The way we were - The forgotten hero
03.03.2010
By Father Patrick Crowley, St Columbans, Japan
The train was unusually empty, and for the first time I was able to get a comfortable seat. Then a new figure appeared clad in a dirty white robe. He wore a geta on the one foot he possessed, and an iron grip was fastened to a handless wrist with which he held a crutch. His face spoke of hardships. A little girl shyly followed him.
He advanced to the centre of the coach, took off his cap and bowed deeply. As a beginner at Japanese, I was unable to follow his rapid, passionate address; however I managed to get the two leading ideas - war and Philippines - and these confirmed my suspicions. Here was a man who was once acclaimed by thousands. He was Japan’s former hero and idol - a Japanese soldier.
Yesterday it was his powerful figure and military step that appealed to the crowd; today, he appealed with a maimed body. He was a forgotten hero. After speaking for about two minutes he bowed again, leaned forward on his crutch so that the little girl could reach his cap, which she took from his head and used as a collection box. When both had completed their almost fruitless tour of the carriage - I was the only subscriber to his cause - they stood at the end, bowed in my direction, apologised to all for the interruption, and departed.
Since that day, these men have become a familiar sight to me. They wear a long white robe, and a large insignia or pin which slightly resembles the Red Cross badge. This officially identifies them as disabled veterans; the “white robe” and beggar are synonymous terms.
Not far from our house in Tokyo is the famous Yasukuni Shinto shrine, dedicated to the fallen Japanese soldiers, and regarded as the earthly abode of their deified spirits. April 19 is the big day at Yasukuni. Members of families of soldiers who died in wars, throng to pay their respects.
Though granted freedom of religion in 1899, Catholics were obliged by the government to attend these Shinto rituals. Their refusal to do so in the early 1930’s caused serious trouble, but Church officials in Rome settled the question by pointing out that this was a civil ceremony, a compulsory demonstration of loyalty and patriotism.
On April 19 I boarded a tram for Yasukuni. At the entrance to the shrine, beneath a cherry tree in full bloom, stood my “Forgotten Hero,” dressed in a new white robe for the big occasion. He had many companions, all with similar uniforms and souvenirs of former days. I chose his hat from the many proffered for my contribution. He recognised me, and muttered as he bowed: “Thanks, Father, for the previous favour.” I wondered at the title “Father” and asked him why he so addressed me. (Shimpu-san is usually employed only by Catholics towards their priests.) “I know well shimpu-san, as my best friend in the army was a shimpu-san who died in the Philippines.” Pointing at the shrine he said: “Shimpu-san over there.”
There was no room in Yasukuni that day, so I decided to postpone my investigations. But I had met my “Forgotten Hero” who was a friend of an unknown friend.
- Taken from The Far East, February 1, 1956.
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)