The Atomic Bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki
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The Manhattan Engineer District >> The Atomic Bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki
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SHIELDING FROM RADIATION
Exact figures on the thicknesses of various substances to provide complete
or partial protection from the effects of radiation in relation to the
distance from the center of explosion, cannot be released at this time.
Studies of collected data are still under way. It can be stated, however,
that at a reasonable distance, say about 1/2 mile from the center of
explosion, protection to persons from radiation injury can be afforded by a
layer of concrete or other material whose thickness does not preclude
reasonable construction.
Radiation ultimately caused the death of the few persons not killed by
other effects and who were fully exposed to the bombs up to a distance of
about 1/2 mile from X. The British Mission has estimated that people in
the open had a 50% chance of surviving the effects of radiation at 3/4 of a
mile from X.
EFFECTS OF THE ATOMIC BOMBINGS ON THE INHABITANTS OF THE BOMBED CITIES
In both Hiroshima and Nagasaki the tremendous scale of the disaster largely
destroyed the cities as entities. Even the worst of all other previous
bombing attacks on Germany and Japan, such as the incendiary raids on
Hamburg in 1943 and on Tokyo in 1945, were not comparable to the paralyzing
effect of the atomic bombs. In addition to the huge number of persons who
were killed or injuried so that their services in rehabilitation were not
available, a panic flight of the population took place from both cities
immediately following the atomic explosions. No significant reconstruction
or repair work was accomplished because of the slow return of the
population; at the end of November 1945 each of the cities had only about
140,000 people. Although the ending of the war almost immediately after
the atomic bombings removed much of the incentive of the Japanese people
toward immediate reconstruction of their losses, their paralysis was still
remarkable. Even the clearance of wreckage and the burning of the many
bodies trapped in it were not well organized some weeks after the bombings.
As the British Mission has stated, "the impression which both cities make
is of having sunk, in an instant and without a struggle, to the most
primitive level."
Aside from physical injury and damage, the most significant effect of the
atomic bombs was the sheer terror which it struck into the peoples of the
bombed cities. This terror, resulting in immediate hysterical activity and
flight from the cities, had one especially pronounced effect: persons who
had become accustomed to mass air raids had grown to pay little heed to
single planes or small groups of planes, but after the atomic bombings the
appearance of a single plane caused more terror and disruption of normal
life than the appearance of many hundreds of planes had ever been able to
cause before. The effect of this terrible fear of the potential danger
from even a single enemy plane on the lives of the peoples of the world in
the event of any future war can easily be conjectured.
The atomic bomb did not alone win the war against Japan, but it most
certainly ended it, saving the thousands of Allied lives that would have
been lost in any combat invasion of Japan.
EYEWITNESS ACCOUNT
Hiroshima -- August 6th, 1945
by Father John A. Siemes, professor of modern philosphy at Tokyo's Catholic
University
Up to August 6th, occasional bombs, which did no great damage, had fallen
on Hiroshima. Many cities roundabout, one after the other, were destroyed,
but Hiroshima itself remained protected. There were almost daily
observation planes over the city but none of them dropped a bomb. The
citizens wondered why they alone had remained undisturbed for so long a
time. There were fantastic rumors that the enemy had something special in
mind for this city, but no one dreamed that the end would come in such a
fashion as on the morning of August 6th.
August 6th began in a bright, clear, summer morning. About seven o'clock,
there was an air raid alarm which we had heard almost every day and a few
planes appeared over the city. No one paid any attention and at about
eight o'clock, the all-clear was sounded. I am sitting in my room at the
Novitiate of the Society of Jesus in Nagatsuke; during the past half year,
the philosophical and theological section of our Mission had been evacuated
to this place from Tokyo. The Novitiate is situated approximately two
kilometers from Hiroshima, half-way up the sides of a broad valley which
stretches from the town at sea level into this mountainous hinterland, and
through which courses a river. From my window, I have a wonderful view
down the valley to the edge of the city.
Suddenly--the time is approximately 8:14--the whole valley is filled by a
garish light which resembles the magnesium light used in photography, and I
am conscious of a wave of heat. I jump to the window to find out the cause
of this remarkable phenomenon, but I see nothing more than that brilliant
yellow light. As I make for the door, it doesn't occur to me that the
light might have something to do with enemy planes. On the way from the
window, I hear a moderately loud explosion which seems to come from a
distance and, at the same time, the windows are broken in with a loud
crash. There has been an interval of perhaps ten seconds since the flash
of light. I am sprayed by fragments of glass. The entire window frame has
been forced into the room. I realize now that a bomb has burst and I am
under the impression that it exploded directly over our house or in the
immediate vicinity.
I am bleeding from cuts about the hands and head. I attempt to get out of
the door. It has been forced outwards by the air pressure and has become
jammed. I force an opening in the door by means of repeated blows with my
hands and feet and come to a broad hallway from which open the various
rooms. Everything is in a state of confusion. All windows are broken and
all the doors are forced inwards. The bookshelves in the hallway have
tumbled down. I do not note a second explosion and the fliers seem to have
gone on. Most of my colleagues have been injured by fragments of glass. A
few are bleeding but none has been seriously injured. All of us have been
fortunate since it is now apparent that the wall of my room opposite the
window has been lacerated by long fragments of glass.
We proceed to the front of the house to see where the bomb has landed.
There is no evidence, however, of a bomb crater; but the southeast section
of the house is very severely damaged. Not a door nor a window remains.
The blast of air had penetrated the entire house from the southeast, but
the house still stands. It is constructed in a Japanese style with a
wooden framework, but has been greatly strengthened by the labor of our
Brother Gropper as is frequently done in Japanese homes. Only along the
front of the chapel which adjoins the house, three supports have given way
(it has been made in the manner of Japanese temple, entirely out of wood.)
Down in the valley, perhaps one kilometer toward the city from us, several
peasant homes are on fire and the woods on the opposite side of the valley
are aflame. A few of us go over to help control the flames. While we are
attempting to put things in order, a storm comes up and it begins to rain.
Over the city, clouds of smoke are rising and I hear a few slight
explosions. I come to the conclusion that an incendiary bomb with an
especially strong explosive action has gone off down in the valley. A few
of us saw three planes at great altitude over the city at the time of the
explosion. I, myself, saw no aircraft whatsoever.
Perhaps a half-hour after the explosion, a procession of people begins to
stream up the valley from the city. The crowd thickens continuously. A
few come up the road to our house. We give them first aid and bring them
into the chapel, which we have in the meantime cleaned and cleared of
wreckage, and put them to rest on the straw mats which constitute the floor
of Japanese houses. A few display horrible wounds of the extremities and
back. The small quantity of fat which we possessed during this time of war
was soon used up in the care of the burns. Father Rektor who, before
taking holy orders, had studied medicine, ministers to the injured, but our
bandages and drugs are soon gone. We must be content with cleansing the
wounds.
More and more of the injured come to us. The least injured drag the more
seriously wounded. There are wounded soldiers, and mothers carrying burned
children in their arms. From the houses of the farmers in the valley comes
word: "Our houses are full of wounded and dying. Can you help, at least by
taking the worst cases?" The wounded come from the sections at the edge of
the city. They saw the bright light, their houses collapsed and buried the
inmates in their rooms. Those that were in the open suffered instantaneous
burns, particularly on the lightly clothed or unclothed parts of the body.
Numerous fires sprang up which soon consumed the entire district. We now
conclude that the epicenter of the explosion was at the edge of the city
near the Jokogawa Station, three kilometers away from us. We are concerned
about Father Kopp who that same morning, went to hold Mass at the Sisters
of the Poor, who have a home for children at the edge of the city. He had
not returned as yet.
Toward noon, our large chapel and library are filled with the seriously
injured. The procession of refugees from the city continues. Finally,
about one o'clock, Father Kopp returns, together with the Sisters. Their
house and the entire district where they live has burned to the ground.
Father Kopp is bleeding about the head and neck, and he has a large burn on
the right palm. He was standing in front of the nunnery ready to go home.
All of a sudden, he became aware of the light, felt the wave of heat and a
large blister formed on his hand. The windows were torn out by the blast.
He thought that the bomb had fallen in his immediate vicinity. The
nunnery, also a wooden structure made by our Brother Gropper, still
remained but soon it is noted that the house is as good as lost because the
fire, which had begun at many points in the neighborhood, sweeps closer and
closer, and water is not available. There is still time to rescue certain
things from the house and to bury them in an open spot. Then the house is
swept by flame, and they fight their way back to us along the shore of the
river and through the burning streets.
Soon comes news that the entire city has been destroyed by the explosion
and that it is on fire. What became of Father Superior and the three other
Fathers who were at the center of the city at the Central Mission and
Parish House? We had up to this time not given them a thought because we
did not believe that the effects of the bomb encompassed the entire city.
Also, we did not want to go into town except under pressure of dire
necessity, because we thought that the population was greatly perturbed and
that it might take revenge on any foreigners which they might consider
spiteful onlookers of their misfortune, or even spies.
Father Stolte and Father Erlinghagen go down to the road which is still
full of refugees and bring in the seriously injured who have sunken by the
wayside, to the temporary aid station at the village school. There iodine
is applied to the wounds but they are left uncleansed. Neither ointments
nor other therapeutic agents are available. Those that have been brought
in are laid on the floor and no one can give them any further care. What
could one do when all means are lacking? Under those circumstances, it is
almost useless to bring them in. Among the passersby, there are many who
are uninjured. In a purposeless, insensate manner, distraught by the
magnitude of the disaster most of them rush by and none conceives the
thought of organizing help on his own initiative. They are concerned only
with the welfare of their own families. It became clear to us during these
days that the Japanese displayed little initiative, preparedness, and
organizational skill in preparation for catastrophes. They failed to carry
out any rescue work when something could have been saved by a cooperative
effort, and fatalistically let the catastrophe take its course. When we
urged them to take part in the rescue work, they did everything willingly,
but on their own initiative they did very little.
At about four o'clock in the afternoon, a theology student and two
kindergarten children, who lived at the Parish House and adjoining
buildings which had burned down, came in and said that Father Superior
LaSalle and Father Schiffer had been seriously injured and that they had
taken refuge in Asano Park on the river bank. It is obvious that we must
bring them in since they are too weak to come here on foot.
Hurriedly, we get together two stretchers and seven of us rush toward the
city. Father Rektor comes along with food and medicine. The closer we get
to the city, the greater is the evidence of destruction and the more
difficult it is to make our way. The houses at the edge of the city are
all severely damaged. Many have collapsed or burned down. Further in,
almost all of the dwellings have been damaged by fire. Where the city
stood, there is a gigantic burned-out scar. We make our way along the
street on the river bank among the burning and smoking ruins. Twice we are
forced into the river itself by the heat and smoke at the level of the
street.
Frightfully burned people beckon to us. Along the way, there are many dead
and dying. On the Misasi Bridge, which leads into the inner city we are
met by a long procession of soldiers who have suffered burns. They drag
themselves along with the help of staves or are carried by their less
severely injured comrades...an endless procession of the unfortunate.
Abandoned on the bridge, there stand with sunken heads a number of horses
with large burns on their flanks. On the far side, the cement structure of
the local hospital is the only building that remains standing. Its
interior, however, has been burned out. It acts as a landmark to guide us
on our way.
Finally we reach the entrance of the park. A large proportion of the
populace has taken refuge there, but even the trees of the park are on fire
in several places. Paths and bridges are blocked by the trunks of fallen
trees and are almost impassable. We are told that a high wind, which may
well have resulted from the heat of the burning city, has uprooted the
large trees. It is now quite dark. Only the fires, which are still raging
in some places at a distance, give out a little light.
At the far corner of the park, on the river bank itself, we at last come
upon our colleagues. Father Schiffer is on the ground pale as a ghost. He
has a deep incised wound behind the ear and has lost so much blood that we
are concerned about his chances for survival. The Father Superior has
suffered a deep wound of the lower leg. Father Cieslik and Father
Kleinsorge have minor injuries but are completely exhausted.
While they are eating the food that we have brought along, they tell us of
their experiences. They were in their rooms at the Parish House--it was a
quarter after eight, exactly the time when we had heard the explosion in
Nagatsuke--when came the intense light and immediately thereafter the sound
of breaking windows, walls and furniture. They were showered with glass
splinters and fragments of wreckage. Father Schiffer was buried beneath a
portion of a wall and suffered a severe head injury. The Father Superior
received most of the splinters in his back and lower extremity from which
he bled copiously. Everything was thrown about in the rooms themselves,
but the wooden framework of the house remained intact. The solidity of the
structure which was the work of Brother Gropper again shone forth.
They had the same impression that we had in Nagatsuke: that the bomb had
burst in their immediate vicinity. The Church, school, and all buildings
in the immediate vicinity collapsed at once. Beneath the ruins of the
school, the children cried for help. They were freed with great effort.
Several others were also rescued from the ruins of nearby dwellings. Even
the Father Superior and Father Schiffer despite their wounds, rendered aid
to others and lost a great deal of blood in the process.
In the meantime, fires which had begun some distance away are raging even
closer, so that it becomes obvious that everything would soon burn down.
Several objects are rescued from the Parish House and were buried in a
clearing in front of the Church, but certain valuables and necessities
which had been kept ready in case of fire could not be found on account of
the confusion which had been wrought. It is high time to flee, since the
oncoming flames leave almost no way open. Fukai, the secretary of the
Mission, is completely out of his mind. He does not want to leave the
house and explains that he does not want to survive the destruction of his
fatherland. He is completely uninjured. Father Kleinsorge drags him out
of the house on his back and he is forcefully carried away.
Beneath the wreckage of the houses along the way, many have been trapped
and they scream to be rescued from the oncoming flames. They must be left
to their fate. The way to the place in the city to which one desires to
flee is no longer open and one must make for Asano Park. Fukai does not
want to go further and remains behind. He has not been heard from since.
In the park, we take refuge on the bank of the river. A very violent
whirlwind now begins to uproot large trees, and lifts them high into the
air. As it reaches the water, a waterspout forms which is approximately
100 meters high. The violence of the storm luckily passes us by. Some
distance away, however, where numerous refugees have taken shelter, many
are blown into the river. Almost all who are in the vicinity have been
injured and have lost relatives who have been pinned under the wreckage or
who have been lost sight of during the flight. There is no help for the
wounded and some die. No one pays any attention to a dead man lying
nearby.
The transportation of our own wounded is difficult. It is not possible to
dress their wounds properly in the darkness, and they bleed again upon
slight motion. As we carry them on the shaky litters in the dark over
fallen trees of the park, they suffer unbearable pain as the result of the
movement, and lose dangerously large quantities of blood. Our rescuing
angel in this difficult situation is a Japanese Protestant pastor. He has
brought up a boat and offers to take our wounded up stream to a place where
progress is easier. First, we lower the litter containing Father Schiffer
into the boat and two of us accompany him. We plan to bring the boat back
for the Father Superior. The boat returns about one-half hour later and
the pastor requests that several of us help in the rescue of two children
whom he had seen in the river. We rescue them. They have severe burns.
Soon they suffer chills and die in the park.
The Father Superior is conveyed in the boat in the same manner as Father
Schiffer. The theology student and myself accompany him. Father Cieslik
considers himself strong enough to make his way on foot to Nagatsuke with
the rest of us, but Father Kleinsorge cannot walk so far and we leave him
behind and promise to come for him and the housekeeper tomorrow. From the
other side of the stream comes the whinny of horses who are threatened by
the fire. We land on a sand spit which juts out from the shore. It is
full of wounded who have taken refuge there. They scream for aid for they
are afraid of drowning as the river may rise with the sea, and cover the
sand spit. They themselves are too weak to move. However, we must press
on and finally we reach the spot where the group containing Father Schiffer
is waiting.
Here a rescue party had brought a large case of fresh rice cakes but there
is no one to distribute them to the numerous wounded that lie all about.
We distribute them to those that are nearby and also help ourselves. The
wounded call for water and we come to the aid of a few. Cries for help are
heard from a distance, but we cannot approach the ruins from which they
come. A group of soldiers comes along the road and their officer notices
that we speak a strange language. He at once draws his sword, screamingly
demands who we are and threatens to cut us down. Father Laures, Jr.,
seizes his arm and explains that we are German. We finally quiet him down.
He thought that we might well be Americans who had parachuted down. Rumors
of parachutists were being bandied about the city. The Father Superior who
was clothed only in a shirt and trousers, complains of feeling freezing
cold, despite the warm summer night and the heat of the burning city. The
one man among us who possesses a coat gives it to him and, in addition, I
give him my own shirt. To me, it seems more comfortable to be without a
shirt in the heat.
In the meantime, it has become midnight. Since there are not enough of us
to man both litters with four strong bearers, we determine to remove Father
Schiffer first to the outskirts of the city. From there, another group of
bearers is to take over to Nagatsuke; the others are to turn back in order
to rescue the Father Superior. I am one of the bearers. The theology
student goes in front to warn us of the numerous wires, beams and fragments
of ruins which block the way and which are impossible to see in the dark.
Despite all precautions, our progress is stumbling and our feet get tangled
in the wire. Father Kruer falls and carries the litter with him. Father
Schiffer becomes half unconscious from the fall and vomits. We pass an
injured man who sits all alone among the hot ruins and whom I had seen
previously on the way down.
On the Misasa Bridge, we meet Father Tappe and Father Luhmer, who have come
to meet us from Nagatsuke. They had dug a family out of the ruins of their
collapsed house some fifty meters off the road. The father of the family
was already dead. They had dragged out two girls and placed them by the
side of the road. Their mother was still trapped under some beams. They
had planned to complete the rescue and then to press on to meet us. At the
outskirts of the city, we put down the litter and leave two men to wait
until those who are to come from Nagatsuke appear. The rest of us turn
back to fetch the Father Superior.
Most of the ruins have now burned down. The darkness kindly hides the many
forms that lie on the ground. Only occasionally in our quick progress do
we hear calls for help. One of us remarks that the remarkable burned smell
reminds him of incinerated corpses. The upright, squatting form which we
had passed by previously is still there.
Transportation on the litter, which has been constructed out of boards,
must be very painful to the Father Superior, whose entire back is full of
fragments of glass. In a narrow passage at the edge of town, a car forces
us to the edge of the road. The litter bearers on the left side fall into
a two meter deep ditch which they could not see in the darkness. Father
Superior hides his pain with a dry joke, but the litter which is now no
longer in one piece cannot be carried further. We decide to wait until
Kinjo can bring a hand cart from Nagatsuke. He soon comes back with one
that he has requisitioned from a collapsed house. We place Father Superior
on the cart and wheel him the rest of the way, avoiding as much as possible
the deeper pits in the road.
About half past four in the morning, we finally arrive at the Novitiate.
Our rescue expedition had taken almost twelve hours. Normally, one could
go back and forth to the city in two hours. Our two wounded were now, for
the first time, properly dressed. I get two hours sleep on the floor; some
one else has taken my own bed. Then I read a Mass in gratiarum actionem,
it is the 7th of August, the anniversary of the foundation of our society.
Then we bestir ourselves to bring Father Kleinsorge and other acquaintances
out of the city.
We take off again with the hand cart. The bright day now reveals the
frightful picture which last night's darkness had partly concealed. Where
the city stood everything, as far as the eye could reach, is a waste of
ashes and ruin. Only several skeletons of buildings completely burned out
in the interior remain. The banks of the river are covered with dead and
wounded, and the rising waters have here and there covered some of the
corpses. On the broad street in the Hakushima district, naked burned
cadavers are particularly numerous. Among them are the wounded who are
still alive. A few have crawled under the burnt-out autos and trams.
Frightfully injured forms beckon to us and then collapse. An old woman and
a girl whom she is pulling along with her fall down at our feet. We place
them on our cart and wheel them to the hospital at whose entrance a
dressing station has been set up. Here the wounded lie on the hard floor,
row on row. Only the largest wounds are dressed. We convey another
soldier and an old woman to the place but we cannot move everybody who lies
exposed in the sun. It would be endless and it is questionable whether
those whom we can drag to the dressing station can come out alive, because
even here nothing really effective can be done. Later, we ascertain that
the wounded lay for days in the burnt-out hallways of the hospital and
there they died.
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