This is a series of translated snapshots intended to shed fresh light on some familiar facets of professional go, in the same way that old black-and-white photos of modern scenes can open windows in the mind.
Selection here is also meant as a personal recommendation and implict review of the books from which the excerpts are taken, although I cannot guarantee they are readily available. - JF
KITANI'S CALL-UP
Just before she died in 1991, the wife of Kitani Minoru, go mother to countless top players, was prevailed on to write down her memories. It sold like hot cakes even though there was not a single go diagram in the book. Full of charm and insights into Japanese attitudes and customs that are fast being submerged, it runs from their courtship to the end of her life. Obviously there are many insights into the life and career of her husband, an attractive if slightly unworldly personality, but Mrs Kitani, despite her modesty, also comes across as a truly remarkable person. I recommend this book very highly.
I have chosen the following extract not because it is the best in the book, but because I like the old fashioned and understated way in which it covers difficult times, and also because it corrects the impression that go players were unaffected by the war. It is true that the famous Kamakura match between Go Seigen and Kitani was played while the war raged, and for a time many go players were sent to the front only as to comfort soldiers by playing go with them. In reality, at some point it became a harrowing experience for all. Even at home, Kitani and his pupils were forced fish and to grow their own food, to take the goats to pasture and take in neighbours who had been bombed out of their houses. And, as we see here, as Japan's situation deteriorated, the call came even for the famous....
Kitani's Call Up
The house in Katsukaze-cho, Hiratsuka, was cheap to rent and the neighbouring landlord was also a very kind person, which meant that we were extremely reluctant to move. But we again began house hunting in 1940 because he said he wanted to rebuild.
Meanwhile, Mr Koga Tatsuzo, who was a Prefectural Councillor and a man of some influence on the area, showed us the house on the present site, and recommended that we buy it. We hadn't got all the money together, but since he was urging us on passionately we consulted various backers.
Through the support of not only Chairman Toyama but also Mr Tani Masasuke of Kobe, Mr Nakajima Kanjiro, Mr Ozone Teisho, Mr Okazaki Tadao and Mr Tsukamoto Ichizo, we were able to move into the present house. The garden was spacious and the building covered around 80 tsubo [1 tsubo = 3.3 sq. m.]. It was a very comfortable house.
As soon as we moved in, a new pupil joined the school. Tsutsui Katsumi, in the fifth year of primary school, came for a trial game one day. They were playing upstairs, but my husband would occasionally come pottering down to relieve himself before going back upstairs. This happened several times, and, thinking it a little odd, I watched with some foreboding. But when the game finished, he came back down and was his usual self. When playing go, even with such a small boy, he was in a world of his own. I felt I had caught a glimpse of what he was like in an ordinary game.
Around this time, now that I think of it, was the period when Japan was advancing inexorably towards war.
In 1938, our live-in pupil Takehisa Seishi received his red call-up papers, and then Nakayama Shigeyuki and Kaji Kazutame went south to join the army. Ashiba Katsumi worked for almost two years in Manchuria at temperatures 30 degrees below freezing. Because he had a weak constitution, he was sent back because of illness before had completed his stint, and I thought that while there was life there was hope. At that time everyone was being sent south.
Ishige Kakuo joined the school in August 1941, Iwata Tatsuaki in October, and, a week later, Ohira Shuzo.
On 8 December 1941 the Pacific War suddenly erupted. In the summer of 1943, Cho Nam-ch'eol set off for his homeland and was unable to return to Japan.
In the same year, Matsumoto Tokuji was conscripted to work for the company Fujita Kogyo, and in the autumn of the following year, 1944, Iwata Tatsuaki and Ozaki Harumi were similarly called up to work in international aviation. Moving from Hiratsuka to Kyoto, the upshot was they would be there until the war was over. At this time, even our little maid Eiko was taken from us.
One night, Ishige Kakuo knelt down quietly in the corridor in front of our room. Placing his hands on the mat in supplication, he said, "I would like a favour. When the war is raging like this, I don't think it is possible to be playing go. I think I would like to enter the seamen's training school to become a sailor." We were very surprised but respected his feelings. He was 18. Soon after Ishige set off to volunteer.
On 3 July 1944, my husband received his white call-up papers and joined a unit in the Akabane Army Engineers Corps in Tokyo. Because I had not even thought that, as a go player, he would be called up, I was shocked when I got the news: "Oh dear, it's come!"
On the day he left, a huge crowd of people from the town-block association and the neighbourhood association, and friends and pupils, frantically waved little banzai flags to see him off. I was seven months pregnant. A lady from the neighbourhood association ordered me not to go to the station, so I said farewell in front of our house. The wife of Mr Ishii from the town-block association praised me: "Mrs Kitani, that was marvellous - you did not shed a single tear!" Everyone then prayed to Hachiman [a Shinto deity who protects warriors] for his good luck in the fortunes of war.
I heard from the pupils that when the train steamed out after the farewell at the station, Fujisawa Hideyuki (now 9-dan and Honorary Kisei) ran after it, shouting "Sensei, don't worry, I'll stay with you." I was deeply moved. Fujisawa sensei was still young and was called Tamotsu then. From the time my husband started his study group in Hiratsuka, Fujisawa sensei was ever present and studied with great enthusiasm.
Someone called Numakura, who studied with him then, died in the war. Suzuki Keizo died a premature death. Suzuki was highly regarded as a child prodigy. Everyone had a promising future. Sakata Eio sensei (now 9-dan) also sometimes took part in the study group at that time.
Even though my husband went off to the army, I heard that he stayed in Tokyo for a week, and after about a fortnight I was relieved to get a postcard from the Takahashi unit of the 22nd Regiment in Seoul, Korea. I had spent the time worrying how my husband, who had never carried a single heavy thing, was coping with life in the army. Even in my absent husband's home, holding the children in my arms, I could hear the thump-thump sound of AA guns every day and felt the war clouds quickly approaching me. I spent the time thinking unhappy thoughts.
On 29 September of that year, I heard a man's voice in the hallway: "Hello, is anyone there?" When Chizuru, my midwife, went to look, the voice said, "My name's Kitani" and, totally unexpected, it was my husband who had been repatriated. He said that since he did not know whether anyone had moved in while he was away, he was hesitant about just walking in. Since I had also just given birth to our fifth child, Nobuko, the day before, everyone in the house was full of great joy. My husband, having safely returned, told us his tale of woe. The heavy machine guns were carried on the run by four people. Sometimes, they were made to do a "two-man run", carrying a gun with just two people. When my husband tried that, he unfortunately dropped the gun. It was so awful. He was slapped around as a punishment. He showed us how his glasses slipped off as he was hit on the back of the head. We were so sorry that his partner was also slapped around in this nasty way.
Thirty years later, on 26 December 1975, a man came up to me at my husband's funeral at Aoyama Cemetery and said, "I was Kitani's friend in the war." I immediately thought, "The one on the machine gun," and when I asked him I found I was right. Mr Kageyama Eiji said, "If he hadn't told you, I had planned to go home without saying anything."
Three war friends, Mr Kageyama, Mr Kosukegawa Kisaburo and Mr Shinoda Etsuzo later came to the first anniversary service. Now only Mr Shinoda is left. I pray for his continued good health.
The above is from "Kitani Dojo to Shichijunin no Kodomotachi" by Kitani Miharu (NHK Publications, 1992; ISBN 4-14-080047-X C0021).
