdreamed of. We carried many in various sizesto the shore, and opened them carefully one byone. Inside were ham, apples, oranges, coffee,and flour in a cloth bag that was mostly soaked

with sea water, but the middle part was dry.Frantically we carried everything to the cave inbaskets and buckets. Items that did not fit inthe cave, we hid under adan bushes or in thehollows of rocks. Thus our cave became a kindof oasis in the midst of war. We had lots ofnutritious food that did not even requirecooking.

After d inner , o ld Mr. Uezato smi ledcontentedly, smoking a cigarette. About sixdays later, we heard that rice belonging to theJapanese military had been stored in a smallbuilding used by a young people’s associationnear Afuso Village. We also heard that, eventhough much of it was burned, if we dug downinside the piles, we could find white polishedrice. We had lots of American food, but withoutrice life had been a hardship. As soon as weheard about this, my grandmother and I wentto the shed with cloth bags. We packed asmuch unburned white rice as we could stuffinto the bags. The shed was next to theprefectural highway where U.S. troops wereadvancing in long columns. I placed the smallerbag on my grandmother’s head, and tried toput the bigger one on my head, but it was tooheavy for me. While I was struggling with it, anAmerican soldier stepped down from a militarytruck, and gestured to me with his head andshoulder. I thought I would stop breathing fromthe shock, but then I realized what he wastrying to tell me. I patted my head, and hesmiled as he picked up the bag easily andplaced it on my head. He returned to the truckwhere his fellow soldiers were applauding. Forthe first time, I learned that we couldcommunicate with the Americans through bodyand hand gestures.

To avoid the U.S. military advancing on theprefectural highway, Grandmother and Iwalked along the beach back to the cave.Suddenly an American appeared from behindan adan bush.

He was not in uniform, but wore civilian

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

28

clothes. He rushed over to walk beside me andpressed a knife that was about a foot longagainst my side. My grandmother dropped herbag and ran to the cave to call my father. Icontinued to walk slowly. While walking, mymind was busy trying to decide where to go. Ididn’t want the American to discover our hidingplace, and wondered if I should go to thevillage. Then I remembered that the family ofmy friend, Iha Tomiko, had been staying duringthe day under the shade of a large rock at theedge of the beach, and I walked toward it. Myfriend’s father was there alone. As soon as hesaw me and the American he understood thesituation. He repeatedly bowed his head verylow, and gestured, trying to convince him that Iwas only seven years old. The American gaveup and left. Later my father told us that he’dbeen watching us from behind, and was readyto fight, if necessary. I sensed that a god wasprotecting me. It was not by chance that I hadsurvived so many crises; it was due to thepower of the gods. Since that time I startedpraying to the gods to express my thanks. Myfather gave me another strict lecture andforbade me to go out. Since I seemed toencounter danger whenever I went outside, Idecided to stay quietly in the cave where wehad plenty of food. I started reading AnnaKarenina in the sunlight shining down throughthe opening of the cave. My two brothers andKamii-san’s daughter played with empty rationcartons as toys. For a time it seemed likeparadise in the midst of war.

Our Capture and Internment in RefugeeCamps

About two weeks after the Americans landed,we heard a dog bark ing fo l lowed byconversations in a strange language. I askedmy father to run away from the cave. I wasafraid he might get killed because many menhis age had been conscripted into the defensecorps and forced to work as civilians for theJapanese army. He escaped by climbing outsidethrough a small opening in the cave wall. After

about twenty minutes, we heard noises comingfrom the cave’s front entrance. Then 7 or 8American soldiers came into the cave. Mr.Uezato told the children, “Don’t cry. Keep still.Pretend you’re sleeping.” We all lay down onthe tatami mats. An American soldier raised hisrifle and poked Mr. Uezato who was lyingclosest to the cave entrance, “Get up!” heshouted. Mr. Uezato calmly told us, “Children,get up slowly, and go outside.”

Okinawan refugees

The passageway was very narrow, just wideenough to allow one person at a time to exit thecave. While the soldiers and children weremaking their way outside, I messed up my hairlike a bird’s nest, smeared soot on my face andneck, and left the cave limping. After myterrifying experience with an American, Ipurposely made myself dirty and feigned beinga cripple. It was the best I could come up withto protect myself. When we went outside, I sawthat my father had also been captured. Somesoldiers had dogs. They made us raise ourhands and bend our upper bodies and knees.Noticing my limp, two soldiers starteddiscussing my legs, and gestured that theywould take me to a hospital. A soldier who wasprobably a Nisei and spoke Japanese came overand tried to convince me. “You’ll get better if

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

29

you go to a hospital,” he said, but I did notwant to be separated from my family andrefused. Still they would not give up, so at last Iabruptly straightened out my legs and walkedostentatiously in a normal way. When theyrealized what I was up to, they all burst outlaughing.

The soldier who spoke Japanese told us theyintended to take all the residents of SeragakiVillage to a civilian refugee camp in Ishikawa,and that we would be picked up two days later.We were instructed to get ready with ourbelongings. I felt badly about leaving for thecamp without the food that we had salvaged onthe beach. Two days later we left the cave withas many bundles of our belongings as we couldcarry. I really loathed leaving those spoils ofwar behind.

When we were passing by the rice paddy, Ispotted one of my sandals. The other must

have still been buried in the mud.

When we arrived at the designated gatheringplace, many villagers were already there.

The soldiers put us in two trucks. When one ofthem saw me wearing my air-raid hood, hesaid, “You don’t need to worry about bombinganymore. Take off your hood.” I felt more

secure with the hood on, but took it off since itseemed safter to obey the order. Anothersoldier said to me, “Hi, Cutie.” I didn’t knowwhat he was talking about, but “Cutie” soundedlike “kyūri (cucumber),” so I figured it probablywasn’t bad. Okinawans greeted them with “Haisai” or “Hai tai.” Just before starting off, somesoldiers suggested that I sit in the driver’s seatof one of the trucks. I didn’t know what to do,but my father told me it was O.K. So, my heartpounding, I sat nervously in the driver’s seatbetween two big soldiers. In an attempt to haveme relax, they patted my head and handed mechewing gum, demonstrating how to chew it.For the first time I saw Americans up close.What a strange race with noses two or threetimes bigger than ours, and blue eyes! Whatmade their eyes that color and their hairgolden, I wondered. The soldiers were whiteand black, and some of them looked Japanese,yet they were communicating easily with theothers. What kind of country was America,anyway?

At the Ishikawa Refugee Camp

Two hours after we left Saragaki, we arrived atthe Ishikawa Refugee Camp. Tents covered alarge field where thousands of refugees wereheld. Children were without shoes, and lookedas if they hadn’t bathed for many days. Olderpeople in torn and dirty clothes sat with dazedexpressions as if they had lost their souls. Menwho looked strong enough were building shedsunder the supervision of American soldiers. Thecamp was surrounded by barbed wire. As soonas we got off the truck, my father wasseparated from the family. He was handed ajacket marked “PW” on the back, and assignedto a construction team. The other members ofour three families (mine and the families of myfriends, Yamazato Yoshiko, and Iha Tomiko)were taken to a different section of the campacross the road closer to the sea. We wereassigned to a grass-thatched house there.Compared to the tents, it looked clean and tidy.Nearby was a well with clean water. We were

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

30

told that next door was the U.S. militaryheadquarters. I had no idea why we we’d beenassigned there. Occasionally three or foursoldiers came to peek in the house. As soon asthey appeared, we girls hid. For us, runningaway and hiding from American soldiers hadbecome routine. Soon after that, we were putto work as cleaning maids at headquarters. Ourjobs there lasted two or three months.

Then our families were transferred to a biggerhouse with a tile roof across the street.Families from Naha and central Okinawa werealready there. The house had no rooms, sospaces were partitioned with wooden dividers.In the yard outside, my father built a smallhouse for our family . From his job inconstruction, he brought surplus materials thatthe U.S. military did not need. Somehow healso obtained a rubber boat that he used for theroof. The old corrugated iron roof made a lot ofnoise when it rained, but the rubber roof wasquiet and did not leak. After building ourhouse, my father returned to his job at Kushi,Haneji, Kin, and Ginoza villages. I was assignedagain to clean at headquarters. The refugeeswere divided into small groups called han, andmen who knew a little English became the chief(han-chō) of each han. The Americans calledthem “honcho.” The han-chō’s job was to assignwork to his members, and that’s how I got thecleaning job. There were seventy or eightyAmerican soldiers at headquarters. They wereextremely well-off compared to Japanesesoldiers. Even though they were supposedly ina combat zone, they all had mirrors that lookedlike a car’s rearview mirror which they hung onthe tent pole for shaving and grooming.Afterwards they patted Aquamarine or Jergen’slotion on their faces. Japanese soldiers shavedonly when they absolutely had to. One day anAmerican soldier gave me a bottle of Jergen’slotion. I will never forget how excited I was.Half a century later, I still keep Jergen’s soapand lotion to remind me of that moment of joyduring my wartime teenage years living inpoverty. Later I gave the soldier a pair of

wooden clogs made by my father.

Near where I worked was the dining room thesoldiers called the “mess hall.” I could smellthe food during lunch, and felt envious when Isaw soldiers puffing cigarettes contentedlyafter eating. One day, a soldier gestured for meto come and sit at the table. Then he gave mepiles of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, andother foods, telling me to eat. I had nevertasted this kind of food, and savored every bitof it. Then he packed up the leftovers for myfamily. How glad I was to be assigned there! Bythat time, the U.S. military had occupiedOkinawa’s northern region, and had startedhunting for Japanese soldiers in Onna, Nago,Henoko, and in the Katsuu mountain area.While still at Saragaki we’d heard gunshots.And at the refugee camp we sometimes heardthem again. It seemed likely that every time agun fired, somebody was hurt or killed. We feltlucky to have been captured and taken out ofharm’s way. In the mountains many peoplewere shot dead. Still, those who evacuated tothe north had a better chance of surviving.Most of those who fled to the south died as theydesperately tried to escape gunfire and avoidstarvation. Their fate was determined by thedirection they had fled. Thus, we worriedconstantly about Tanmee and Unmee. We’dheard nothing of Kamii’s husband who hadreturned to Naha, or of my grandfather andKōsei. At the Ishikawa detention center, wereceived no news from the central, Shuri, orsouthern regions regions.

At the detention center, I was again impressedby the wealth of the United States. TheAmericans fed thousands of refugees. Theygave us flour, sugar, salt, oil, powdered egg,dried cabbage, potatoes, ham, and corn-beef-hash as well as jam and peanut butter. The firstEnglish the children learned was “Give me.”Whenever soldiers appeared, many childrensurrounded them saying “Give me.” Chewinggum was their favorite. For this reason, thatperiod is called the “Give Me Era.”

APJ | JF 12 | 14 | 2

31

While at the camp, we were visited by Mr. Gibowho was a friend of Sakumoto Koga, thegrandson of Tanmee and Unmee. He came toinform us that cousin Koga had been killed onOnna Mountain. They’d been fleeing from U.S.soldiers who were rounding up Japanesesoldiers. During their escape two Americansappeared in front of them. At that moment,Gibo-san ran down toward the Americans, butKoga started running up the mountain. He wasshot and killed right before Gibo-san’s eyes. Ifhe’d gone down the mountain with Gibo-san, hewould also have survived. Those split-seconddecisions determined their fates. My fatherwanted to retrieve his nephew’s ashes rightaway, but we were not allowed to leave thecamp. Soon after that the U.S. invasion wasofficially completed on June 23, 1945. ForOkinawans this was the end of the war, almosttwo months before Japan surrendered onAugust 15, 1945. Finally, my father and Gibo-san went to the site where Koga’s skeleton lay.He’d carried a fountain pen with his name,“Sakumoto Koga,” and his school cap lay nextto his body, confirming that the remains werehis. My father placed the bones, the fountainpen, and the cap in a box, and buried it in theIshikawa camp grave. Thus I lost a cousin

who’d been more like a brother to me.

Steve Rabson is Professor Emeritus of East AsianStudies, Brown University, and a Japan FocusAssociate. His books include Southern Exposure:Modern Japanese Literature from Okinawa(http://www.amazon.com/dp/0824823001), co-editedwith Michael Molasky (University of Hawaii Press,2000) and Islands of Resistance: Japanese Literaturefrom Okinawa, co-edited with Davinder Bhowmik,forthcoming from University of Hawaii Press.

Recommended citation: Yoshiko SakumotoCrandell, "Surviving the Battle of Okinawa:Memories of a Schoolgirl", The Asia-PacificJournal, Vol. 12, Issue 14, No. 2, April 7, 2014.

Footnotes

1 Translation of a poem by Ōtomo Yakamochi(?-785) from Haruko Taya Cook and TheodoreF. Cook, Japan at War: An Oral History (TheNew Press, 1993).