Spokesman Books

Summer, 69 years later. The burning sun takes us back to "that day."   August 6, 1945. A single atomic bomb renders Hiroshima a burnt plain.   From infants to the elderly, tens of thousands of innocent civilians lose their lives in a single day. By the end of the year, 140,000 have died. To avoid forgetting that sacred sacrifice and to prevent a repetition of that tragedy, please listen to the voices of the survivors.   Approximately 6,000 young boys and girls died removing buildings for fire lanes. One who was a 12-year-old junior high student at the time says, "Even now, I carry the scars of war and that atomic bombing on my body and in my heart. Nearly all my classmates were killed instantly. My heart is tortured by guilt when I think how badly they wanted to live and that I was the only one who did." Having somehow survived, hibakusha still suffer from severe physical and emotional wounds.   "Water, please." Voices from ...

The opening verses of James Kirkup's poem, 'White Shadows', about a photograph of the white shadow left by a man annihilated in the atomic bombing of Hiroshima on 6 August 1945. Nagasaki suffered a second atomic attack three days later. White Shadows It was another morning, another morning. A morning like any other, of dust and death. A morning of war: raids, speeches, warnings. In wartime, all mornings are alike. Your were crossing a bridge in Hiroshima, A bridge of plain cement, a place without mystery. Below, the grey river ran as always, going somewhere, Metalled and moved by the early summer sun. The sun, that cast your shadow clearly, a healthy black. It was the shadow of a complete man, someone With a life, a personality, a past: but Moving through a present that could have no future. What were you thinking? Were you feared, hated, loved? Were you late for work? Sad or sick? Artist, student? Photographer or newsman returning home after a night...