On August 6, 1945, Shinichi Kato, who was the head of the news department at the Chugoku Shimbun newspaper, was on his way to work near Nishi-Hiroshima Station when he saw the flash of the atomic bomb and immediately headed to the Chugoku Shimbun headquarters in the city. He recorded what he saw and felt at the time, and published it 26 years later in 1971 in the magazine "Creating Peace and Coexistence," which he published as "Walking Through the Hell of the Atomic Bomb: An Old Journalist's Account of the Pikadon." The following is an account of his experience.
There was a flash of pale light, followed by a loud, dull roar. I was thrown to the ground.
At 8:15 a.m. on August 6, 1945, the moment the world's first atomic bomb exploded, I was on the national highway a few steps from the ticket gates of Miyajima Electric Railway Station in Koi (now Nishi-Hiroshima), the western entrance to Hiroshima City, at the end of a long line of people transferring to the city tram during the morning rush hour, my eyes dropping to the morning paper.
This was a close hit, so before the rest of the bombs could hit him, he left the familiar entrance to the freight station, jumped over the roof of the already collapsed warehouse, and ran like a sprinter towards the top of the mountain.
A voice shouts that enemy planes are dropping oil. The rain that is falling is black and shiny. It was the middle of the Doyo period that morning, and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky, but there was a loud roar and the surroundings became dark, and black rain that resembled oil fell. One soldier says, "It's not oil. It's dirty rain." After escaping to a cave at the foot of the mountain, he looks out over the city to the east, and sees flames rising from all over the city, even the straw in front of him on fire.
This is not something normal. It's some kind of special bomb! Leaving the screams behind, I went back down to the national highway and jumped onto a fire engine coming from Kusatsu, showing my armband that said "This is the Chugoku Shimbun."
The national highway was packed with people fleeing from Koi to Kusatsu. They all asked for help, asking, "Where can I get treatment?" and "Where can I find a doctor?" They pushed their way through the crowds of people with red burns, ghosts with their arms hanging down in front of them, mothers with burnt and frizzy hair, and staggering people carrying old people on their backs, heading in the opposite direction towards the city.
The fire engines did not proceed beyond Fukushima-cho, and when they jumped off and reached Tenma-cho, a fire broke out in a collapsed house, and strong winds were blowing from the west, making it impossible to go any further. It was around 9:00 a.m.
As I approached the square where houses had been evacuated around the Toyo Seikan factory on the north side of Tenma-cho, I helped a young couple desperately pull an elderly mother who had been pinned under a collapsed house that was burning and scorching, saying "it didn't matter if her legs got torn off." However, even though I could see the elderly mother, I ended up under the flames myself, and there was nothing I could do about the young mother crying out, "My four-year-old child is under this fire..." So I returned to Fukushimabashi to head towards my childhood home in Yokokawa, and in front of the collapsed home of Representative Furuta Kisata, I headed north towards Aki Girls' School, calling out "Mr. Furuta, Mr. Furuta"
On the riverbank in Tenma-cho, naked men and women with burns all over their bodies were unable to walk, and the scene of North Sea seals and fur seals rolling on the sand, piled up on top of each other on the reef, was a living hell, and the riverbed was littered with countless charred corpses, along with the corpses of horses, cows, dogs, and other animals.
From Fukushima Town northwards, the banks and both sides of the river, as well as into the fields, were strewn with bodies of the half-dead and those who had already died, and people caring for them, so that there was nowhere to step.
When he reached the bank of Uchikoshi, within sight of his childhood home, black smoke was rising and it seemed impossible to get close. Meanwhile, torrential rain as if a bucket had been overturned began to fall across the northern part of the city, and he was forced to take shelter again in a half-destroyed house in Uchikoshi Yamate. Luckily, the rain let up about an hour later, and he was able to reach his childhood home in Yokokawa 1-chome, which had already been burned down by fire. Worried about his mother's safety, he spent about 30 minutes digging through the ruins with pieces of wood. (His mother had sent her two younger siblings to work and gone to Yamate to pick vegetables, and they were safe.)
It was 11:00 a.m. The Hiroshima Betsuin across the river had also burned down, and from Yokokawa to Teramachi and Tokaichi there was not a single notable building, just burnt ruins. The center of Misasabashi was burning, so we crossed the iron bridge and came from Shiroshima to Tokiwabashi. Perhaps because it hadn't rained much around here, the flames from the burnt ruins were still visible, and the street leading from the Teishin Hospital to the train line at Hatchobori was so hot that we couldn't get close.
I had no choice but to soak towels and shirts in river water, put them on, and keep running from Fukuya to the front of the Chugoku Shimbun newspaper company.
However, it was hard to move forward along this road, jumping over charred corpses, half-dead victims, and bicycles with burning tires. It was especially heartbreaking to hear the death cries of soldiers raising their heads and crying out, "Soldier, please give me water!" (Please forgive me. There's nothing I can do.)
It was 12 noon. The exteriors of the Fukuya and Chugoku Shimbun buildings were still intact, but inside, flames were roaring. All was lost. As I sat down on the stone steps of the Kangin branch to wipe my sweat and take a rest, newspaper employees gathered there in groups of three or five, not only editors but also office staff and printers. What about the safety of the 40 or so people under the direction of Chief Sasaki Iseji, who had gone to work as a volunteer near the prefectural office in Minashi-cho? (I would be the captain in two days.)
While this was going on, several people who received orders from President Yamamoto's residence in Fuchu-cho on the outskirts of the city ran off, saying, "I'm going to send a telegram to the Army Transportation Department in Ujina asking for support from the Asahi Shimbun and the Mainichi Shimbun in Osaka." (For several months after that, both newspapers printed Chinese titles and issued them to all buyers, with their cooperation.)
In front of the company building, I celebrated with about 20 to 30 employees that we had "made it safe," about half of whom probably fell victim to radiation sickness. I embraced two of my close friends, Kanji Matsuura (then deputy editor-in-chief) and Toshio Saeki (later editor-in-chief of the evening edition of China), in joy.
It was 3pm. Matsuura-san was worried about her daughter who had gone off to do volunteer work after graduating from her girls' school, so she decided to look for her around Koamicho and headed home. I had just left Hirara Village in Hatsukaichi that morning, and I knew my family was worried about my safety. I had been thrown to the asphalt of the national highway by a bang that morning, and had crawled on my hands and feet for several meters, leaving my knees (wearing shorts and gaiters) red and raw, and my knees (wearing rubber tabi socks) were painful from stepping on nails in several places when I jumped over the collapsed roof of a cargo warehouse in my rubber tabi socks. So we headed back west, passing through Hatchobori, Kamiyacho, Tokamachi, and Koamicho. From Fukuya to Aioibashi, the Bank of Japan and Sumitomo Bank buildings could be seen in the far left, the Chamber of Commerce building was all that remained by the riverside, and the Industrial Promotion Hall was in a shabby state.
What was even worse was that those who were seriously injured and unable to escape ended up dragging their feet as they hurried westward, facing away from the countless charred corpses lined up (I'm very sorry, but I was used to the gruesome corpses from that morning and by this time I wasn't feeling that sentimental).
Just before Aioi Bridge, a large man with red, blistering skin was tied with wire to a utility pole in front of the current Atomic Bomb Dome, and people passing by were throwing bricks and pebbles at him while shouting something. When I approached to ask what was going on, he said, "It seems to be one of the American soldiers from the American plane that was shot down. This is not enough to make me angry," and started throwing something. There was no way to stop the agitated anti-American crowd mentality.
There were large cement water tanks everywhere along the roadsides around Koamicho, and junior high school boys and girls who were unable to escape, could not bear the heat, ran to the tanks for water and piled on top of each other, dying like red, feathery octopuses, some of them with their fists raised high in the air, the horrific screams of the monsters as they died in agony were beyond imagination.
Matsuura said, "I'll search more thoroughly and widely before going back." That's understandable. Speaking of which, my only son also went to the Japanese Red Cross Hospital in Hiroshima every morning, and I started to wonder what had happened to him. (Both Matsuura's daughter and my son returned home after the alert and were safe.)
I was alone, now dragging my limp leg, and traveled along the train tracks (the normal roads were impassable due to collapsed and burnt out houses) to Koi, passing through Takasu and Furue, before boarding a train that was moving from Kusatsu (you couldn't get on unless you were seriously injured, but the newspaper company armband gave me an edge) and arrived back at my home in Hirara village, where we were busy providing relief to the atomic bomb refugees, just after 6pm. My wife and child, as well as the neighbors, were wholeheartedly happy to hear that I was safe.
At their home in Hirara village, 10 kilometers from the center of Hiroshima, the pikadon tore through the shoji screens, shattered glass, and blew the second-floor ceiling up into the air, making it difficult to pull it down. Soil from the walls was scattered onto the tatami mats, and they were reminded of the devastating power of the blast from the atomic bomb.
As the head of the news department of the Chugoku Shimbun (a wartime system that integrated the various departments under the editorial bureau), I was unable to publish the newspaper and there were no reporting activities, but I had duties at the Western Army Headquarters and the prefectural office press room, so from the following day, August 7th, I loaded up my bicycle with rice and headed out into the city, knowing that I "might not be able to return home for a while." I continued to be active mainly at the temporary prefectural office and prefectural police headquarters at the Geigin branch on the corner of Ginzan-cho, while also checking on the safety of my close relatives, and after the Imperial Rescript on the Termination of the War on August 15th, I was called upon to guide and interpret for two representatives of the Swiss International Red Cross who accompanied the American atomic bomb inspection team around the 20th, running around desperately in the living hell of the atomic bomb every day.
His younger brother Shozo (24 years old at the time) died three days after the atomic bomb, and his younger sister Fumie (22 years old at the time) died one month later, saying, "Brother, I have avenged my father." However, compared to the countless victims whose bodies remained unidentified, dividing the center of Hiroshima into north and south, with the Navy in the south and the Army in the north collecting corpses in the lowlands, piling them up and burning them with oil (to prevent the stench and infestation of flies due to the extreme heat), and clearing them away, it was at least a relief that they were able to have a simple funeral amongst close relatives.
I usually came back from the US and went to work exactly at 8:00 a.m., but the previous night's reporting (accompanying Yoshioka, the head of the photography department (now the advertising director), to a roundtable discussion on increasing the production of wide-sowed wheat at the Hara Village Agricultural Cooperative in Saiki County) got late, and I ended up in Koi three or four Miyajima trains late, only to be caught in the thunderstorm. Also, if I had lived in my childhood home of Yokokawa 1-chome, I would have been at work at 8:00 a.m. and would have died.
Many of the people who entered the city after the bombing to search for relatives or for other reasons later died of radiation sickness, but as I described above, I have literally gone through the hell of the atomic bomb, and yet I have survived to this day (aged 71), which is truly a blessing.
I intend to devote the rest of my life to peace activities, fight at the risk of my life against the enemies of all humanity, such as those trying to amend the Constitution, and absolutely prevent "war."
*Although some content is inappropriate, the original text has been published as is.
© 2021 Ryusuke Kawai
