Spring of 45

Spring.

Spring is a time of renewal, a time for life. All of the trees are starting to turn green with new leaves. Cherry blossoms are rampant. The warmth brings children out to play in the streets again. Birds are singing, and building nests. Housewives hang their bedding out to air after the long, harsh winter.

In Japan, the spring of 1945 was a time of starvation and fiery death.

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Satashi Yamashiro

My name is Satashi Yamashiro. In the Spring of 1945, I was a soldier in the Imperial Japanese Army.

Five years ago, I was working on the docks in Tokyo, loading and unloading cargo ships. I was married to my sweetheart, Hamiko, and we lived in a small flat we rented in the Koto District, not too far from the docks where I worked. It was hard work, and didn't pay much, but we managed to get by.

I can still remember the day my wife told me we were expecting our first child. We were both ecstatic.

Then, when I got to work I was told I had been conscripted into the Army. It was like a death sentence. I was allowed to tell my wife goodbye, and then taken away immediately. I've not seen her since, nor have I ever seen our son.

After a year in the Army, I did get one letter with a picture of my wife holding my son.

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Hamiko Yamashiro

I am Hamiko Yamashiro. In 1945 I lived in a small house in Tokyo, with our four year old son, Haruki, and my mother. This was the house built by my grandfather. Like all the other houses, it was built of wood and paper. It had a wood shingle roof.

My father was a captain of a small freighter, carrying mostly rice and produce from Asia to Japan. Two years ago his ship never returned. We had to believe that his ship had been sunk by the Americans and he would never return.

My husband, Satashi, was in the Army, and had been away since before our son was born. My mother would keep the baby when I had to work. I was a seamstress, working in a factory in our neighborhood, sewing uniforms for the Navy. It was close by, and I could walk there from home every day.

Mister Hashimoto was the owner of the factory where I worked. He had been a sailor in the Imperial Navy for 30 years, retiring as a Petty Officer after sailing all the seas of the world. He had seen action in conflicts involving the Japanese fleet throughout Asia. He had sailed on the largest battleships and the new aircraft carriers.

When he was too old to work on deck, he was assigned as a quartermaster, sewing uniforms and the many canvas items required on a ship. Upon his retirement in 1939, he was given a charter to produce naval uniforms as his livelihood. He found a garage that he turned into a small factory in the Koto district in Tokyo and with a dozen Singer sewing machines, made in the USA, he hired local women and started to produce trousers for the Navy. He also hired a few men, who like him were too old for military service or physically unfit, to be porters.

In 1940, Hashimoto was able to procure enough cloth and materials to keep his factory running for the next five years. On February 15, 1945, all the cloth had been used up, and there was no way to get more. The factory was closed, and all the workers were laid off.

I spent most days in line to get food for myself, my son, and my mother. Somedays I was lucky to get a cup of rice for the three of us. There was no milk for the baby, nor any meat or vegetables. Haruki suffered from hunger, and cried himself to sleep at night. When he woke in the morning, his grandmother would give him some rice broth. My mother and I deprived ourselves so Haruki could eat.

It was getting more common to have days when I could not even get a cup of rice. Air raids were disrupting the distribution system to get food into the massive city. Ships carrying rice and food to Japan were being sunk at sea, although we were never told that by the government.

A mile away from our house was a Jesuit orphanage. The nurses and sisters there were somehow able to care for and feed the children in their care, although in the last few months they had been forced by the shortage to move most of the children and their staff out of the city. The Jesuits had networks of churches and caregivers in rural villages across Japan where locally produced food was more available.

It was with much sadness and a heavy heart that my mother and I took Haruki to the orphanage, and left him there in the care of the sisters.

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Haruki Yamashiro

On Thursday, March 1, 1945, Haruki hugged his mother, and hugged his grandmother. He turned and followed Sister Sakura into the dormitory that was to be his new home. He fought back his tears and would not let his emotions show. His father was a soldier, and Haruki would be brave and make his father proud of him. He would save his tears for late at night, in his bed.

Sister introduced Haruki to the two other children remaining in the orphanage, both a couple of years older. Haruki bowed to Mata and Molli, and they bowed to him, to welcome him as their new brother. The two older children lived in the orphanage, although their mother was one of the caretakers, Nurse Yuki. Nurse Yuki and Sister Sakura lived there full time as well.

Mata and Molli showed Haruki where he would be sleeping. The dormitory was one long room where the children would roll out their sleeping mats at night, boys on one side and girls on the other. There were cabinets for each child's clothing and belongings. Haruki's sleeping mat and blankets were rolled up and in the bottom of his cabinet. Also in his cabinet, Haruki had 2 towels and 2 face cloths, a cup, a bowl, a plate, a toothbrush and a small bar of soap. The toothbrush was clean but not new. He was shown the bathrooms with sinks and showers at the end of the room. They showed him the next room where there were tables and chairs, and the kitchen at one end. In this room the children ate their meals, and also learned their lessons.

That night, Haruki had his first good meal since he could remember. He had a cup of powdered milk, a bowl with some rice, and some stewed vegetables. There was no bread, but he had 2 crackers. When it was time for bed, he rolled out his sleeping mat and two blankets. His new friends showed him he was supposed to shower and put on his pajamas, then brush his teeth before going to bed. He would repeat this routine every night. He saw that Mata and Molli had placed their mats together, directly across from his. Nurse Yuki came into the room, and kissed her daughters goodnight. Then she kissed Haruki goodnight and turned out the light. Even though it was still daylight, no lights would be permitted after dark.

Haruki listened to the night. The sounds of the city around him were no different than he was accustomed to at home with his mother. But then, he heard another sound. One of the girls was sobbing quietly, and her sister was whispering to her, trying to comfort her. He missed the comforting voice of his mother and grandmother, and felt his own tears start to come to his eyes. He did not want to cry, to betray his emotions, but he couldn't help it. He was, after all, still just a child. He understood why the sisters slept next to each other. In the darkness, Molli called quietly for him to come over to sleep with them.

For a week, Haruki lived in the Jesuit orphanage with Mata and Molli. During that week, 3 other children came to live there as well, 2 older boys and an older girl. On Wednesday, two older visitors came to the orphanage. Haruki thought the couple looked older than his grandmother. Nurse Yuki gathered the children in the dining room after a lunch of tea, rice, vegetables, and crackers, and introduced them to the visitors. After a short conversation with Sister Sakura and Nurse Yuri, the children were told they would be leaving with the two visitors. They were going to live on a farm out of the city where they would be safer and have more food. They were to immediately pack their belongings as the visitors had to be out of the city before the curfew and blackout at sundown. Mata and Molli would stay with their mother, Nurse Yuri.

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Hamiko

On the day we left Haruki at the orphanage, my mother and I started our journey with heavy hearts. We were leaving behind us our most prized possession, my son. We were also leaving our home, the only home either of us had ever known. The home of my father, and my grandparents. Our tears flowed freely. As the doors closed, we turned away; picked up the bundles that held all of the possessions we would have, and started our journey. My mother's sister, my Aunt Suki, lived in the country east of Tokyo, near the coast. We would go to live with her there.

We travelled the back roads, avoiding the crowds of refugees and the military traffic that would attract air attacks from the American fighter planes. The planes did not discriminate between military and civilian trucks on the roads. The soldiers would try to mix in with the civilians as much as possible.

We had been walking for several days, finding shelter at night where we could, and scavenging for whatever scraps of food we could find. We were passing through an area of trees and rocks, a very secluded area, when we came upon a camp of soldiers, about four that I could see. Ahead of us, we had been following a young woman of about my age, carrying her infant son in a sling wrapped around her. She had her bundle of belongings on her back, in a similar fashion to every other refugee woman seen on the road.

The soldiers called to us, offering food and water. Their offer was tempting as we were very hungry, and the baby had been crying with hunger as well. Somishi had been trying to nurse him, but didn't have enough nourishment for her own body. We hesitated for just a moment.

Two soldiers grabbed Somishi from behind, and two more grabbed me. One of the soldiers told my mother, "Push off old woman. Who wants a wrinkled up old prune like you when we have these two beauties to play with us?" My mother, totally in shock at the events suddenly transpiring in front of her, did as she was told and moved away, but didn't go far.

Somishi's baby was screaming, and she was fighting desperately to protect him. A large soldier grabbed the child by the leg, and ripped him from his mother's grasp. As Somishi screamed "No", he slung the baby toward a large outcropping of rocks, head first. The screaming baby was suddenly silent.

Everything was suddenly silent.

While two soldiers were still holding me, three of them, including the large soldier that had killed her baby dragged Somishi into a makeshift shelter they had constructed behind some rocks. I could hear Somishi screaming and crying out for help for several minutes. Then she became suddenly silent.

Everything was suddenly silent.

The soldiers turned their attention to me. Although my eyes filled with tears, I could see that resistance would only get me killed, and probably my mother as well. I was led back into their shelter, and forcefully convinced to disrobe and lie down. As I did so, I saw a nude female body, unmoving, silent. As I lay on the ground, unresisting, each of the soldiers took their turn having their way with me. It was an act of brutality, of violence. I got no satisfaction from it, and only waited until it could be over.

When all of the soldiers were finished with me, they left me there alone while they went off to finish several bottles of sake they had "liberated". I heard one of them say they must be in Tokyo by Friday.

I gathered up my clothes and dressed myself as well as I could. I hoisted my bundle onto my back, and looking to be sure I wasn't being watched, I scooped up the lifeless bundle lying on the ground. He was wrapped up tight in his swaddling by his mother, and he had a large dented area on the right side of his head where he had struck the rock. I wrapped the sling around my body as best I could, and with my mother's help we moved down the road to get as far away as we could.

We found an apple orchard off the side of the road to spend the night. In a nearby stream, I was able to bathe in the cold water to clean myself. I laid down to sleep with my bundle cuddled up to me. For the first time since the rape was over, I allowed my emotions to come to the surface, and I cried.

I cried for Somishi, and I cried for her baby. I cried for my Haruki that I might never see again. I cried for my husband, Satashi, in some foreign land and lost to me forever.

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Dig.

Dig.

Dig.

Between the roots of an ancient apple tree, in the light of the moon, I must keep digging. I dig with just my hands, with my fingernails. My body aches, but I must continue to dig. My fingernails are broken and bleeding, but I must dig. Nothing else matters to me now.

I try to use a branch from an apple tree, but it isn't good enough. I keep using my hands. I scoop the dirt out of the hole as much as I can, and I keep digging. The hole must be deeper, wider. It's not good enough.

Keep digging.

It's nearly dawn when I have to stop digging. I can't dig any more.

I hold the lifeless body of Somishi's baby to my breast, and I cry again. I wrap him in his sling his mother used for carrying him against her breast, and I carefully lower him into the grave I spent the night preparing for him. I gently cover his body with the soil I had removed from the grave. I kneel beside his grave until my tears stop. I regret that I couldn't do anything for Somishi, but I've done all I could for her son.

I have no more tears.

I rise from my knees, my mother and I pick up our bundles, and we move off again on our journey. We should get to Aunt Suki's village in two more days.

Aunt Suki lives in Shimonagai, a fishing village on the coast. She runs a laundry, and my mother and I will be able to help her. As a seamstress, I will be able to do alterations and repairs. Hidden in my kimono is my precious hoard of sewing needles. They would be impossible to replace. There should be ample work since no one has been able to have new clothes in five years.

We are looking forward to full meals with fresh fish every day.

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Corporal Satashi Yamashiro, Imperial Japanese Army, Luzon

Since the American landings at Lingayen Gulf, the situation for the Japanese army had been getting worse. For the last four years, everything had been pretty good for me here in the Philippines. The Filipinos are not very friendly, and there is always the risk of attack from guerrilla forces hiding in the hills. Japanese forces would sometimes sweep through the hills around our encampment to find the guerillas, but never found more than deserted camps. It was like they were being tipped off by the local villagers whenever they saw a large Japanese force assembling to launch an attack.

It wasn't safe to venture outside our camp in less than a group of four or more, and always armed. There were instances of Japanese soldiers found murdered alongside the road, or just disappearing altogether.

My duty was easy enough. I worked in the division supply dump, loading and unloading trucks bringing supplies from Manila. Our squad was well fed, since we had first choice of food coming to our division. I only carried a rifle when I was on guard duty. We mostly had to guard our supplies from Filipinos trying to steal food. Sometimes, there would also be guerillas trying to steal ammunition. They would kill a sentry and steal his rifle.

Everything changed in January. The American landings started pushing Japanese forces back toward Manila. Our division made a stand against the Americans, but could not hold. We were ordered to destroy anything that couldn't be moved. Of course not much could be moved because any trucks on the road were being destroyed by the American planes in the daylight and Filipino guerillas at night.

After setting the fires, my squad was ordered to guard a roadblock on the highway from the beach. If we had known what we were facing, we might have saved some of the food rations from being destroyed. After two days, our position was attacked and strafed by American fighter planes. Two of my men were killed.

We decided we couldn't hold out in this position with no food and no water. We had a machine gun to hold our position, but it was damaged by the air attack. It was obvious that we had been sacrificed by the army to give our division time to escape. With four men besides me, we decided to find a cave in the hills to hide. We would have to be vigilant for guerillas looking for Japanese stragglers.

After two days with no food and no water, I decided that I would start going into the nearest village at night. I would fill our water bottles from animal troughs, and look for scraps of food from the garbage dumps. The Filipinos would throw away more food than we had to eat.

After a week, we discussed whether we should fight to the death for the Emperor, or give ourselves up to the Americans. The Americans did not always take prisoners, especially when facing resistance. They would use grenades and flame throwers to clear out a cave like ours. It was certain that Filipino guerillas never took Japanese prisoners.

I did not consider myself a warrior, I only unloaded trucks. Before the Army, I worked on the docks in Tokyo loading and unloading ships. When I woke up the morning after our discussion, I saw that two men had taken what food and water we had remaining, and had left. I knew they wouldn't get far before the Filipino guerillas would find them. I decided to go into the village and give myself up to the Americans. Two men stayed behind in the cave. I had only walked one hundred yards when I heard a grenade explode. They had chosen the honorable way out.

The army isn't coming back for me, so why should I die? I looked at the picture of my wife and son, and then walked on to face my fate. It is March 8.

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Staff Sergeant Sam Wilson, U.S. Army, Luzon

My name is Sam Wilson. I'm a sergeant in the U.S. Army, and I'm a team leader in a bridge building company in the 5767th Engineer Battalion. Joe Schulz and I were going to check out a village near our camp. Everything had been quiet in this sector for a couple of weeks. The Japanese army had retreated back towards Manila, so Joe and I felt comfortable to explore the area, but still carried our weapons. There were some rumors about Japanese soldiers left behind that may still be hiding out.

The Filipinos had deserted the village before the Japanese left and were just beginning to come back. Our battalion had done some work here to restore the infrastructure for the village. They now had a working water system and a new bridge over the river.

While the Japanese were here, food had been scarce, although the locals never seemed to be going hungry. Since the Americans came, there seemed to be plenty of food. The local farmers brought fresh produce and even livestock to the market every week. Frank Johnson, our mess sergeant, wanted us to bring back some fresh vegetables and some eggs if we could find some.

I heard a commotion at the end of the street, a lot of yelling going on. Several Filipinos were running past us, yelling and carrying sticks in that direction. I looked at Joe, and we both readied our weapons. I was carrying an M-1 carbine and Joe had a .45 caliber Thompson sub-machine gun.

As we moved into the crowd, pushing the Filipinos out of our way, we found they had caught a Japanese soldier trying to steal food. Left alone, they would beat him to death as retaliation for their treatment at the hands of the Japanese. I was finally able to convince them to let us take him with us instead of killing him on the spot. Maybe what convinced them the most was Joe's Tommy gun.