D01, Jumi Hayaki ‘91, Kikuyo Tsuchiya, Grandmother, 1909, Shizuoka
The following is an interview, held over the telephone, between my maternal grandmother and myself during November 1989. Throughout, Mrs Kikuyo Tsuchiya (currently aged 80 years) relates her personal wartime experiences, ranging from those within her own household to those for the benefit of the nation. From these accounts, we truly realize how the war affected the lives of the average housewife and her community.
I: The Interviewer (i.e., myself)
G: The Interviewee (i.e., my grandmother)
I: Hello, Grandma. Would you mind if I asked you some questions about your experiences during the Second World War?
G: No, of course not. But I’ve already told you so much!
I: Well, then, just to make this formal, could you please begin by telling me where you were living during the War?
G: At first, we were living in Tōkyō, because your grandfather wanted to enhance his career by becoming a writer there. But life in the capital soon became very dangerous, especially for your mother.
I: Yes, she was quite young, then—
G: Very small. Life became quite scary in Tōkyō, so, like many of our neighbors, we moved—evacuated–to Shizuoka, which was quite a rural city back then.
I: Did you resent this? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.
G: Well … I think being safe was more important than if we actually wanted to move. Perhaps, for your grandfather, though, it was more unfortunate. Writers in rural areas don’t have a very comfortable life.
I: I remember once Mama was telling me about how he had to burn some of his manuscripts because you didn’t have enough firewood.
G: Yes—times were very difficult. That is, it wasn’t that we were desperately poor or anything; it was just that there just wasn’t anything around. Not even firewood. So we had to burn his manuscripts. It was so we could heat the bath.
I: Was this in your house in Izu?
G: Yes; your mother was still a baby.
I: [Suddenly] Wait—I’m confused. You went to Izu after Shizuoka? I thought it was the other way around.
G: Oh, sorry. When I said we evacuated to Shizuoka, I meant the prefecture, as in Shizuoka-ken. But you’re right; we lived in Izu before Shizuoka-shi. I’ve been living in this house ever since.
I: Oh, I see. OK, sorry. Where were we? Oh yes—the bath. What was that manuscript, if you don’t mind?
G: Oh, that? It was a translation—something in English … It was very sad because since your grandfather had to burn the manuscript, someone else had translated it too, and turned it in first. So your grandfather never translated that work again. He was very upset.
I: Yes, I can imagine … That was very unfortunate. How were aspects of living at home? The food, for instance? You often read about people making ends meet from practically nothing. How were things with you?
G: The thing I remember the most was that there was hardly any substantial, nutritious food. So your mother hardly got to eat bananas and other types of fruit. I think bananas were very precious back then. I only bought them when someone in the house was sick. They were very expensive, datta no yo. So cooking became very difficult, too, because there was nothing to buy. For example, rice. We used to cook bits of vegetable together with the rice, so that the thin, “gruel (okayu)-like” taste wouldn’t be so bad.
I: Yes, I’ve heard about the potato incident.
G: Potato?
I: Remember? You cooked the stalks—
G: Oh, yes. I see. Well, I cut up pieces of sweet potato and cooked them together with the rice. But we had so little food that I had to include the stalk, too. I ended up eating the part with the stalk. But I think to have complained would have made life even more difficult for everyone else.
I: You’re always so nice to people!
G: Well, it was partly for the country, too. Like the times those people from the government came to collect jewelry and metal articles from all the houses in our community. I gave up all my gold jewelry so that our brave Japanese soldiers might be able to have some more supplies on the battleground. There was nothing else I could do; I felt so sorry for them.
I: But surely, not everyone was as patriotic as you. Weren’t there people who lied and said they didn’t have anything?
G: Yes, but I felt that was cheating the nation. So that’s why I gave in my ring.
I: Your ring?
G: Yes, I gave in my wedding ring.
I: That IS true patriotism!
G: Well—what else could I do? I was part of the local Kokubō Fujin-kai; we used to have things like the bucket relay (baketsu rerei); or we’d make banners for the country. Many of my neighbors were members too.
I: I see. What about the use of English? I know people weren’t supposed to, but were there actually people who didn’t obey this law?
G: Well, as far as I know, it WAS obeyed! I mean, I remember seeing some little boys playing baseball in the vacant lot; instead of saying “strike” and “ball,” they were using terms like “yoshi” and “dame.” That surprised me.
I: I didn’t know that. Two years ago, we learned in Japanese class that some of the Japanese substitutes for foreign or borrowed words were quite absurd, but I didn’t realize that people could actually switch so easily. I suppose it was because that was the law.
G: Yes, I think so too.
I: … Aren’t you going to tell me your famous pumpkin story?
G: But I’ve already told you so many times!
I: But this is for a school assignment!
G: Well, OK. We were growing vegetables in our back yard. I say “our,” but actually, the whole neighborhood was allowed a section of it for growing food. So we grew pumpkins. There was one particular pumpkin which was getting larger and larger every day. We were all looking forward to the day when we could pick it and cook it for dinner. But the day we were planning to pick it, it was gone—someone in the neighborhood had stolen it to cook for their own family. We were very disappointed.
I: I agree; it’s sad how poverty and scarcity can cause deceit and spite … Well, thank you very much for your time and cooperation. And thank you for answering all my questions!
G: That’s no problem. I enjoyed sharing my experiences with you.
I later asked my mother what manuscript my grandfather had had to burn. Apparently, it was one of Somerset Maugham’s works.