Let Peace and Humanity Prevail Together

In 1945, just after his 18th birthday, Dad joined the army as a volunteer and after about three months’ training was deployed to Japan with the British Empire Commonwealth Occupation Force (BECOF) to assist with the cleanup and rebuilding of Hiroshima after the end of World War II. The British Government had provided the volunteers each with a photo album and packs of photographs and postcards to prepare them for the scenes they were about to see when they arrived. But I am sure than no number of graphic photographs could prepare them for what they experienced there. I have got those photographs, some of which I have scanned and saved to my phone.

The distance between Kyoto and Hiroshima is 362 kilometres and the only way to get there and back in a day is to take a bullet train. Our hotel offers a shuttle bus to the railway station, and after purchasing return tickets to Hiroshima along with another couple we have become friendly with, we arrive at the platform just as the train is arriving. Our unreserved tickets only allow us to travel in the first five cars and we quickly find seats and settle in for the 90 minute journey. The bullet trains can get to a speed of about 300kms/hour, but this one, although not stopping at all stations, does make quite a few stops. Unlike Australia, nobody is sitting backwards; everyone has a forward-facing seat. During the ride and whilst utilising the excellent and free Wi-Fi, I check for ways to get to our destination in Hiroshima. My search provides me with information on a local tourist bus, which travels in a loop past several popular destinations before arriving back at the railway station.  

Unlike the preceding warm days, it is quite cool, and rain is forecast for later in the day. As we step out of the station in Hiroshima, I quickly locate one of the loop buses, ask about the fares, and within minutes are stepping on the bus like locals. Well almost; the driver was kind enough to put our ¥500 in a little change machine, extract the fares for the two of us, and give me the change. The fare is ¥240 is, equivalent to about $2.00. The bus is brilliant. Up front, near the door is a screen, which clearly shows the route in Japanese and in English. Then, just before we arrive at each of the stops, a video in English describes the attraction. This is truly a tourist’s paradise, and we could learn a lot about from this experience.

We step off the bus at the Peace Memorial Park and I am surprised to see that the Atomic Bomb Dome is located just next to the road. Now World Heritage Listed, it was a European-style exhibition hall designed by Czech architect Jan Letzl and built in 1915.

At just 160m from the hypocentre of the blast, the building is surprisingly intact and solid. An early photo taken at the time shows the skeletal remains of the exhibition hall and everything else surrounding it that had been reduced to rubble. On our way here this morning, and through the window of the train, I see many neighbourhoods made up of timber homes clustered together, almost touching. I could almost be sure that the traditional Japanese-style homes, shops, and other timber buildings had been squeezed into impossibly-small spaces surrounding the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall would have been vapourised by the bomb. The contrast between what had been left standing and what had been demolished is stark and made more so by the trees that were denuded, charred but somehow still upright.

On 6 August 2025, it would be 80 years since the atomic bomb had been dropped on Hiroshima, just short of 80 years since Dad stood in this spot in the aftermath of the action taken to end a war that had touched almost every family across the globe in some way. I look at the dome from every angle and I feel glad that it has been preserved as a reminder not just of the bomb, but that war kills innocent people. And yet, it is happening today, and it seems that everyone has forgotten how evil manifests itself and becomes acceptable as is what is happening in Gaza and in Israel.

This is a very humbling moment, and whilst I have the old photos, I cannot exactly get one from the same angle. It’s time for lunch and a small Italian café in the park on the bank of the river provides a lovely spot for coffee.

As we leave the café, it starts to rain. Gently at first, and as we struggle to zip up coats, and pull hoods over our heads the rain teems, large drops becoming sheets of water in next to no time. In the background rumbles of thunder turn into loud claps as we run for shelter in one of the pavilions next to the museum.

Making a dash to the museum, Rob and Rita decide to wait whilst we go inside. I think they have had enough for one day, and I later think that they probably did the right thing. A mural along one wall shows photographs of Hiroshima before 6 August 1945 and morphs into the challenging photos of after that day. There are hundreds of people here. Perhaps the rain has forced more visitors to the museum today, and we soon find ourselves following a large crowd through an exhibition of photographs and quotes from people about their experiences. It is hard work looking at the exhibits, whilst shuffling with the crowd, and I wish that we were able to view it from a moving travelator instead of being jostled and pushed and shoved as we are. Suddenly, and not to far from the harrowing end of this exhibition, an American voice cries out, ‘Why have you brought me in here?’ It affirms my feelings at that moment. I have seen pictures from my father’s collection, which are just as disturbing, just as graphic, but the feeling of being closed in and slightly crushed in darkened spaces has many gasping for the wide open corridors. I am sure it is done deliberately.

I do not expect to see any recognition of the assistance Japan received after the war by the occupation forces, but I also do not visit every exhibition so I cannot say whether the forces were acknowledged or not.

The rain has disappeared, and we walk towards the bus stop, missing one bus, but within a few minutes another one appears and although takes us on a different route, deposits us back at the station with just seconds to spare to catch the train to Kyoto. This time, with only two carriages for non-reserved passengers, we take whatever seats are available. As the train stops and more passengers get on, I am surprised that so many are standing in the aisle.

We are back in our hotel in Kyoto with plenty of time to spare before our late dinner booking. Time needed to process the day we had just experienced and to pack our cases, which are to be taken to Tokyo tomorrow whilst we take an overnight detour to a spa resort.