Lucky Escape From Frying Pan
It was August 6th. Tsutomu Yamaguchi, a Japanese engineer who worked designing oil tankers for Mitsubishi, rose early. He had spent three months working at his firm’s shipyard 180 miles from home, and was looking forward to getting home to see his family. He and two colleagues collected their belongings and set out from their lodgings to catch the train west.
As they went, though, he remembered he had left something in the office, so waved them off and set off to retrieve it. He remembers hearing the buzz of an aeroplane’s engines circling overhead, just after 8:15 am. He thought nothing of it.
The year was 1945, the city Mr Yamaguchi had been working in was Hiroshima – and the aeroplane circling overhead was the Enola Gay.
Mr Yamaguchi was less than two miles from ground zero when “Little Boy” exploded in the air 580 metres up. There was a blinding flash of light and a deafening bang. Mr Yamaguchi was knocked off his feet by the force of the blast, and his skin burnt. He had no idea what had just happened. Somehow, he found his way to an air-raid shelter, where he spent the night.
The following day, he stumbled through the wreckage of Hiroshima, swaddled in bandages, to get the train back to his home town.
Trouper that he was, and still badly burned, Mr Yamaguchi nevertheless reported for work the following morning.
On the morning of his second day back at work, he was just in the middle of telling his boss what had happened in Hiroshima (his boss was incredulous, he said, at the idea that a single bomb could destroy an entire city) when once again there was a blinding flash of light, a deafening bang, and Mr Yamaguchi was knocked flat by a burning blast of heat.
His home town was, of course, Nagasaki – and Mr Yamaguchi was once again at ground zero.
140,000 civilians are estimated to have died as a result of America’s attack on Hiroshima – either instantly, or from the after-effects of radiation. The death toll in Nagasaki was 70,000.
Mr Yamaguchi, interviewed in March 2009 at the age of 93, reported that he was in good health but “a little deaf in one ear”.
As they went, though, he remembered he had left something in the office, so waved them off and set off to retrieve it. He remembers hearing the buzz of an aeroplane’s engines circling overhead, just after 8:15 am. He thought nothing of it.
The year was 1945, the city Mr Yamaguchi had been working in was Hiroshima – and the aeroplane circling overhead was the Enola Gay.
Mr Yamaguchi was less than two miles from ground zero when “Little Boy” exploded in the air 580 metres up. There was a blinding flash of light and a deafening bang. Mr Yamaguchi was knocked off his feet by the force of the blast, and his skin burnt. He had no idea what had just happened. Somehow, he found his way to an air-raid shelter, where he spent the night.
The following day, he stumbled through the wreckage of Hiroshima, swaddled in bandages, to get the train back to his home town.
Trouper that he was, and still badly burned, Mr Yamaguchi nevertheless reported for work the following morning.
On the morning of his second day back at work, he was just in the middle of telling his boss what had happened in Hiroshima (his boss was incredulous, he said, at the idea that a single bomb could destroy an entire city) when once again there was a blinding flash of light, a deafening bang, and Mr Yamaguchi was knocked flat by a burning blast of heat.
His home town was, of course, Nagasaki – and Mr Yamaguchi was once again at ground zero.
140,000 civilians are estimated to have died as a result of America’s attack on Hiroshima – either instantly, or from the after-effects of radiation. The death toll in Nagasaki was 70,000.
Mr Yamaguchi, interviewed in March 2009 at the age of 93, reported that he was in good health but “a little deaf in one ear”.
Labels: Hiroshima, Mitsubishi, Of All The Sodding Luck, Soldiering On
posted by Sod's Law at
01:59
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