Yuriko Hayashi

I was born on August 3, 1936, the first daughter of Yuichi Yamamura, my father, and Masako, my mother.  They were twenty-six years apart in age.  I was an only girl between my eight-years-older brother, Tatsuo, and my seven-years-younger brother, Katsutoshi.  Katsutoshi, born in 1943, in the middle of the Pacific War, was named for the Japanese word standing for victory in the war.  That name often was used for baby boys at the time.

In addition to my family members, we had a live-in male servant, Okamoto, and a nanny, Kobubaba, in our house.  Okamoto, whom we just called by his family name, was in charge of all household matters and my father’s business as a butler.  I was a weak child, and my nanny always carried me on her back.  I called her “Kobubaba” because she always kept some small pieces of dried konbu seaweed and dried small sardines in her apron pocket and gave me a piece when I was hungry. 

Our house was located in Dote-cho (present Hijiyama-cho, Naka-ku, 1.6km from the hypocenter.)  My family was very wealthy.  My father ran a construction contracting business, supplying Japanese and Korean contract workers for jobs.  Once a job request came in, he arranged for them to go to the work site.  Although racial discrimination against Koreans was common at that time, my parents never said or did anything discriminatory.  Their attitude to all his workers was very fair. 

My mother was from a samurai–class family, so she did very little housework or childcare, work that wasn’t of her class.  She was always stylish, wearing beautiful kimonos.  At that time, women were supposed to wear monpe pants, not kimonos.  Even hearing people in the neighborhood say, “She is unpatriotic,” behind her back, she still never wore monpe pants.  She also didn’t attend any bamboo spear trainings or firefighting drills held in every neighborhood.  Inside our house, she frankly said, “It is absolutely impossible for a country who makes its nation contribute their kitchen pots and pans for making bullets to defeat that America.”  This might have been heard because someone threw stones at our house.  My father didn’t reprimand her for such behavior, and thinking back now, I wonder why military policemen didn’t take her into custody.  She was very good at making different kinds of pickles, including plum and Chinese onion pickles, placing reused sake and soy sauce barrels on the earthen floor of our wide entrance hall.

I was an only girl born between much older and much younger brothers, so my parents doted on me very much.  They bought me many expensive kimonos and fancy hina dolls.  They bought carp streamers for my brothers, too.  My parents loved going to the theater in Shintenchi dressed up.  They would dress me in cute clothes or kimonos and take me with them from when I was little.  Not throwing a tantrum, I would sit still between my parents to watch the play. When the 2600^th Anniversary Celebrations of the Empire of Japan were held nationwide in 1940, I got beautifully dressed in a kimono and walked down the main street of Dote-cho, holding a paper lantern at the head of the procession.  I think I liked going out beautifully dressed.

My father was the chairman of our neighborhood association and often attended bamboo spear drills.  I attended those drills with him, carrying a short spear made for me.  Shouting loud, “Die, Western brutes!” I charged at the straw figure made to resemble an American soldier.  My mother never attended any of those drills.

I was born with a weak constitution.  Our family doctor told my parents that I would not live as long as 10 years old, so they absolutely spoiled me.  They never scolded me for mischief.  For example, one day I was playing in the house with a friend of mine.  I took out my special long-sleeved kimono from the chest of drawers and we tried to put on it together.  Then, we went into the bathroom and, without taking off the kimono, I soaked in the bathtub with leftover bathwater.  The wet silk kimono fabric shrank and got discolored.  Although the expensive kimono became ruined, I wasn’t punished.  Another day, during the Doll Festival, I tried to put on the hina doll’s geta sandals which were displayed on the tiered stand.  Naturally they got broken, but still, my parents didn’t punish me.  I think that they wanted their daughter, who had been told she wouldn’t live long, to have a lot of happy memories.