Chieko Kiriake
Waiting for Peace Doesn’t Make It Come
2. Childhood Steeped in Militarism
In my childhood, Hiroshima was a town deserving of the title “military capital.” When the Sino-Japanese War started in 1894, the Imperial headquarters was placed in Hiroshima and the Emperor’s residence was transferred here, too. In the same year, the Sanyo Railway Line from Tokyo was opened to Hiroshima Station. Also, the Ujina Line was constructed between Hiroshima Station and Ujina Port in a work rush of two weeks or so. Soldiers, provisions and ammunition came from all over the country to Ujina and then were sent to battlefields overseas. The army’s three depots were built along the line. At the East Drill Grounds on the north side of Hiroshima Station, mounted troops were trained, and infantry were trained at the West Drill Gounds near Hiroshima Castle.

In 1936, I entered Minami Elementary School. The next year, the second Sino-Japanese War started and children’s lives were also affected. When victorious results were reported in battles in Shanghai, Chongqing and so on, class by class, the students formed a formation and paraded through the school district, led by their homeroom teachers, waving small flags, and singing a marching song:
On this morning where clouds billow
Boldly under the morning sun,
Japan stands firmly for justice,
Take up guns and swords to punish those who defy us.
On the monthly Koa Hoko Day (a day set aside to support the war effort), each class visited temples or shrines to pray for victory of the Japanese Army and success of the soldiers’ military fortunes. Every day, soldiers headed for battle, marching on the streetcar street from Miyuki Bridge to Ujina, and we, children, saw them off, waving small flags.

Every morning, when we arrived at school, we had to make a deep bow to a small building called Hoanden near the school gate, where the pictures of the Emperor and Empress and the Imperial Rescript on Education were housed. The Rescript was placed in a long, narrow paulownia box and wrapped by a purple cloth. Whenever we had a ceremony, the principal or vice principal held it high and carried it in a respectful manner. On National Holidays, such as April 29, the Emperor’s Birthday and February 11, National Foundation Day, children went to school in ceremonial dress. We had morning assemblies every day. When the principal or vice principal said, “Salute toward the Imperial Palace!,” children had to bow deeply to the east where the Imperial Palace was located, with their hands under their knees until they heard the word, “Stand at ease!” The same ceremony was held in the auditorium on a rainy day.
Near the small building, there was a statue of Kinjiro Ninomiya. He held a book in his right hand and shouldered firewood on his back. It is said that he was born as a poor peasant but made great efforts to become a samurai warrior at the end of Edo period. He became a symbol of diligence and loyalty, and his statue had been built in each school since 1910. One day, a boy in my class climbed the statue and looked at the book. He said the word “loyalty” was written there. The statues were gradually removed after the war.


In 1940, people were required to form neighborhood associations under the district association, consisting of about 10 households. They were formed so that we could make mobilization, rationing, and prevention of fires smooth and to watch each other. As I lived in Minami-machi, which was close to Ujina Port, soldiers whose ship’s departure was delayed because of bad weather often stayed in our district. Because the neighborhood association knew all the rooms of each house, it could allocate soldiers to each home. The association also provided food for them. At the beginning of the war, those soldiers were all young, but gradually middle-aged soldiers increased. As I was little, I wondered if we could win the war with those old soldiers. Once, I asked my teacher, “Can such old soldiers fight in the war?” and I remember I was severely scolded.

In April, 1941, when I was in the sixth grade, our elementary school was changed to a national school. The education followed the Imperial Rescript on Education and had a nationalism tinge. The principal told us, “You are not children or pupils anymore. As citizens of Japan, give your life for the nation and the Emperor.” I did not understand the Japanese word, Inochi wo sasageru, because I thought sasageru meant holding something above your eyes. I asked my teacher about the meaning, and he said it meant you would die for the Emperor. As I had received militaristic education, I was not surprised at his words.
Just before the Pacific War started, my uncle got a call-up notice and a big send-off party was held in my house. When I was in the hallway, I heard my father and uncle talking in whispers. My father said, “Return alive whatever happens.” As I was a militarized girl, I thought my father was being unpatriotic.