VOSHN 273

<body><a href="../index.html">HOME</a><br><table summary="255"><tr><td class="etesti">255</td><td class="edate">Around August 12<sup>th</sup>, 1945.</td><td class="eage">41 years old at that time</td></tr><tr><td class="ei_midasi" colspan=3>I gave up and was going to die there.</td></tr></table><table summary="haikei"><tr><td class="bg" background="../../photo/img531.jpg"><div class="large"><p>Our family was walking through a fire-devastated area.  There were burned dead people piled up like a mountain.  My husband said, "I just cannot go on any more.  I give up and I'm going to die here.  How can we go through this fire?" I said, "There is no hope?  Are you going to die here?"  My elementary aged son said, "Mother!  Put up with it.  You mustn't die!  You mustn't."  My son took me under his great care, was pulling and holding me, and we walked little by little and arrived at our hometown safely.</p><br><p>During that time, we were walking on a mountain.  There were people whose faces were burnt and people who were almost falling down the mountain.  "Let's keep going together!  Let's stick to it."  I was speaking to them and went forward.</p><br><p>On our way, when the American air force was flying over us, I lay down and said, "We have no hope.  We are going to die, aren't we?"  We had been walking since five thirty in the morning, along the way where many dead people had fallen down.  "We must keep moving forward, inch by inch."  I desperately wanted to drink some water, but no one had given me any.</p></div></td></tr></table></body>