The Memoirs of a Japanese Nurse on the Western Front (pt 3)
Hajimeko Takeda’s Notes by a Japanese Nurse Sent to France
Translated by Paul Carty & Eiko Araki, edited by Freddy Rottey & Dominiek Dendooven
In Stand To! 122 (April 2021), the introduction, context and postscript of Hajimeko Takeda’s memoirs as a Japanese nurse in France were published, and in Stand To! 123 we presented the first part of then full translation of her account. This is the second and final part, as originally published in the local newspaper Fukuoka Shimbun between May 25 and June 6, 1919.
[8]
We tried every means to comfort patients who could not move at all. We gave them every sort of daily necessities and amusements. Things to eat and drink, a variety of cigars or flowers were also given to them as presents. Some gifts were sent to them by benefactors both from home and abroad. Others were given from volunteer nurses in the hospital or contributed from members of our own corps. Mr. Ishida, former Japanese Ambassador to France, donated newspapers and magazines. Newspapers contributed by every newspaper office situated in Paris were distributed by a baroness Loulou Lasole(?) with her own hands to every sickroom and office inside the hospital every day. On top of that, an enormous amount of books and magazines were incessantly coming from every quarter. One volunteer nurse was always supplying flowers as did some others. Those were distributed to every sickroom and were used to decorate every bedside, which comforted disabled patients. Toys and other items to entertain the patients came in one after another and relieved the tedium of patients who had nothing to do.
Raphia, horsehair, glass beads, and gassed yarn were contributed by the Society for the Wounded, which also taught patients how to make elaborate things such as baskets, coasters, watch bands, rings, and bracelets. Sometimes a woman in charge from the Society bought those things made by patients at a certain price and displayed them at a certain place to sell to kind people. This was a good idea to relieve the tedium of patients and also make some profits. The stalls displaying and selling the products of the patients were also set up opposite our hospital. Many of the passersby bought them. School girls bravely hawked those products on the streets with a basket filled with the goods hanging from their shoulders.
On Christmas Eves volunteer nurses made Christmas trees and decorated them with something like ‘pipe purses’ and ‘knife handkerchiefs’ wrapped in paper. Sometimes, we made handicrafts in Japanese style or played the game of drawing lots and sometimes separately comforted patients. Besides, we gave them shirts and socks, and when they lacked them at the time of leaving the hospital, French volunteer nurses would give those items to patients or Japanese nurses used money from our charity collection to buy those goods. Picture postcards of our hospital, which we gave patients when they were discharged from hospital, were appreciated as the only memento.
At the time of Easter, French people made it a practice to give eggs and sweets, so in our contingent we gave egg-shaped confectionaries together with cigarettes at this time of the year. We were often invited to a tea party privately or by various organizations such as the supporters’ association of the sick and wounded soldiers. Music is one of the most favored activities of the French people. Therefore, patients were invited to concerts and various entertainments by the President, the government-general in Paris of the Ministry of War, various newspaper offices, and supporter groups. At the time of invitation Japanese nurses and French probationary nurses accepted the invitations and accompanied the patients. In addition, free admission tickets to plays, variety shows, and films were given freely to us–far too many to accept.
[9]
I will write about my curious fate with my girls’ school teacher from France, Sister Borcha. After I finished elementary school, I entered Hakkaikan, the predecessor of the present Hakkai girls’ school in Kumamoto City. Sister Borcha was president there. Besides being my teacher, she took great care of me besides being my teacher. While I was a student there, I practiced making handicrafts like embroidery. So after I became a nurse, I went to the school to help make some embroidery.
When I was going to Paris this time, Sister Borcha gave me a lot of advice. At Kumamoto Station where I departed, she said, “You, Takeda san, are like my daughter. You are going to my country”. Far from her own country for forty years, she has devoted herself to charity work in Japan and will continue to devote the rest of her life. With her eyes filled with tears, thinking about her dear country, she said, clasping my hands, that her nephews as many as six had gone to the front.
I may meet her nephews after I arrive in France, and would tell them how Sister Borcha was doing, I thought. Fortunately I chanced to meet one of them! On one of our first days in Paris, snow lay as deep as 2 shaku (about 60 cm) on the streets of Paris, and the tall buildings were all mantled in snow. We received about 10 newly wounded soldiers and our Japanese Hospital was busier than usual. There was an extremely gallant young man in my charge. We were talking about the stories of our life to pass the time. To my surprise, he was one of the nephews of my respected Sister Borcha, called Lesker(?) ! He clasped my hands, shedding tears and anxious to know how she was doing. He was overjoyed as if he had met his own aunt.
There is another moving story of Mr. Lissel, a young officer aged 25. He was living in a quiet village, four kilometers to the north east of Paris, writing books and working at a newspaper publishing company in Paris. In the same village lived one of the most beautiful girls, called Mirla. who was 22. They were deeply in love and their parents allowed them to be engaged while they were very young. The couple was waiting for Mirla’s graduation from girls’ school and their happy life together afterwards. Young people living near Paris talked about them walking happily together around the park. The couple were waiting for the days when they would laugh at being an object of envy.
Unfortunately, however, the Great War hindered their long awaited marriage. This war brought a sad dispatch to the couple who were playing in their own paradise: Call-up papers were sent to Lissel. However much they hated to be separated, Lissel had to cope with the emergency of the country and was to stand at the front exchanging his accustomed pen with a bayonet. Lissel distinguished himself everywhere on the battle field and was applauded as a brave soldier in the French Army. Being at the same time tenderhearted, he always dreamed about following the winding path of a Paris park, even after sleeping in the battlefield far from home. Though tired with the afflictions of war, he always cherished his memories of Mirla. At midnight in the camps when even insects stopped humming and buzzing, he never forgot to write a beautiful letter to Mirla filled with his emotions.
[10]
Every time his sweetheart Mirla saw wild geese coming, she spent night after night missing her Lissel, I hear. Both of them prayed for the day to come when church bells would ring out announcing the coming of peace and they could talk again happily holding each other’s hands. I don’t know what God thought about looking down at the couple, but Lissel lost both his eyesight due to some shells launched by the German Army, and was sent to our JRC Hospital. How Mirla was grieved by this bad news! She was inconsolable when she came to the hospital in great haste.
She could never have dreamt of her lover blinded thus lying on a pure white bed. Over the past few days, they embraced their happy memories together. Tears welled up in our eyes when we saw pitiful Mirla clinging to Lissel and crying loudly. Her dream of seeing the day of his triumphant return proved vain. Who could have imagined that she would shake hands again with her lover by the help of us nurses from a foreign country? It was when I was changing a dressing, as it was my turn, Mirla pounded the door like a mad woman and rushed into the room crying “I am Mirla!” That image of Mirla sobbing heartbroken haunts me even now.
Mirla didn’t like the idea of her lover being tended by foreign nurses, and at the countess’ permission she put on a white nursing uniform with a red cross on the day she came to see Lissel. She devoted herself to nursing Lissel night and day, but Lissel ’s eyesight was pronounced incurable. It is hard to describe their grief and sorrow.
Though his wounds were completely cured, both of his eyes remained closed, but nevertheless he was allowed to leave hospital as he was. Young Parisiennes frivolously adored a flamboyant life, but Mirla flatly gave up her life in such a world. Fully understanding that she had already devoted herself to Lissel, she bravely held a wedding soon after he left hospital. This news spread to the world of Parisian ladies so that the movie entitled Sacrifice to the Blind was produced. Here I will write down Mirla’s letter to myself which I received back in Japan:
“Dear Mademoiselle Takeda, how have you been getting along lately?
Please remember Paris sometimes. The photo of our wedding I gave you in
memory of us must be still in your wicker trunk, and every time you see it you must recall us and tell Japanese girls about us. Lissel and I always talk about you and our dear memories. When you come to Paris some day, don’t fail to visit us, and see how we are living. Lissel ’s eyes are not opened, but he is very good at playing the violin. Please write to me also. If I read your letter, how happy he will be. I wrote these sentences as Lissel told me. Please let me know the address of your chief doctor. Bye now. Mirla”
This is all written in her letter. If they knew that all this was written in a Japanese newspaper, how would they feel! I will hand down this tale as a “Romance in Paris.”
[11]
At 2:00 a.m. on January 28 th, in the 4th year of Taisho [1915][1], a car ran at full speed in the streets of Paris, sounding the emergency alarm. This alarm was to announce an air raid by German airplanes, and at this all the city became completely silent.
On that day I was on duty. In the hospital, all the lights went off at the sounding of an alarm which announced an air raid. It sounded like a notice of death. Curiosity overcame fear, and I rushed to the eighth floor in the pitch-darkness to have a look around from the railings. Not a sound was heard on the streets of Paris covered with snow as deep as 2 shaku, and snow was still falling from the dark sky.
At this time while I was watching, there came a dark shadow far away in the north-east of the sky. Hardly had I noticed it before the French defense airplanes searched, with blue fierce searchlight, for the German airplanes every corner of the sky. Meanwhile the German airplanes tried to flee from the searchlight, approaching Paris at one time and taking turns of flying for a while and retreating. Even British airplanes, trying to attack German airplanes, were recognized in the far distance when the searchlight happened to shed light clearly. Even the dark sky was thus heavily guarded.
In front of our Japanese hospital was the l’Arc de Triomphe, where the soldiers were garrisoning the city of Paris. They fired guns in midair, and at the sound of gunfire the German planes, exhibiting adroit piloting, disappeared into the clouds.
Even though it was wartime we had never thought about hearing the roar of gunfire at midnight in the city of Paris. We all felt relieved as the German airplanes retreated, but again the emergency alarm rang out even harder than before. Not only inpatients but we nurses felt done for, and some of us even wrote a letter home intended to be the last. I also thought I might not be able to set foot on the soil of my mother country again. I may be killed by an enemy bullet in a country far away from home; me, a woman working just as a nurse for philanthropy! Though I was prepared to die, hot tears streamed down my cheeks.
We nurses all gathered in the same room, and in low voices with our faces pallid we discussed the possibility that we might not return home. When I remember it now I cannot but tremble. At the second sound of the emergency alarm we struck our heads out from the window, and found the city was like a scene of carnage. More than ten German planes were flying this way and that way dropping bombs all over the city, while French garrisons were shooting gunfire in return.
Fortunately our hospital escaped damage, but according to the survey next day, ten places in the city were bombarded and presented a terrible sight from which we must avert our eyes. We saw one of these horrific sites near our hospital, which was a house of a police lieutenant. His wife and three children, and two policemen who happened to be staying there were miserably reduced to ashes without any traces of flesh. Neighbors who dared to look at the site or heard about the tragedy all trembled with fear.
After that, the air raids continued, but one of the best French aviators shot down many German planes. Unfortunately, this courageous French aviation officer’s plane was shot down by a German plane and he fell to the ground. He was sent to our hospital, but after completely recovering he showed his experience and skill again. We heard with joy that the very next day after leaving our hospital he brought down two German planes. While this aviation officer was in our hospital, we heard a detailed account of airplanes, but here I will refrain from writing that down.
[12]
How our relief corps impressed French people both high and low I hesitate to tell, but I will try to give you some idea. Our arrival was reported by Paris newspapers and the flag of the Rising Sun fluttered on the top of Hotel Astria. From that day people came to our hospital continuously to have a look. The reason why so many people visited seemed to me that, as they did not know much about Japan, out of curiosity many people came to see what the newly established Japanese hospital was like. They found out that many kinds of medical items—more than they had expected—were arranged in good order and that those items had been brought from Japan. All the visitors were impressed by the fact that, from the operating room to the wards, order and cleanliness were maintained, and that all the patients wore clean white Japanese-style gowns. They heard from patients themselves or volunteer French nurses how our corps were nursing the patients kindly, and visitors left our hospital quite pleased at what they had seen.
Thus, those who were satisfied with our hospital fetched their friends or people involved in nursing. In this way people came to see our hospital continuously. Among them there were some who brought their friends or acquaintances and guided them around as if it were their own hospital. When we were making the rounds with a doctor, they accompanied us and admired our skill at dressing. I don’t know how the news spread, but the Italian Red Cross came to us especially to find if there was any special way of dressing. So our chief doctor explained to them how to bandage a head or a joint which were difficult places to bandage.
Well, this is almost all I want to tell you about our corps, but I would also add an episode in the ward. At that time we had a patient called Henri Gibier, corporal of the artillery, wounded at Douaumont (Verdun) and brought to our hospital. Wounded by a shell on the chest, his heart was damaged. The only way to save his life was a dangerous operation.
Dr. Shioda asked,
“Is his family living far away?”
“In a place called Hiji Gueillet.”
“How far is it?”
“… kilometers.”
“Then we have time.”
He ordered someone to call for his parents. That was midnight. Immediately a car departed but it was delayed as there was an accident on the way.
While doctors were waiting impatiently, we nurses pressed down on his heart. Each nurse worked for five minutes and the work continued for nine hours. The next morning his parents arrived in a car and could embrace their son. They agreed to the operation. The corporal of the artillery, lying down on the glass operating table, narrowly escaped death.
[13]
Ten months after we came to France, which was November in the fourth year of Taisho, there came a rare opportunity of the enthronement of the Emperor of Japan[The enthronement ceremony was delayed for various reasons]. When I came to this foreign land, I was thinking fondly of the country where I was born, sometimes shedding tears either in the long autumn nights or at frosty early mornings. I was a champion of homesickness in our corps, as myself and others recognized. When I looked up at the sky from the window during a sleepless night, stars were glittering like silver sands sprinkled, but no lights or voices at all on the streets or in the buildings. It was Paris in wartime, dreary and soundless in every corner of the city.
The battle situation was reported every day in a newspaper extra. When I watched some family members gathering around the extra edition to find out how the father or the husband was doing, I could not but shudder at the miseries of the war. Hotel Astria, now a Red Cross flag flying over it, used to be a meeting place of ladies and gentlemen from all over the world, who drank tea or wine night and day. There you could always hear a mixture of foreign languages under the bright lights. That hotel was long gone. Isn’t it extremely ghastly that the hotel was now a place where soldiers, bathed in blood, were hospitalized?
In the meantime we Japanese relief corps were invited to the delightful ceremony of the enthronement held at the Japanese embassy in France. All the members of our corps gave three cheers for the Emperor in Japanese, which must have been conspicuous even in Paris where foreign languages mixed in confusion.
After the ceremony we went back to our hospital, and soon various kinds of entertainment began. Parisians were surprised at the performance of a sword dance by doctors: above all Dr. Mogi’s “Sutego” eclipsed most professionals. Nurse Sone borrowed a dress from a countess and performed a dance which she had never learned. All the patients hailed her with cheers of “banzai” childishly. We all had a hilarious time. When Shoji-san,
Araki-san, and Sone-san played “Tokiwagozen”, the mother of Yoshitsune, the audience was so noisy that we could hear nothing, but when Araki-san clung to the sleeve of Tokiwa crying “Mommy, mommy”, shivering with cold, there was a burst of applause on the floor. Everybody was so excited that even a patient with maimed legs fell from his bed.
The entertainment over, we all gave three cheers for the Emperor in Japanese including the patients.
[14]
After passing seventeen months in a foreign country, finally there came time for us to return to Japan. On July the 10th, in the 5th year of Taisho [1916], we were to leave Paris. We each put our things into wicker trunks which we had brought from Japan and closed them using all our strength while joy spilled out in spite of ourselves. For the first time in my life the depth of the expression “to long to fly like an arrow back home” was fully understood
The Governor of the French Red Cross, His Grace Duke of Novogue[2]. came to our hospital with Mr. Bertain, and presented each member of our corps with a letter of appreciation. He also gave us the most moving and friendly words on behalf of the Red Cross. Our chief doctor Shioda thanked with deep sincerity the French authorities, and vowed that he would certainly report the kindness of the French Red Cross to the Japanese Red Cross and Japanese people. Though the Duke was ninety-five years old at that time and could not see clearly, he took the trouble of coming to our hospital himself, to which we were deeply moved.
At our farewell party, Mr. Godard, vice minister of the Army, conferred a French decoration on us all. When the dining room was opened at seven thirty p.m., we were all seated including the one hundred and twenty-five representative guests from French civil and military officials. When the dessert was served, Dr. Shioda made a speech. He was followed by His Excellency, the Ambassador, and the last speaker was the vice minister, Godard. Both of them said in sincere flowing eloquence that our Japanese hospital was one of the most excellent hospitals in France and expressed deepest thanks for our effort to the country.
On June the 27th, our chief doctor and other medical staff, were received in an audience by the President of France, and shook hands with him. The President said to them courteously, “I know you all as I met you in the hospital. I thank you who came all the way from the Far East to engage in relief work of our wounded soldiers. I want you to express my thanks to other members of your corps staying here, to the head office and Japanese people when you go back to Japan.’ This much I have heard.
On June the 30th a memorial service for those soldiers who died in our hospital was held in the chapel of the hospital. At seven thirty in the morning we gathered at the chapel, and were moved to tears by the emotional speech of lieutenant Wisneg, who was in charge of the ceremony. On the evening of that day, a farewell tea party was held in appreciation of the services of the orderlies and general employees. All the orderlies sang together “Kimigayo”, Japanese anthem translated into French, and in response to this we nurses played “La Marseillaise”. It was a joyful banquet indeed. After the banquet some orderlies were overjoyed with tears and were so grateful to us for being treated so hospitably. We nurses wept with them in sympathy.
On July the 6th, His Excellency the Ambassador Matsui treated all members of our corps with a sumptuous Japanese-style meal. While we were in France nothing was more pleasing than eating Japanese dishes. Whenever we ate Japanese food, we wept longing for our country.
[15]
We thus spent the last few days and on July the 10th it was time for us to depart. We got on a 16:50 train at Saint-Lazare Station heading for Le Havre. Ambassador Matsui and his wife, Secretary of the Japanese Embassy, Military and Naval attaches to the Embassy, Dr. Sŭre the medical section chief of Paris Government-General, Mr. Bertin the president of French-Japanese Association, Baron Sakatani, all voluntary nurses, all nurses of military service and Japanese residents in France sent us off. Surprisingly many wounded soldiers who had difficulty in walking came to see us off leaning on a stick: they had been treated first in our hospital and then were moved to a hospital further north.
I thought, “Once we part today when can we meet again? This may probably be the last time we see each other.” I felt yet more deeply a heartbreaking sorrow. All the French volunteer nurses, reluctant to part from us, said with tears, “Don’t say such a sad thing as never coming back to Paris, but tell us that you will come back some day—if it is only to comfort us.” Like a child would, they clung to us tightly. All of us left Paris feeling brokenhearted.
Next day, at 14:00, we arrived in London by ship, and on July the 17th we embarked on “Fushimimaru” which we had boarded on our way to Paris. Heading for Japan, we arrived at the Cape of Good Hope on August the 7th, and via Singapore safely returned to Kobe on August the 13th.
It took twenty-two months or six hundred and seventy-six days for us to depart from Japan and back again. First of all, it was a great pleasure to have safely done our duties. Finally we heard the sounding of whistles and signals to announce the arrival of our ship at Yokohama Port. Without having the same experience no one could understand how we felt at that time. When we departed from Yokohama, it was freezing winter, but on the day of our return it was midsummer. Summer clouds whirled high above, and even the frightening peal of thunder sounded like a drum from the sky welcoming our return home. When we saw the mountain shadow in the far distance, we were all overjoyed with tears streaming down onto the back of our hands.
We heard big cheers of “banzai” from welcoming people at Yokohama Port, and I thought there might be a general stir in Japan at our coming back. The Emperor was greatly interested in our duties in France, and made a poem for us, which was the greatest pleasure to us. The honor we received from the Imperial family was more than we deserved.
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[1] As she was not yet in Paris on this date, “the 5th year of Taisho〔1916〕” is correct. There were aerial bombardments above Paris on 27 January according to Wikipedia, not on 28.
[2] Actually the Marquis de Vogué
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