LOST THOUGHTS OF WAR RETURN: A DIARY OF THE MIND

Tanka 34 and Tanka 35

February, 1943, Fort Belvoir, Virginia

Memory: The mistaken letter of death

Tanka 34

many war lists come

mother gets a telegram

the news crushes her ~

she reads her son has just died ‑‑

but they erred for he still lived.

Tanka 35

he reassures her

that they erred ‑‑ he is alive

but he soon must leave ~

the destination unknown

the key word is overseas.

There was a recent report on television that a thousand (aging) veterans of World War II are currently dying every day. Despite the soldier’s youth or age, the foremost concern of every parent or spouse about their soldier in combat is: Will he survive? Prior to my overseas trip to combat in the SWPA (Southwest Pacific Area) I had a few weekend passes home. It was during one of these trips that my family and I had a devastating experience resulting from a series of incredible chance coincidences. It seems that a soldier with my identical name, who had also been a student at the College of the City of New York (CCNY), had just been killed, and an editor, writing about soldiers from CCNY who had been killed, wrote my mother, expressed sorrow, and requested my photograph. That letter contained sufficient coincidental details to convince my family that I had indeed died, and they prepared for my funeral.

Fortunately, a family friend wisely suggested that they check directly with my battalion. I was in the woods at Fort Belvoir, cutting down trees with an ax when I was summoned to the orderly room by the first sergeant who wondered whether I had concocted a ruse to secure a weekend pass. The company commander, fortunately, approved my pass home and that evening my family and I ruminated on the strange tricks of fate that are so often randomly directed.

Although I had already been allowed to speak with my mother on the phone to convince her I had survived, she remained in tears when I came home on that compassionate furlough, and it took a while before she was sufficiently comforted. But I knew that the false report of my death reinforced the thought, already well established as it must be for every mother whose son was in combat, that death was always feasible. How frequent and sad the blunders and coincidences caused by war.

Sir Sidney Weinstein

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The philosopher's response:

All farewells in wartime are made with the knowledge that death makes no distinctions. Sometimes the hopes for a return to loved ones fade with the departing footsteps. Sometimes there is a conviction that death cannot be avoided. Such was the case with Captain Toshio Abe, commander of the Shinano, Imperial Japanese Navy. This great carrier was to be a super ship, and a secret weapon. It carried rockets which were to be manned ‑ the ohka. There were also suicide speed boats ‑ the shinyo. The Shinano left on its maiden voyage on 29 November 1944. Outside Tokyo Bay, Captain Joseph Enwright was waiting in the submarine Archer‑Fish. The top speed of

this US submarine was 19 knots, much slower than the Shinano which had a top speed of 26 knots. At 8.48 PM, the shape of the Shinano appeared on the Radar Screen of the Archer‑Fish. It took only four torpedoes to destroy the Shinano, the pride of the Japanese Fleet. The carrier sank at 3.15 AM with the loss of 791 navel personnel and 100 civilians. Only eight of the twelve boilers were working, reducing the maximum speed of the carrier to 20 knots. Captain Abe went to his death as a Bushido warrior. He knew that his was a mission of self sacrifice for the Emperor.

*****

Retold from Japan's Hidden Face, Toshihiki Abe, 1998; ISBN 1‑891696‑05‑X

It was in the morning when Captain Toshio Abe said goodbye to his son, Toshihiki Abe. These were the final words of the father to the 14 year old son. The husband then turned to his wife handing her a faded photograph. Perhaps this was a strange thing to do. The photograph showed her at a much younger age, wearing a kimono, and her hair pinned with a comb in the old fashioned style. No words were spoken. Toshio knew that he would never return. His wife had an immediate foreboding of death, death as certain as that recorded in an Official Letter. His mission was secret. He turned, left the house, never looking back. His duty was to the Emperor.

the sorrowing heart ‑

both victor and vanquished

each must endure the pain

Hugh Bygott