Diggers
A doll in a glass case stands in a prominent place in our home in Canberra. About 40 cm tall, the figure is of a girl in traditional Japanese costume. Its striking beauty has always attracted the attention of visitors, and I have been asked about its origin.
The doll was given to us by the Kondo family of Japan in thanks for returning to them personal effects of a member of their family, a Japanese soldier who was killed in New Guinea during the war. In addition to its sentimental value as a token of gratitude, the doll is a constant reminder to me of the tragedy of war.
As I gaze at it today my thoughts take me back almost sixty years to the fever-ridden coastal swamps of New Guinea where this story began. In my mind’s eye I see the desolate scene again so vividly and in such detail that, for a moment, I feel as though I am actually there. I hear the incessant rattle of rifle and machine-gun fire, sense the oppressive heat and humidity and the cloying stench, and feel the numbing tiredness that dulls all sensation, even fear. I see the gaunt, exhausted faces of my mates, and I remember those who are gone. With the sentimentality that comes when we grow old to those who have lived thought desperate battles, I am saddened by the awful human cost of war.
But then I think of the pleasure I felt at being able to return the articles to the soldier’s family, and, more especially, I recall my emotions when first I read the letters of thanks I received from Masuko Kondo, the daughter-in-law of the soldier’s sister. Looking through those letters again now, I am moved by her sincerity and compassion to tell this story of war and peace, and hope for the future. Masuko’s letters are an integral part of my story – indeed, it is woven around them.
Toward the end of 1942 the battle around the small village of Gona on the north coast of Papua New Guinea had raged incessantly for three weeks. Such had been the intensity of the close-quarter fighting that neither side had been able to bury their dead. When finally we broke through to the beach we were confronted by a scene that almost defies description. Gona was a shambles! Upwards of one thousand bodies from both sides in various stages of decomposition lay scattered or in heaps in this very small area. While some of our troops moved on to contain the Japanese forces to the west of Gona, the rest of us were employed for the next three days on the gruesome task of burying the dead. It was an experience none of us can ever forget.
It is customary for burial parties to collect any official enemy documents or private papers for intelligence purposes. Among the articles I had collected was a flag and a diary taken from one of the dead Japanese soldiers. The flag was made of white silk, about 60 cm square with the red circle of the Japanese emblem in the centre, and what we understood to be good luck wishes from family and friends written on the white background. The diary was a small leather-bound book. I was allowed to keep these articles and took them home with me as souvenirs at the end of January 1943.
I was in Balikpapan in Borneo when the war ended and went to Japan with the Australian contingent of the occupation forces. While in Japan we took our turn with other British Commonwealth countries and the Americans on guard duties in Tokyo. One of the places we guarded was the Yasukuni Shrine – a Shinto shrine dedicated to the spirits of those Japanese who have died in battle. The attendants at the shrine were all old soldiers, one of whom could speak English. While discussing the differing aspects of the Shinto and Christian religions with him I told him of the flag and diary. He explained that, in Japanese family remembrance ceremonies, there is deep spiritual significance in having something that was with the deceased relative at the time of death. Becoming aware that the articles I had taken home as souvenirs would be of such great comfort to the soldier’s family, I realised that it would be morally wrong for me to keep them. I resolved then that I would return them to his family if possible.
Following my return to civil life in 1947 I made several attempts over the succeeding years to see if I could locate the family, but without success. Indeed it appeared to be an almost impossible thing to achieve from Australia at the time. Even the staff at the Japanese Embassy in Canberra seemed unwilling to help.
In the early 1970s I have most of my wartime memorabilia to the Australian War Memorial, bot for some inexplicable reason I kept the flag and diary. Perhaps, subconsciously, I was still hopeful that I would be able somehow to return them to the soldier’s family. I can’t remember. Whatever the reason, it was probably the most crucial of the several otherwise unrelated events that eventually made their return possible, which leaves me wondering sometimes if there is an unseen had governing such things, or if it is all really just a matter of chance.
Some years later a student from Thailand was living with us and attending the Australian National University in Canberra, where one of her subjects was Japanese. Her tutor, Mr Kaneko, was a Japanese citizen. Mr Kaneko was able to ascertain from the diary the soldier’s name and home address at the time of his enlistment. Our Prime Minister, Mr Fraser, was planning to visit Japan in 1976 and several Japanese journalists had come to Australia in connection with the visit. Mr Kaneko brought these journalists to our home where I have them all the information I could, and they took the flag and diary back to Japan with them undertaking to try to locate the soldier’s family.
The journalists were not hopeful of success, and it seemed to me unlikely that I would ever hear from them or see the articles again. It came as a very pleasant surprise when a few weeks later I received the following letter from Mr Masuko:
‘Dear Mr Cook,
We have not met before, but I am writing you this letter of thanks to express my gratitude to you from the bottom of my heart.
Today we suddenly received from a Mr Kaneko living in your country some glad news that we never expected. That is that you have been taking care of some things left behind by my aged mother’s brother who died in the hateful Pacific war, and by your kindness we shall be able to have them returned to us.
When we saw the airmail letter in our mailbox, that in itself was unbelievable for people like us who live far out in the countryside. We read the address over and over to be sure it was for us before we dared open it. As we read it, we found ourselves facing something we had not dreamed of, something dear to us and very joyous, and we wept tears mixed with emotion, fond memories, and joy.
Mr. Cook, thank you very much, with all our heats we thank you deeply. Though over thirty years have elapsed since the war ended you have been good enough to take care of these things for so many years, and besides you have asked so many people and have gone to so much trouble in order to return them to us. It is more than we could ever have imagined.
How thankful it is for someone whom we do not know, and have never heard of, from a distant country to go to so much trouble and concern for us.
I shall promptly inform the office of Japan’s Welfare Ministry (the government department responsible for finding the family) and Mr Ozawa of the Mainishi Newspaper. (Mr Ozawa was one of the journalists who came to our home with Mr Kaneko).
This year’s O-bon festival will soon be held in August. In Japan, at the time of O-bon we greet into our homes the spirits of our deceased ancestors; it is the custom for all in the family, even those who have left to work in the cities, to return for this ceremony and join in consoling the dead. With this once-in-a-year important O-bon soon to begin, receiving the belongings of the deceased uncle through you kind sympathies is, as far as we are concerned, the best way of giving my uncle consolation.
When my aged mother and her brother were still small they lost their parents and faced many hardships in life, but held on despite it all. Then my mother was robbed of her brother by that war. In the sorrowful days that followed the only article by which she could still feel the presence of her brother was a faded photograph. But when she learnt that she would be able to touch belongings that were on his person at the time of his death, she could not keep back the tears of gratitude for all you have done.
Our deepest regret is that we cannot tell you our thanks directly face to face.
Praying here in distant Japan that you shall always and always be healthy and blessed with happiness, I lay my pen down.
From my aged mother and from all in the family, heart-born regards.
Masuko Kondo’
I replied immediately with details of her uncle’s death at Gona: how I had come by the flag and diary, and the circumstances of their return. I told her that in the final phase of the battle the Japanese soldiers had been invited to surrender, but had chosen to die fighting. We had buried her uncle and his comrades in soldier’s graves where they fell. I consoled her with the knowledge that her uncle had given his life serving his Emperor and his country, and that the family should remember him with pride. I ended my letter with what I thought was an appropriate quotation from Macaulay’s famous poem “How Horatius Kept the Bridge” as an epitaph:
“Then out spake brave Horatius, the captain of the gate
To every man upon this earth, death cometh soon or late
And how can man die better, than facing fearful odds
For the ashes of his fathers, and the temple of his gods.”
Masuko’s reply to my letter follows:
‘Dear Mr Cook,
Thank you very much for your kind letter received the other day. I should have written you a reply at once; I apologise profoundly for having put off the reply this long.
The items that you cared for for so many long years arrived at our home a few days ago. Thank you, warmly and from our hearts. My whole family, beginning with the aged mother, were deeply choked with emotion when we held in our hands the items left behind by the deceased. The way in which you carefully preserved these items for thirty three years reveals to us you kind nature.
In the earlier letter I wrote about the O’bon ceremonies. The items did not arrive in time for the O-bon, but even so at this year’s O-bon we were able to propitiate the spirits of the dead members of the family more specially with deeper emotions.
According to your letter, you say that you buried a large number of corpses of Japanese soldiers, and we really are thankful to you for doing this. It seems a shame that we are the only ones who know about this fact. Here at our place we have been discussing whether or not it wouldn’t be fitting repayment to kindness of yourself and others like you, if we would let other families who have lost someone in the war know about what you have done.
When our local newspaper made a big story of how you sent us these items of the deceased family member there was a big reaction to the story. Just the other day there was a letter to the editor of the paper from a reader sho said that he cannot get rid of the thought that the bones of many of his soldier friends are lying in New Guinea exposed to the elements, and he wishes his country would do something about it and help collect those bones. As soon as we read this we telephoned the writer and told him everything you said in your letter. When he heard how someone from another country had kindly buried our soldiers he also was very moved. Even now those people who managed to live and to return to our country alive still have scars from the war deeper than we can imagine.
I, myself, lost a brother in the war. After his graduation from the old army officers’ school he went to Burma where he died at 24, a colonel. Probably he felt a great pride in being able to die for the country and for the Emperor, but that is how the Japanese were educated to think at that time. No matter for what reasons, there isn’t anything as awful as war, with so many people’s lives being taken from them. It seems there can be absolutely no excuse for this from a standpoint of humanity. And yet, wars follow upon wars on the globe and many lives are lost. This is very sad. With our small weak power we just hope for the building of a peaceful world, and do our best every day for this end.
With prayers from the heart that days of peace and happiness will always continue to shine on you, Mr Cook, I offer you this letter of thanks.
Respectfully,
Masuko Kondo
My wife, Betty, and I were planning to visit the U.K. in 1977 and were considering going via Japan to meet the Kondo family. I must say that I had some reservations about this as I wondered how my own sister would have felt if the situation was reversed, but the suggestion was welcomed warmly by Masuko and we made arrangements to meet at Hiroshima. A transport strike in Japan while we were there made this impossible, but Masuko and her husband were able to come to Kyoto to meet us. Betty had crocheted a large woollen shawl as a present for the soldier’s sister, but to her great disappointment, was unable to give it to her in person because she had not been well enough to accompany them. Masuko took the shawl back to her mother-in-law.
We didn’t know that they had sent us the doll as a thank you gift until we returned to Australia almost three months later.
Masuko was the mother of two young adult sons when we met at Kyoto in 1977. As a grandfather I have had the experience of watching the relationship between our own daughters and their children as they grow to adulthood. It is with the sensitivity and wisdom that apparently comes to most men only with age and family responsibility, that I can now fully appreciate the anti-war sentiments expressed in Masuko’s letters. I am sure that she echoes the silent prayer that has arisen in times of conflict from every mother of the world since time began. I remember now with shame that I have no thought to the anguish my mother must have suffered when soon after my seventeenth birthday I enlisted in the A.I.F., and was away for almost seven years – most of the time overseas.
I have taken the liberty of copying the full text of two of Masuko’s letters because I believe that in them lie the very heart and soul of this story. I want others to have the opportunity to share with me the beauty of thought contained in her letters, and, more particularly, of her humble and sincere cry from the heart for peace.
Masuko’s last letter to me ended with the words “I hope that friendship between our two countries and our two families last forever.” I share this hope.
Les Cook
Corporal
2/14th Battalion, AIF