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Part 3: Rescue and Medical Relief

1. Days in Air-Raid Shelters
2. Rumors of Barren Land for 70 Years and Deportation Orders
3. Sprouting of Plants
4. Heavy Rain in September
5. Movement for Reconstruction
(1) The Sound of Hammers
(2) Building Emergency Housing Units and Municipal Houses for the General Public

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1. Days in Air-Raid Shelters

For those fortunate enough to survive the atomic bombing, the next trial was to live through the hellish days that followed.
　Atomic bomb victims who had relatives in neighboring areas left the hypocenter area like an ebbing tide and took refuge with relatives. The routes leading out from Nagasaki, such as Himi Tunnel, Tomachi Tunnel, Tagami Road and Togitsu Road, were crowded with evacuees who had no belongings or only a little luggage.
　Those who had no one to rely on outside the affected area, or those who could not bring themselves to leave the land where they had lived for so long, remained in the hypocenter area. The situation in the affected area, however, did not allow them to remain idle in their despair.
　In the hypocenter area there was hardly a building standing to provide shade from the burning August sun. The urgent issue for the survivors was to find a roof under which to rest their injured and exhausted bodies and to stave off starvation.
　Mizumachi Masao, who lived in Takenokubo-machi, described the situation after the atomic bombing as follows.

Our house was the only one left unburned in our neighborhood. However, since it was on the brink of collapse, I had trouble fetching our clothes and kitchen tools. For that reason, with no rice bowls, chopsticks or rice, we could not even have a meal that day. The following day, we just kept sleeping all day, probably due to the early manifestation of radiation sickness. In the evening two days later, I roused myself from sleep, telling myself that I had to do something. We picked sweet potatoes and half-burned pumpkins from the surrounding fields and boiled them in a steel helmet. On the third day after the atomic bombing, our tenant, Honda-san, brought three packets of rice balls from somewhere, each packet containing two rice balls wrapped in a pumpkin leaf. That was the first rice we had tasted since the explosion of the atomic bomb.
　Two of my children had been crushed to death in the ruins, but fortunately an aid unit came that day and dug the bodies out of the debris. After that, a saw left behind by a unit member came in handy for clearing the wreckage of our house. Our air-raid shelter was so seriously damaged that it could not be used as a rest place. My surviving family members and I banded together to fetch three tatami mats and one mosquito net from the ruins of the house. We then created a rest place by placing the tatami mats on the ground and pitching the mosquito net in a field. However, due to frequent rain, which started to fall from the end of August, our mosquito net got wet and its color bled onto our clothing and skin, creating strange patterns, while the tatami mats swelled in size and had unidentified mushrooms growing from their corners. Even so, that temporary rest place was the only place we had to go.
　Since my house was located a distance from the central part of the city, medical relief and information was scarce. In fact, the above-mentioned aid on the third day after the atomic bombing was the only assistance we received. After that, we managed through the crisis by procuring food on our own, little by little, in addition to occasional rationed food and goods. 83

During the first several days, many people slept in the open on the mountainsides or riverbanks. Before long, they built huts under the cliffs by sticking canopies made of burned galvanized sheets into cliff walls, or created shanties by assembling lumber and roof tiles that had been left unburned. In the town, tunnel-type air-raid shelters that had been built in case of air raids quickly changed into temporary shelters for the atomic bomb survivors.
　Kawasaki Sakue, a resident of the devastated neighborhood of Komaba-machi, described her existence in air-raid shelters immediately after the atomic bombing as follows:

Komaba-machi was no longer a place to return to, so I lived in an air-raid shelter under the cliff at Aburagi-machi until August 15. I still remember that inside the shelter there was a pungent stench from the bodies of people who had fled into the shelter and now were lying dead on the floor. The defense unit came to our air-raid shelter around the 12th and carried out the corpses. I still remember that they gave me two rice balls. After that I lived on weeds like wild spinach, Chinese garlic and mugwort.

In September, the typhoon season, the number of people living in the air-raid shelter gradually decreased. It is said that 700 families were still living in air-raid shelters in the wasteland at this time.
　Matsuno Hideo, a former reporter working for the Domei News Agency, wrote in his memoir about the situation in Nagasaki after the atomic bombing:

One day at the end of September 1945, I walked around the atomic bomb hypocenter and visited the people living in makeshift shacks in the wasteland. The greatest number of injured was in the neighborhoods of Takenokubo, Shiroyama and Motohara.
　The number of families I visited was as follows: 83 in Takenokubo-machi, 70 in Shiroyama-machi, 48 in Motohara-machi, 44 in Zenza-machi, 34 in Ieno-machi, 32 in Tōhokugō (present-day Sumiyoshi-machi), and 26 in Inasa-machi. Many shacks had been erected as temporary shelters, and they dotted the devastated areas of Nagasaki, with approximately 2,500 people from about 700 households living there. A tiny space of seven or eight square meters served as a home for each family with an average of three or four members. One shack was home to a family with eight members squeezed in a six-tatami mat room; another had only one lonely widower, who had lost all his other family members. 84

Living in a temporary shack in the gutted ruins of the atomic bomb wasteland was an experience so miserable that only those who had actually experienced it could describe it.
　Sugimoto Kamekichi, who had been living in Shiroyama-machi at the time of the atomic bombing, described the situation as follows in his memoir:

There were three houses, including mine, in Shiroyama-machi, which had been reduced to a field of scorched rubble. They were houses in name only. Actually they were just shacks, with not even electricity or water. Living there was more pitiful than being homeless. At night, we led a precarious lifestyle, having supper by the light of rationed candles. It was like the existence of a stray cat or dog. The sound of rain beating on our metal roof hampered sleep at night. A gale could drive rain and wind through gaps in the roof. On such a night, will-o’-the-wisps appeared and disappeared outside in perfect silence. It was an eerie experience that gave me a spine-tingling sensation. Partly because of that, a rumor went around that ghosts were shouting “air-raid alarm!” and ringing bells in the middle of the night around Shiroyama-machi and Komaba-machi. One night I woke up in the dark of night and walked around the entire neighborhood of Shiroyama-machi and the Urakami River. Silence reigned. It was like all beings on earth and in heaven had been annihilated. I could have heard a pin drop. 85

In parts of the city that had remained unburned, electric lights could be turned on as early as August 11, only two days after the atomic bombing. The supply of electricity resumed in the Urakami area on October 20, but that did not include the air-raid shelters and makeshift shacks where people were living in the wasteland. Nights in the gutted neighborhoods remained eerily dark.
　In this situation, people talked everywhere about red and blue hinotama (will-o’-the-wisps) appearing in the darkness. Hotate Yōko of Komaba-machi also mentioned seeing will-o’-the-wisps glowing under bridges, especially after rain. This unexplained phenomenon is said to have continued for at least two years.
　Kataoka Tsuyo, who had suffered severe burns in the atomic bombing and lost everything from her house to furniture and clothing, described her life as follows:

After three nights sleeping outdoors, my mother began to mumble that I would soon die if I did not get something to eat. But we had nothing, no pots, dishes or even a handful of rice. She said that she could go back to the ruins of our house and try to dig out a few dishes, but it was obvious that at 70 years of age she did not have the strength to lift away the heavy debris.
　Then our neighbor Mrs. Irie Saku, who has long since passed away, came along and said worriedly that if I did not have at least some porridge I would surely die and that we should try to find a pot. It seemed that she had two sho [about one U.S. gallon or 3.8 kg] of rice. We later boiled this, and Mrs. Irie gave me the thick broth to drink.
　We spent the days and nights outdoors watching the people around us die. Among them were 12 of my relatives, including my older sister and her daughter. It was just one death after another. I too was feeling extremely ill, and I still could not see.
　‘It is foolish to continue sleeping outdoors like this,’ said my mother. ‘We have to take you to St. Francis Hospital. I'll ask the leader of the neighborhood association and others to help carry you.’
　‘Yes that will be better,’ I answered. ‘It will be better to be where other people are gathered. It’s frightening to sleep outdoors at night.’ I only heard much later that the less severely injured people had been carried in large numbers to hospitals outside Nagasaki on August 11 and 12.
　I had no idea what was going on. Little attention was paid to the severely injured. Everyone thought that it was a waste of time to help people who would just die anyway. We were left lying in the ruins. I don't know how many days later, or by whom, I was carried away, but I eventually found myself in a room in St. Francis Hospital.
　I was blind for about a week and so I don't remember very well, but it seemed to rain almost every day and the rain leaked into the concrete building of the hospital.
　‘It seems to be raining oil,’ I heard someone say. ‘I wonder how long this rainy spell is going to last.’ I was lying on a bed of straw on the concrete floor and the rain was seeping up to my skin. There were several days when I seemed to be dripping wet. It was excruciating. Dr. Akizuki, who is still working at St. Francis Hospital today, came around to see me.
　After that I could not get up at all for three months. It was late autumn by the time my wounds healed as best they could and I was able to stand up and walk on my own.
　During that period, all we had to eat was a little rice that my mother had received from the stock in the hospital basement. There was nothing else. There were no kitchen facilities either. My mother found an old scorched pot somewhere. It was damaged on one side, and so she had to set it up at an angle on rocks in order to make porridge in it. That old broken pot was our precious possession.
　At one point we were given a single tatami mat. We placed it on top of several pieces of wood arranged on the wet concrete floor and my mother and I used it as a bed. Later an acquaintance happened to come by. ‘It is terrible to see such a badly injured person lying on a bare tatami mat without any other covers,’ he said, taking pity on me. Later he brought an expensive muslin mattress from his house and gave it to us to use.
　Someone else saw us and, taking pity, gave me a warm winter kimono to wear. We were living the wretched life of beggars by today's standards, but we had no other alternative and simply managed to get by as best we could.
　There were three or four families crowded together in the same room, but we had all lost our houses and were suffering in the same way. We stayed alive by comforting and encouraging each other. 86

2. Rumors of Barren Land for 70 Years and Deportation Orders

In early September, the chief of the Nagasaki Prefectural Internal Administration Division sent a message to the leader of each neighborhood association in the hypocenter area. The message said: “All living things in the Urakami District were annihilated by the atomic bomb. Since plants will not grow in the area for the next 70 years, the people living in your neighborhood are at risk and should find appropriate accommodations elsewhere and move out.” 87
　This message made the atomic bomb survivors more brokenhearted and dejected than ever. However, many remained in the hypocenter area because that was where they had lived for many years and where their beloved family members had died. They simply could not break the link.

3. Sprouting of Plants

Under these circumstances, the flush of greenery and wriggling insects that appeared the following spring shone a ray of hope into the hearts of people in the hypocenter area. Regarding plants sprouting in the atomic bomb wasteland, newspapers of the time reported as follows:

Immediately after the atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the foreign press emphasized the destructive power of the bombs by predicting that the affected areas would be barren for 70 years. The team of the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry Test Station led by Chief Engineer Tanigawa and Professor Nagamatsu of the Kyūshū University Faculty of Agriculture arrived to inspect the affected neighborhoods of Nagasaki and to conduct research on the growth and development of organisms in the hypocenter area. Upon returning to their posts, the team reported that plants were sprouting all at once and that the area had regained its greenery, erasing signs of devastation. Despite the pessimistic statements of the foreign press, greenery had indeed returned to the affected areas of Nagasaki. It is untrue, therefore, that organisms cannot grow in the areas exposed to the atomic bomb explosion. Whether those plants will ripen, and the resulting seeds are normal, remained to be seen. 88

Whatever might happen in the future, the atomic bomb survivors unanimously described feelings of joy when they found leaves budding in the scorched naked fields.
　The sensational theory that nothing would grow in the atomic bomb wasteland for 70 years is said to originate in a remark by Dr. Harold Jacobson of Columbia University, a scientist formerly involved in the Manhattan Project, who said that the atomic-bombed cities “will be a devastated area for nearly three-quarters of a century... Rain falling on the area will pick up the lethal rays and will carry them down to the rivers and the sea. And animal life in these waters will die... Investigators will become infected with secondary radiation, which breaks up the red corpuscles in the blood…those so exposed will die in the same way victims of leukemia die.” 89 Subsequently, however, the theory was denied by the United States Department of War, and Dr. Jacobson himself is said to have admitted his mistake.

4. Heavy Rain in September

According to records kept by the Nagasaki Marine Meteorological Observatory, Nagasaki City saw very little rainfall for about 20 days from August 9. In September, however, there was a downpour of over 400 millimeters over a period of two or three days.
　This downpour aggravated the tribulations of the atomic bomb survivors living in air-raid shelters and other temporary facilities, but the situation in the atomic bomb wasteland changed drastically thereafter.
　Akizuki Tatsuichirō (former director of St. Francis Hospital) described the situation as follows:

A light rain began to fall on September 2. It was a blessing for those who had been suffering under the sweltering heat for 20 days. But it kept raining all day long, turning into a tropical downpour on the night of the 210th Day (known as the ‘storm day’ according to the lunar calendar). By midnight the downpour had turned into a veritable torrent.
　I went out into the rain with the chief nurse and Miss Murai. The ruined walls of the hospital were awash inside and out with the streaming rain. More than 100 atomic bomb survivors lay attended by their families on the concrete floor of the ravaged first story. The basement was in use as a ward for the original hospital in-patients, who also lay on the concrete floor wrapped in thin coverlets.
　The roof had been torn off and the windows blown in, but fortunately the second and third floors had remained intact and were now serving as a roof and protecting everyone from the torrential rain. I did not realize then the plight of the many people who were facing the rain in half-demolished houses without windows or doors.
　To avoid the rain streaking in on both sides, the injured gathered in the middle of the room in groups of 10 or 15, covering themselves with pieces of cloth like a brood of baby sparlings seeking shelter from the storm by hugging each other with outstretched wings.
　Persisting throughout the night from September 2 to 3, the rain inundated the entire Nagasaki area. The storm added insult to injury for the suffering population, causing especially severe damage in the hypocenter neighborhoods. Overflowing streams washed away shanties and flooded dugout shelters, and the rain tore wooden planks and corrugated sheets from the walls and roofs of makeshift homes. Clothing, floor mats and furniture salvaged from the ruins were saturated in water and mud. And the injured were soaked to the bone. Only 20 days earlier they had been burned by the brilliant flash of the atomic bomb and battered by the blast that followed. While still nursing wounds, they had then tried desperately to find some shelter from the hot summer sun by erecting structures out of the debris. Now the rain was washing everything away.
　On the afternoon of September 3 the rain turned into a drizzle, and the following day Nagasaki found itself under a clear early autumn sky. The temperature outdoors also dropped significantly.
　But even though the rain had stopped, water continued to leak from the third floor roof to the second floor and from the second floor to the ground floor of the hospital. For several days thereafter I listened with sadness to the ceaseless sound of the dripping water, not noticing that a ‘change’ had taken place.
　I did not become conscious of this change until two or three days after the torrential rainfall, when I made my rounds in the hospital. There was a kind of freshness in the air, something more than just the improvement in weather conditions. The feeling of nausea was gone from my stomach.
　While walking about the rubble in the wasteland immediately after the atomic bombing on August 9, I had experienced a strong and very unusual physical sensation, and now I found myself saying out loud, ‘It has been washed away! The poison has been washed away!’
　The torrential rain, I realized, had been the ‘water of life,’ a baptism that allowed the regeneration of living organisms in the atomic wasteland where nothing was expected to grow for 70 years. It had diluted the deadly radioactive fallout and carried it out to the bottom of the sea. 90

5. Movement for Reconstruction

(1) The Sound of Hammers
　After the downpour in September, cold morning and evening air crept up to the air-raid shelters and temporary shacks with the onset of autumn. As the weather changed, the people living in the atomic wasteland realized the need for a more permanent form of shelter. At the same time, the sprouting of plants and the faint chirping of insects helped them to regain their presence of mind and to embrace a small flame of hope for reconstruction. Over time, the people began to clear away the ruins, collect timber and other materials, and begin building the houses that, however shabby, would serve as a new home.

Case One
　The Komaba-machi neighborhood had been almost completely destroyed because of its location close to the hypocenter. The only survivors were those who happened to be away in other areas or deep inside an air-raid shelter at the time of the explosion. However, they were left homeless and had little choice but to endure severe conditions in air-raid shelters in Aburagi-machi. On rainy days, they had to put up mosquito nets and sleep under the cover of umbrellas, even inside air-raid shelters. Takigawa Masaru, vice-president of the Komaba-machi community association, used the air-raid shelter as a liaison, but the cold weather was setting in and the residents were chilled to the bone every day.

Although someone advanced the idea of building better residences, we had no experience in construction and no idea how to go about doing it. However, we finally decided to join forces and start building, working together, collecting metal sheets, logs, square timber and planks from the ruins. Some people later suffered disappointment when they found that the metal sheets they had obtained with such difficulty had been stolen.
　We finally managed to collect the necessary materials for a house and asked a person with experience in carpentry to erect a building at actual cost. The result was a shabby tenement house for four households, with only a 4.5-tatami mat room for each family, but everybody was jubilant when the house reached completion. We called it the akayane goten (red roof palace) in reference to the color of the burned metal sheets used for the roof. Five families settled in the house, including the Takigawa family and a Korean parent and child. After that, another three shacks were built beside the house, thus creating a small community.
　With no electricity, we poured oil in a plate and lit it at night. Everyone was suffering similar hardships in the atomic wasteland, so the residents of the tenement house remained content just to have a place of their own to live. In that house we held a Buddhist memorial service to commemorate the 100^th day after the death of our family members.
　‘We worked hard, and we had to hustle for a living,’ said a former resident of the red roof palace, looking back on those days.

Case Two
　The following is an excerpt from the memoir of Ikeda Seiichi, a former resident of Oka-machi.

The summer season was over. When autumn came, it felt a little chilly. All my family members had been wearing the same clothing. In November, we came to realize the inconvenience of evacuee life in the mountainous area, where each of us had to live separately. My father and I finally planned to build a house where we could all live together. First of all, we collected building materials for pillars and beams from sites that had been left unburned. Sometimes we walked all the way to the Shiroyama area. After several days, we had collected enough material to erect a house. We didn’t have any tools, so we picked up saws and planes from burned-out fields and restored them to a usable state by beating and polishing them. The sawing process finally began. My father, who used to work at the Mitsubishi Cannery, entertained us with his great dexterity.
　By mid-November it was getting chilly in the morning and evening. The chill pierced us to the bone, especially in that unprotected sweep of wasteland. We were finally able to begin the long-awaited building process. One day, my friend, Minami Kunisaku happened to pass by. We rejoiced at seeing each other alive, and he stayed with us, lending a hand to complete our house. Thanks to him, the framework reached completion. Three days later, we finished tiling and plastering the walls. For the floor, Mr. Tagawa provided 10 tatami mats. He had been in the same line of business as me, rationing beer for industrial workers in Ōura during the war. We were delighted to see the completion of our house, which was even more splendid than expected, and we were deeply grateful for the assistance of so many people. Sometimes I still boast that our house was the first building with a roof in the gutted ruins of Urakami. And I take pride in the fact that my family is still living in the same house after 30 years. I have to extend profound gratitude to my late father.

(2) Building Emergency Housing Units and Municipal Houses for the General Public
　More than 20,000 houses had been lost in Nagasaki due to destruction and fire as well as the clearing of buildings and war damage starting in 1944. After the war’s end, the housing shortage in Nagasaki became acute due to the return of evacuees from outside the city. The extent of Nagasaki’s housing shortage is evident in the fact that some 700 families in and around the atomic wasteland were still living in makeshift shelters as of the end of September 1945, the year the war ended. Those shelters were particularly numerous in neighborhoods such as Takenokubo, Shiroyama and Motohara. As mentioned by Matsuno Hideo, a typhoon that struck the city in September caused terrible hardships for the people living in temporary shacks.
　Sugimoto Kamekichi, who was serving as vice president of the Shiroyama-machi 1-chōme community association and leader of defense unit team at the time of the atomic bombing, described the situation in the neighborhood as follows:

Mine Masaichi, who lived with us in an air-raid shelter, built a handsome residence on the site of his former home. To build the house, he collected lumber from here and there, day in and day out, and brought roof tiles from somewhere. Then, he finally built a house with a six-tatami mat room.
　September 2 marked the 210th day from the beginning of spring, a day considered prone to storms according to the ancient calendar. A typhoon actually came. Gales blew violently and rain lashed the atomic wasteland. We were living in a shack, which served as a relief center. Since the storm gradually became more intense in the evening, we took shelter in Mine’s building.
　In the middle of the night, his house was suddenly blown down by the fierce winds, and we were all thrown out into the storm along with the debris. We had no choice but to go back to the air-raid shelter. When we entered the shelter after several days away, an unbearable stench penetrated our nostrils. Although it was mid-summer, we were soaked through and were getting cold. We weren’t even inclined to huddle together for warmth. All of us spent a sleepless night. Dawn finally broke. We moved to the defense unit’s air-raid shelter, which had been dug separately. Rain also blew into that air-raid shelter. Trickling from the ceiling, the rainwater soaked the tatami mats until they could no longer serve as a floor. We did all kinds of things to collect dry tatami mats and managed to create a space to sit on.
　On September 4, we had fair weather. I wasted little time in helping Mine reconstruct his house. Pulling nails out of the collapsed lumber and picking up unbroken roof tiles, we completed his house within the day. The tatami mats were wet and we had to dry them. Thanks to the hot summer sunlight, they dried up by evening. We were finally able to sleep in a house again, still wondering how long we would be afflicted by the atomic bombing. 91

The following additional excerpt is added to illustrate the situation after the atomic bombing. Sugimoto Kamekichi described the situation in a crude house in Shiroyama-machi around the end of 1945 as follows:

At the end of December 1945, Ueda, Araki and members of my family were creating a metal roof as shelter for a room of about three tatami mats in size. Kizaki and Takemoto were living under the Shiroyama Bridge in makeshift shelters created by connecting two storm doors at the top with wires.
　Kizaki was living in his ‘hut’ alone. The Takemoto family consisted of two members. Shiroyama-machi at that time was devastated beyond recognition. In the Urakami district, no houses remained in the low-lying neighborhoods, but small shacks could be seen in places such as fields on the hillsides and the foot of mountains. 92

For a time immediately after the atomic bombing, people slept in the open or in air-raid shelters. Some created roofs extending from the cliff slope to keep away the rain. After a while buildings better fitting the word “residence” began to appear one by one.
　However, winter was beginning to set in, and the housing needs of the atomic bomb survivors became an urgent administrative issue.
　The Nagasaki Prefectural Housing Corporation planned to construct emergency units in the vicinity of Iwakawa-machi in accordance with national emergency decisions and to provide the units to displaced survivors. Around October 1945, prefectural officials invited prospective residents to submit applications through the offices of Nagasaki City Hall. According to the newspaper announcement at the time, the price was 2,500 yen for each unit consisting of a six-tatami mat room and a three–tatami mat room. The application deadline was October 31, and 2,000 units were to be built. As of November 5, a total of 930 households had answered the advertisement, and the units were being constructed one after another.
　However, building operations do not appear to have made the desired progress. According to a news release on November 2, 1946, one year after the advertisement, the housing corporation had completed only 480 units. Even with 1,800 privately built houses added to this figure, the housing project still faced serious problems.
　Other than the construction of units by the Nagasaki Prefectural Housing Corporation and the erection of private houses, 332 municipal houses were built for the general public by the end of 1946. The breakdown was: 180 in Shiroyama-machi, 66 in Iwakawa-machi, 46 in Hongōchi-machi, 20 in Ōide-machi, four in Narutaki-machi and 16 in Aburagi-machi. In 1947 (fiscal year 1946), another 220 municipal houses for the general public were completed as the second stage of the project, that is, 200 in Shiroyama-machi and 20 in Sumiyoshi-machi. In 1948, a total of 200 rental municipal houses were constructed for the general public, that is, 66 in Sumiyoshi, 34 in Akasako, 56 in Takenokubo-machi, 24 in Tomachi and 20 in Tategami-machi.
　Other public housing projects were also completed, including the construction of a total of 100 emergency houses for repatriated war sufferers (66 in Shiroyama-machi, 34 in Aburagi-machi), 50 houses converted from other buildings in Kibachi-machi and 10 houses for the repatriated in Himi. The same year, a total of 360 units constructed as part of the public housing project were used to accommodate atomic bomb survivors and repatriated persons.
　The above facilities were extremely poor structures. Equipped with only small pillars, some had missing corners and wood instead of glass in windows. In retrospect, many of those facilities were more like wooden shacks than houses. Even so, they provided happy homes, with roofs and tatami mats, for the atomic bomb survivors.
　As for the emergency units provided by the Nagasaki Prefectural Housing Corporation, there were instances in which applicants could not wait for the completion of a unit and decided to settle in an incomplete unit, with full knowledge of the many inconveniences.

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83 Mizumachi Masao, Genbaku zengo (Before and After the Atomic Bombing) Vol.11, edited by Hideo Shirai, 1972. ^
84 Matsuno Hideo, Taiyō ga ochiru (The Sun Falls) (Nagasaki Testimonies Publication Committee, 1973), p.197. ^
85 Sugimoto Kamekichi, Genshigumo no shita ni (Under the Mushroom Cloud) (Sugimoto Kamekichi, 1972), pp.89-90. ^
86 Nagasaki Broadcasting Corporation (ed.), Taiyō ga kieta ano hi (The Day that the Sun Went Out) (Doshinsha Co., 1972), pp.20-5. ^
87 Sugimoto Kamekichi, p.82. ^
88 Asahi Shimbun, September 9, 1945. ^
89 Catherine Caufield, Multiple Exposures: Chronicles of the Radiation Age (University of Chicago Press, 1989), p.62. ^
90 Akizuki Tatsuichirō, Shi no dōshin’en: Nagasaki hibakuishi no kiroku (Concentric Circles of Death: A Physician's Experience of the Nagasaki Atomic Bombing) (Kodansha, 1972), pp.150-4. ^
91 Sugimoto Kamekichi, Genshigumo no shita ni (Under the Mushroom Cloud) (Sugimoto Kamekichi, 1972) ^
92 Ibid. ^

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