Category Archives: Japan

Making a Model Sports Town, 1960

From Rounding the Bases: The Story of Little League Baseball in Japan, by James J. Orr (U. Hawaii Press, 2026), Kindle p. 44:

In 1960, the Ministry of Education designated Tanashi a “model sports town” for excellence in “shakai taiiku,” a phrase perhaps best translated as public recreational athletics. The education authorities became involved because, as the Tanashi mayor noted years later, physical education was considered a component of the social studies curriculum (shakai kyōiku). Along the same lines, the local newspaper would later refer to Little League as a form of “extracurricular education” (kagai kyōiku). A nominal matching subsidy accompanied the “model town” designation wherein the town took on a mandate to form a special association to promote sports. Dr. Sasa was a logical choice for president of the Tanashi City Taiiku Kyōkai Physical Education Association, which became an umbrella organization akin to what in an American context would be called a city recreation commission. This quasi-official advisory group was closely affiliated with the Tanashi City Education Department but run by local business and community leaders. It oversaw the activities of pre-existing sporting groups and promoted new ones. As of 1961, this recreation commission oversaw sports groups in nanshiki [soft rubber] baseball, kendo, judo, swimming, archery, track and field, and tennis. The new Little League was formed in 1962 under the commission’s purview with Sasa as the inaugural president and the pre-existing nanshiki league’s directors kept as the new league’s board.

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Early Little League Sponsors in Japan

From Rounding the Bases: The Story of Little League Baseball in Japan, by James J. Orr (U. Hawaii Press, 2026), Kindle pp. 39-41:

Japanese society had not yet reached the level of affluence sufficient for parents to afford registration fees, so leagues had to be fully supported by sponsorships and donations. Each team required from $200 to $300 in 1959 dollars for equipment, uniforms, insurance, and charter fees. For their original Tiger squad, Hatch and his wife bought the uniforms from Takada and sewed on the team name and Little League patches. With more kids wanting to play, soon enough it became apparent they needed sponsors if they were going to equip all their teams adequately. Hatch was lucky in that among the first journalists to cover his team was Bobby Hirai, a colorful Canadian-born reporter for the Mainichi Newspapers who had an entrepreneurial bent. Hirai helped Hatch make important connections in the Japanese and foreign business and media communities.

Hirai had a long career as a facilitator between Japanese and foreign celebrities and corporations. The son of the chief officer at Mitsui Bussan’s Toronto Office before WWII, Bobby grew up with a love for ice hockey and dancing. Repatriated to Japan as a teenager with his family in 1940, he began two years of intensive study, including formal Japanese, at Keimei, a special school set up by the Mitsui family for returnee children, followed by a year at Waseda’s International School before beginning Keio University. During the wartime era of animosity toward the English-speaking world, his mother insisted he keep a secret English-language diary to maintain his fluency, and despite official government policies mandating frugality—“luxury is the enemy,” as the slogan went—he routinely visited the Philippine embassy carrying a change of clothes so as to enjoy their surreptitious dance parties. Immediately after the war his natural English ability was quickly recognized by two reporters for the G.I. newspaper Yank, one of whom was the famous postwar literary agent Knox Berger. As a gofer and translator, for about half a year he scrounged everything from printing presses for the G.I. publication to lodgings for his reporters. It was during this stint that he was present when former wartime Prime Minister Gen. Tōjō Hideki famously shot himself in an attempted suicide moments before his arrest for war crimes. After returning to and graduating from Keio University, Hirai worked as a journalist for Mainichi. Eventually he created a career for himself handling logistics for visiting foreign celebrities and mediating between Japanese and foreign, mainly U.S., corporations.

Although Hirai never served in the U.S. military, his Canadian background and Occupation-era interpretation services made him a member of what historian Guthrie-Shimizu calls a community of entrepreneurial, transnational brokers like “Cappy” Harada that helped mediate American and Japanese baseball interests. Men like Harada and Hirai benefited from connections in a “new military-sanctioned sports entertainment business that would become a cultural manifestation of the American overseas military presence and a staple of American cultural diplomacy during the Cold War.”

In the post-Occupation 1950s, the conditions favorable to American-led sports initiatives still applied for Little League, and Hirai helped Hatch tap into these resources. In addition to favorable coverage Hirai came to Hatch’s aid when he was having trouble getting the official league rules translated. And Hirai arranged for Hatch to meet a number of key expat businessmen who provided essential support for his teams.

First among these American supporters was Davey Jones, a longtime Pan-American public relations executive based in Tokyo, and “one of the boys” in Bobby’s group of cronies in Tokyo. Pan-American had a history of supporting sporting events in Japan, and Jones proved an ally of Hatch’s Little League. Following Hirai’s introduction, Jones and Pan-Am sponsored a luncheon meeting with many other members of the American business community in Tokyo on July 12 in that first year. These business leaders created a board for the Kunitachi Little League, with Hatch as its president and officers from Pan-American, the Tokyo Lions Club, as well as the Kunitachi city government. Pan-American and the Lions Club (#503) became the main sponsors in 1959, and the new league’s four team names reflected their sponsorship: After the Tigers, the other teams were the Lions, the Clippers, and the Orions (the last two after Pan-Am’s legendary prewar pan-Pacific service and icon).

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Little League Startups in Japan

From Rounding the Bases: The Story of Little League Baseball in Japan, by James J. Orr (U. Hawaii Press, 2026), Kindle pp. 6-8:

The book’s narrative structure is chronological. Chapter 1, “On Base: Little League’s First Days in Japan,” explores the introduction of Little League for the families of military personnel attached to U.S. bases to the west of Tokyo in the Kantō Plain from 1954. Little League was argued to be a wholesome, distinctively American activity especially suitable for the families living away from the home country, and a method to discipline the bodies and character of youth. Several base leagues across the archipelago experimented on their own initiative with inviting local Japanese communities to field teams in their leagues, but these experiments ended when these bases reverted to Japanese control after the revision of the U.S.-Japan Security Treaty (Anpo) in 1960.

Chapter 2, “ ‘Mr. Sarge,’ the Red-Headed Giant: Bill Hatch and the Original Little League in Japan,” follows Airman William “Bill” Hatch’s pioneering creation in the summer of 1959 of the first extant Japanese Little League, Kunitachi, as noted above the first Japanese league to send a team to the World Series in 1962. Hatch and his wife Akiko’s efforts were celebrated by both the Japanese and U.S. governments as exemplars of Cold War cultural diplomacy, and were enthusiastically supported by local businesses as well as by U.S. military and American expat business and service organizations in Tokyo. The Hatches success in creating two local leagues set the foundation for Little League’s Far East Region Directors to proactively encourage Japanese participation in base leagues as well as form their own programs.

Chapter 3, “A League of Japan’s Own: The Early Innings,” explores the creation of a national Japanese Little League organization in 1964, and their successful efforts to overcome government institutional inertia that prevented Japan’s 1963 team from traveling to Williamsport. Restrictions on elementary school competition were a durable legacy of prewar bureaucratic management of baseball as a form of education, and of postwar reforms intended to counter elitism of any form in the interest of democratizing Japan. Despite a visit to Tokyo by Little League International President Peter J. McGovern, and growing popular enthusiasm for youth athletics in the year of the Tokyo Olympics, the Ministry of Education still demurred from granting an exemption in late summer 1964. But a resourceful Kondō Takeshi, a twenty-something trading company white-collar worker and future Japanese ambassador, found a work-around to this bureaucratic intransigence in what he called the democratic tactic of “constituency politics,” getting the Foreign Minister to issue passports anyway.

Chapter 4, “Fly Balls and Daring Plays: The Middle Innings,” follows itinerant Little League promoter Mitsuyasu Momotarō’s intentional creation of Little League in the four cities of Musashino, Koganei, Mitaka, and Chōfu in the western Tokyo suburbs in 1966 and 1967. Under the mentorship of elementary school teacher Kamei Ryō, Musashino City had the strongest of the four teams in what constituted the “West Tokyo” Little League that won Japan’s first World Series title in 1967. For unknown reasons, half of the West Tokyo team sent to Williamsport in 1967 consisted of players from the better organized and presumably better funded Kansai region of Japan, and Kamei was replaced by Chōfu construction company owner Hayashi Kazuo. Enthusiasm over West Tokyo’s success led to large numbers at tryouts for each of West Tokyo’s constituent teams, with each team expanding into their own leagues in 1969. Hayashi grew Chōfu’s program into the powerhouse league of the 1970s, becoming the face of Little League in Japan, even being inducted into Japan’s Baseball Hall of Fame soon after his passing in the early 2010s. Mitsuyasu’s role was forgotten.

Chapter 5, “Mgr. Kōno Goes to Williamsport: A Provincial Coach and City Make Good,” describes Osaka entrepreneur Yoshikura Toshio’s organization of a vibrant Osaka-based Little League regional association, known as the Kansai Renmei, and the respective ways provincial city Wakayama fielded teams from 1966 through 1968. Wakayama, located on the other end of the Nankai Railway Line from Osaka, had its fair share of entrepreneurial energy characteristic of this era of high-growth Japan, and it had a rich history of baseball at both the high school and, in the form of nanshiki rubber baseball, the elementary school levels. An ad hoc all-star team chosen from that summer’s Wakayama City nanshiki tournament represented Japan in the 1966 Little League World Series. In 1968, an independently organized Wakayama Little League team practiced together every day from March through the summer to earn Japan’s second, consecutive, victory in the World Series. Based on extensive interviews with players, we learn how the team formed and trained intensively under their manager, Kōno Yoshio, who later gained fame for leading Wakayama Tōin High School’s team to the pinnacle of Japan high school baseball at the Kōshien tournament.

Chapter 6, “The Great Little Schism and Mitsui/Sankei Sponsorship: Two Youth Hardball Programs Instead of One,” explores the frustrations that Kansai Renmei founder Yoshikura experienced as he chafed under Little League rules he felt were overly simplified and not suited to Japanese realities, at the same time Mitsui Bussan trading company and the Sankei media group became long-term corporate sponsors. In 1970 Yoshikura decided to abandon Little League and form his own Boys League that became Little League Japan’s major competitor. Meanwhile, a young Mitsui employee in the Public Relations department was tasked with negotiating Kansai media rights from Sankei rival Yomiuri, but he found himself first having to negotiate Little League out of an unorthodox fundraising arrangement with the local underworld.

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Baseball Research in Occupied Japan

Here’s a book that appeared just in time for the latest World Baseball Classic and the latest Asian Studies Association meeting. I’ll have to restrain myself from sharing too many excerpts from it.

From Rounding the Bases: The Story of Little League Baseball in Japan, by James J. Orr (U. Hawaii Press, 2026), Kindle pp. 4-6:

American faith in baseball as constitutive of “all that was good” led the authorities during the U.S. Occupation of Japan immediately after World War II to sponsor its resurgence. Baseball in Japan had come on hard times under wartime austerity partly because it was the enemy’s game, and partly because it was thought to be indulgent, a kind of luxury that was also called the “enemy” in a wartime slogan, zeitaku wa teki (“luxury is the enemy”). The Americans assumed baseball would help democratize postwar Japan because of its intrinsic American-ness. But it wasn’t as if baseball was a foreign pastime. It had been a vibrant part of Japanese life since the late nineteenth century. Japanese went along with the American discourse on baseball and democracy for their own reasons, but mainly so they could play and watch baseball again. In my capacity as president of a small-town league I had already been primed to consider the social impact of youth baseball. As a historian I perceived an opportunity to examine how two distinctive national cultures imbued the game with different values.

An alternative and immediately more obvious research question was, simply, why were the Japanese teams that arrived in Williamsport so consistently among the best? Over the course of my research the American popular press reported what I already knew, that Japanese teams practiced year-round and dawn to dusk on weekends. But surely there was more to it than that. There is a vibrant community of scholars and knowledgeable fans writing on the Japanese high school and professional games, but a literature survey showed no scholarship on Japanese Little League—none in English, and very little in Japanese. The Japanese-language studies focused for the most part on the deleterious effects on young arms throwing hardball, plus a few sociological studies from the 1970s. For a historian, it is exciting to come across a topic that no one has written about. And I felt I had special insight since postwar Japanese history was my specialty and I had a half dozen years’ experience helping to run a Little League in the United States.

A visit to Little League’s Peter J. McGovern Museum suggested reconstructing this history was going to involve much more than the archival work of conventional history research. Apart from some marginally relevant correspondence, a smattering of mentions in Little League newsletters, and the occasional recent testimonial by visiting U.S. veterans who happened to have played some small role in its origins, not much documentation remained from the early years. As archivist Adam Thompson explained, Little League had moved offices every few years as the international program grew, and likely much of the documentation was simply tossed.

Although Little League Japan had been founded in 1964, their head office was small and had no archive. What I discovered on my first visit to Tokyo was that no one knew much, and those that knew a little often mis-remembered, usually because of logical but faulty assumptions. The Little League Japan leadership provided a vague explanation that Little League got started on American military bases and from there spread to local Japanese communities, and that at some point the trading company Mitsui Bussan and the media company Fuji Sankei began to support the program, as they still do. But beyond that, memories of dates and names for the early years were as misty as a riverside field on a cool autumn morning. For example, the website for the Kunitachi League, the first Japanese team to play in the World Series, indicated that the Little League got started in that western Tokyo suburb in 1949; but a search of back numbers of the U.S. military’s Pacific Stars and Stripes revealed that Little League did not appear in Japan until 1954, and then only inside the American military dependent community. In 2015, when prominent Chōfu Little League and Little Senior (teenage) League president Hayashi Kazuo was inducted into the Japanese Baseball Hall of Fame, it was stated that he started the formal Little League organization in 1964 with Mitsui and Fuji Sankei support. But one of my earliest contacts from Mitsui with firsthand knowledge insisted his company didn’t get involved until 1969. So, I knew if I embarked on this project, the first steps would demand an old-fashioned kind of history. Before considering the big questions, I had to deduce the nitty-gritty developments from as many sources as I could: newspaper clippings, old commemorative pamphlets, municipal histories, contemporary sociological studies, interviews with former players, as well as the various baseball episodes in contemporary literature, film, school readers, and the graphic youth cultures of manga and anime.

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Sugihara’s List and Tadeusz Romer

A few months ago, my wife found an interesting book in a Polish bookstore here. It is titled Lista Sugihary (Sugihara’s List), by Zofia Hartman, a graduate student from Krakow, the site of Schindler’s List, which is now well-known throughout Poland, while Chiune Sugihara remains almost entirely unknown. The Polish edition of her book was published in 2024 by Austeria Press. An English edition titled Sugihara’s List, published in 2025, can be ordered from YIVO Institute for Jewish Research in New York City.

In looking for the English edition, I found a Youtube video of a book talk featuring Zofia Hartman in October 2025 at the Ukrainian Institute of America in New York City, sponsored by the Polish Cultural Institute in New York. Hartman’s presentation was followed by a talk by Jolanta Nitoslawska, granddaughter of Polish diplomat Tadeusz Romer, Polish Ambassador in Japan 1937-1941. Romer and most of the refugees ended up in the stateless Shanghai Ghetto until Romer was included in the 1942 prisoner exchange off Africa via MS Gripsholm. He and most of his descendants ended up in Canada. Several others who attended the talk were descendants of the refugees.

Another diplomat who facilitated the exodus of so many Jewish refugees through the USSR to Japan was the Dutch consul in Lithuania, Jan Zwartendijk, who was director of the Philips factories there. Sugihara granted transit visas via Japan, while Zwartendijk granted official permission for the refugees to settle in Curaçao and the Dutch West Indies, if they should ever manage to get there.

One facet of Sugihara that I had not been aware of was his role as a spy for Japan, cooperating with Poland, sharing military intelligence among other areas. There was no Japanese community in Kaunas, where he served as consul. Japan and Poland both feared the USSR, and Japan was eager for evidence that the USSR might transfer troops west to fight the Germans, allowing Japan to transfer some of its troops from Manchuria to the South Pacific. Japan had helped earlier Poles exiled to Siberia and hosted a sizable number of Polish exiles in Karafuto (southern Sakhalin). Even though Poland declared war on Japan after Pearl Harbor, Poles and Japanese continued to cooperate.

In the summer of 2011, we visited the Sugihara Port of Humanity Museum in Tsuruga, Japan, and in the spring of 2025 we visited the Shanghai Ghetto Museum in China. I’m not sure we’ll get a chance to visit the Sugihara House Museum in Kaunas, Lithuania.

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Polish Realia: Japanese Flowers

From Moja Japonia, by Anna Golisz (Petrus, 2010), pp. 162-193 (with Google Translations into English):

Pikniki pod kwitniącymi wiśniami ‘Picnics under the blooming cherry trees’

Kwitnąca na żółto gorczyca ‘Blooming on yellow mustard’

na tle różowych kwiatów wiśni ‘in background pink cherry blossoms’

Kwitnące śliwy ‘blooming plum trees’ (as in śliwowica ‘plum brandy’)

Kwitnące azalie ‘blooming azaleas’

Kwitnąca glicynia ‘blooming wisteria’

Kwitnąca hortensja ‘blooming hydrangea’

Pięknie kwitnące kamelie ‘beautifully blooming camelias’

Japoński klon ‘Japanese maple’, followed by many pages of jesienne klony ‘autumn maples’

Młode liście klonu japonskiego ‘young leaves of the Japanese maple’

Miłorząb dwuklapowy (‘nice-eyelash two-flap’?) Ginkgo biloba L. ‘Nice eyelash’ renders ‘maidenhair’, an earlier name for the tree from its leaves resembling those of certain maidenhair ferns.

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Parajutes in Burma, 1944

From Burma ’44: The Battle That Turned World War II in the East, by James Holland (Grove Atlantic, 2024), Kindle pp. 329-330:

Watching the ground operations at the airfields, [Gen. William] Slim was surprised by the range and flexibility of Snelling’s air supply. Rations, fuel and ammunition were, for obvious reasons, the priority, as well as mail, grain for animals and a host of other supplies. ‘The emergency and fancy demands made,’ he noted, ‘were also met with the promptitude and exactness of the postal order department of a first-class departmental store.’ These included blood plasma, instruments, drugs, spare parts for guns and other weapons, boots, clothing, the daily issue of SEAC (the new troops’ newspaper), typewriter ribbons, cooking pots and even replacement spectacles. The sheer range and logistical effort was mind-boggling.

From 2.30pm that afternoon, the first of a number of Dakotas and Commandos dropped supplies over the Admin Box. The multicoloured parachutes had been another bit of clever forward-thinking. Snelling had been unable to get enough parachutes supplied from India and there was no hope of acquiring the number needed from back home in Britain; SEAC was still bottom of the priority list for parachutes, as for everything. The answer was to make them of paper or jute instead – there were a great many paper mills in Calcutta and Bengal was the jute capital of the world. Paper parachutes, it turned out, would not work, but jute ones would. Slim now contacted the leaders of the British jute industry in Calcutta, asking for their help. He told them that to save time they were to deal with him and Snelling direct and warned them that he had no idea when exactly they would be paid. Despite this, within ten days they were experimenting with various types of ‘parajutes’, as they called them. By trial and error they soon arrived at the most efficient shape and weight of cloth, and within a month they had parajutes that were 85 per cent as reliable as normal silk parachutes. It was agreed they would be colour-coded – red, green, yellow, black, blue and orange, each denoting a different type of load. The cost of producing a parachute was around £20 at that time; the cost of a parajute was £5.

Despite this, Slim was rebuked for not going through the proper channels in securing these essential additions to the air-supply operation – not that he was bothered; some things were more important, and in South-East Asia they all had to use their initiative and think outside the box, no matter what some desk-wallahs thought. The entire war there was becoming an exercise in lateral thinking.

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Polish Poets Explore Haiku

My latest compilation from Culture.pl includes an article by Agnieszka Warnke on Polish poets who explored Japanese haiku. Here are a couple pieces of it.

Poland, 1937, issue no. 46 of Wiadomości Literackie (Literary News) dedicated to Japanese culture. Somewhere amidst an article on the erotic life of a Japanese man, practical advice on ‘Dziudo i dziudziutsu’ (Judo and Jujitsu), and an advertisement for Mitsubishi, there are references to haiku that inform the reader that they are ‘17-syllable poems’ and that ‘from the initial stanza of renga, another variation later developed, which was called hokku or haikai’.

The Polish Haiku Association was established nearly 80 years later. In the meantime, several volumes of Japanese poems (not necessarily translated from the original) were published, as well as Antologia polskiego haiku (Anthology of the Polish Haiku), in which Ewa Tomaszewska included works inspired – sometimes unconsciously – by the poetry and aesthetics of the Far East. How did the most popular Japanese poetic form come into being, and how has it evolved?

Yamoto Dojū, an expert on the genre, argues that kigo [season words] is ‘the highest taste, the essence of poetry’. The most famous anthology of Japanese miniatures in Poland, translated by Żuławska-Umeda, is organised into four seasons. In 14th-century Japan, there were several indicators of the seasons, but by the 16th and 17th centuries, their number increased to 599, soon exceeding a thousand. There’s an extensive list of Polish kigo on the website of the Polish Haiku Association: spring is represented, for example, by molehills and hay fever, summer smells of chives and hay carts, the beginning of autumn is heralded by deer rutting and its end by a bent umbrella, while in winter the fur of mammals thickens and brightens, and flies become sluggish.

Numerous references to nature appear in the lyrics of Maria Pawlikowska-Jasnorzewska, and the topic of Orientalism in her poems has frequently been discussed by literary scholars. The poet does not restrict herself to a careful observation of nature. She animates and personifies it: in the volume Pocałunki (Kisses), the sky can become angry, and in Surowy jedwab (Raw Silk), the firmament freezes in terror. Comparisons to the masters of the genre are inevitable when reading her works. Take, for example, the frog glorified by Bashō (in Czesław Miłosz’s translation: ‘Stara sadzawka, / Żaba – skok – / Plusk’; in R. H. Blyth’s translation: ‘The old pond / A frog jumps in – The sound of the water’).

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Bengal Famine, 1943

From Burma ’44: The Battle That Turned World War II in the East, by James Holland (Grove Atlantic, 2024), Kindle pp. 112-114:

Most Bengalis lived an extremely precarious existence. Some ten million were utterly dependent on agriculture, but of these more than half held less than 2 acres of land and many none at all. There was charity and relief but no social welfare; they had to fend for themselves. Through the first half of 1943 food prices had increased dramatically. … This was due in part to the shortages in Bengal but also to increased demand for the feeding of troops in India, as well as demand from around the world. It was artisans who suffered first, because as poverty increased so the money available for goods dried up. Then the shortages hit the wider Bengali population, many of whom left the country for the cities. By the time Tom Grounds was on leave in Calcutta, the city was bursting with the influx of impoverished families searching for food.

Yet while the cost of food was certainly a factor, the biggest problem now facing the authorities was how to get food to Bengal and urgently. The state had already been an importer of food for over a decade and most of it had come from Burma, now closed to India. The loss of Burma had been disastrous for Bengal’s fragile economy and the subsequent cyclone had made it catastrophic. Where else could it be sourced? North America and South America were the obvious places, but the amount needed was enormous and would have required a major diversion of shipping at a time when the demands on such seaborne transport had never been greater.

That August, Churchill was not prepared suddenly to release shipping to take food to Bengal; however draconian that may seem, far away in Britain the problems of the Bengalis seemed less pressing than the urgent need to maintain supplies at a crucial moment in the war. Britain and America were fighting in Sicily – an island that could be supplied effectively only by ship; they were about to invade mainland Italy, which also required an amphibious operation and supply; they were preparing for the invasion of north-west Europe; and they were fighting the Japanese throughout the Pacific. Was Churchill really expected to interrupt the war effort, and current operations, with millions of lives at stake in theatres of war around the world? Who was to say what effect such a diversion of shipping would have on the eventual length of the war, with its implications for further loss of life? In any case, ships could not be diverted from the far side of the Atlantic, for example, at the drop of a hat. Churchill was not to blame.

Not all India was facing famine – only Bengal and the north-east. One problem was that in 1935 the government had ceded considerable central power to the provinces, where the regional governments were all democratically elected. The previous year, 1942, these had all agreed to introduce trade barriers between one another. The central government of India now announced there should be free trade in grain, but plans to send relief to Bengal had been obstructed by local government officers, police and other officials who feared their own provinces risked suffering a similar fate to that of Bengal. Wavell, in one of his first acts as Viceroy-Designate, had forced the issue by threatening legal and even military action, and by August substantial amounts of grain had finally begun to arrive in Bengal. It was, however, too little too late to bring a swift end to the humanitarian disaster rising horrifically throughout the region. Relief kitchens hastily set up in Calcutta and elsewhere were simply not enough. With malnutrition came disease; those not dying of starvation were just as likely to succumb to typhus, malaria or cholera, and there were not enough hospitals or medical care to cope.

The famine had certainly been exacerbated by the war and by the fact that the Indian government had prioritized combatting the Japanese above all other matters. Yet the authorities, although slow to react, were certainly not immune to the horrors unfolding and, of course, while the tragedy of human suffering was truly appalling, the famine was yet another massive problem for the Allied command to overcome. It stretched already overstretched lines of supply, pushed the limited medical services to breaking point, affected food supplies to the troops, further sapped the morale of those who witnessed the starving, dying and dead throughout Bengal, and damaged the reputation of the British even more, and all at a time when there was a new Viceroy and Commander-in-Chief.

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V Force Intelligence in Burma

From Burma ’44: The Battle That Turned World War II in the East, by James Holland (Grove Atlantic, 2024), Kindle pp. 86-89:

There were code-breakers too, and radio listening, but possibly the most important of all – especially to those now heading to the front – was V Force.

This extraordinary group of native Burmese under British command operated all along the front and were purely intelligence gatherers and reconnaissance – but they were mightily effective. The commanders had detailed knowledge of the local language, culture and conditions. One of them, based further to the north-east in the Naga Hills, was indicative of the unorthodox approach taken by V Force: Ursula Graham Bower was an anthropologist who had befriended the Naga head-hunters before the war, and, as her Christian name suggested, was a woman.

Another was Captain Anthony Irwin, who was operating in the Arakan, and running his own team under the overall charge of one of the V Force originals, Lieutenant-Colonel Ian Donald.

V Force were the eyes and ears of the British effort in the Arakan. While Irwin was dependent on his local recruits to collect intelligence, his task was to be the brains behind the operation. An inadequate brain, it seemed to him to begin with, but he learned quickly enough. On parting, Donald had told him: ‘Trust [your] men with everything you’ve got, and they will never let you down.’ Nearly a year on, Irwin knew those had been wise words indeed.

‘These men’ were Mussulmen – local Muslims who had settled in the area some two hundred years earlier. There was now an ethnic split in the Arakan between Muslim and Maugh, who were Hindu, which had led to civil war in the area as recently as 1941; like any civil conflict, it had been brutal, with entire villages decimated by the opposing factions. The result had been that the southern half of the Arakan was now predominantly Maugh, while the north was almost entirely Muslim. This local tragedy rather played into the hands of the British, however, because the Arakan had been conveniently split into two distinct spheres of influence, something they were able to exploit. Muslims hated Maughs and, because the Maughs were helping the Japanese, they hated the Japanese too. Conversely, the Maughs were willing to work for the Japanese against the Mussulmen and, by association, the British. There were two factors, however, that made this a better deal for the British than for the Japanese. The first was that most of the fighting so far had been in the north of the Arakan, where there were fewer Maughs. The second was that because the Japanese held dear the cult of racial superiority, they treated all conquered people with violent contempt, including the Maughs. Furthermore, because Japanese forces were generally so badly supplied – especially with food – they tended to loot what they could from the Burmese without paying any kind of compensation. This was not conducive to winning trust.

Irwin very quickly became an ardent Burmese Mussulman-ophile. They were tenacious, courageous and had an uncanny knack for remembering data. Details of enemy columns were recalled with accuracy; they could tell Japanese planes from Allied long before Irwin himself could ever distinguish them. They would remember with precision exactly where enemy dispositions were and be able to mark them on a map. ‘If they see a British soldier lying wounded and lost in the jungle, they will get him in somehow,’ noted Irwin. Barney Barnett of 136 Squadron, had first-hand experience of this: ‘If they see a Jap body, they will cut off the head and proudly bring it to me, demanding baksheesh’, he noted.

Once, Irwin was sent a map, beautifully drawn and with Japanese positions clearly marked. Also written on the map was a note. ‘Many Japs are looting the publics,’ had been neatly scrawled in pidgin English. ‘Please tell the bombing mans and bomb nicely. Please tell the bombing mans that there are many good publics near and only to kill the Japanese.’

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