Hatsue Sano was the product of a wartime romance and never knew her father, who was killed during fighting in the Pacific. All she has are letters her parents wrote to each other ... and her mother’s memories.

Rokuzo Sano worked as a truck driver collecting old newspapers and was well known for his serious disposition. He didn’t consume liquor but had a sweet tooth.

His future wife, Chiyo, worked at a partner company he would visit and was the niece of its president.

She had a friendly smile, and Rokuzo was smitten.

One summer’s day, Chiyo arrived at the office with ice lollies and handed one to Rokuzo, saying, “Here you are.”

The rest, as they say, is history. They chatted whenever they got the chance, and fell in love.

RARE LOVE MATCH

The newlyweds started living together in a downtown area of Tokyo in March 1941, when love marriages were rare. Rokuzo and Chiyo were 24 and 22 years old, respectively.

They lived modestly. It was a time of change in Japanese society.

Elementary schools were converted into what were dubbed national schools, and military training was included in the curriculum. Potatoes and eggs were rationed.

Chiyo and Rokuzo learned from a radio show that war had broken out against the United States and Britain in the early hours of Dec. 8 following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.

Rokuzo received his call-up order, or “akagami” (red paper) for the Imperial Japanese Army.

From then on, Chiyo and Rokuzo started exchanging letters.

A passage in one from Rokuzo reads: “The soldiers are sleeping silently because of exhaustion from their hard work during the day. Each of them is apparently dreaming of their wives, children and siblings in their hometowns. I can hear faint snoring.”

Left behind, Chiyo was pregnant. Rokuzo learned he had sired a daughter two months after he was drafted into the army.

“I felt as if I was soaring in the sky upon learning through your letter that we have a daughter,” wrote Rokuzo. “I feel like I could listen to her energetic cries all the way here.”

Rokuzo was a diligent writer. His letters and postcards reached Chiyo as often as two or three times a month.

“I want to hold you firmly,” read another. “Take care of yourself, too.”

Letters were entrusted to a consolatory group that would visit and entertain troops, apparently in the hope of avoiding military censorship, with passages like “the war is really heartless for young people like us” getting through.

Rokuzo wrote he was going to “an island in a northern sea” a year after he joined the army. His letters began to arrive less frequently.

An article published on the front page of a newspaper a few months later gave the first word of Rokuzo’s fate.

It stated that “the spirit of the Imperial Japanese Army was fully demonstrated on Attu Island” and that “Cmdr. Yamazaki and all other officers resorted to a courageous night raid for honorable deaths.”

Attu is one of the Aleutian Islands in the North Pacific.

Around 2,600 Japanese soldiers were stranded on the small islet following Japan’s defeat in the 1942 Battle of Midway. They were outnumbered four to one by U.S. forces.

The unit continued fighting until only 20 members were left alive. It was hailed in Japan as a “military gods unit.”

Chiyo received a curt casualty notice three months later notifying her that Rokuzo was one of the victims.

“All of them died heroic deaths on a solitary island in distant waters, and it is impossible to recover their remains under the current conditions,” the notification said.

UNDELIVERED LETTER

The couple’s newborn, Hatsue, is now 81 years old. She lives in an apartment complex on the outskirts of Chiba close to Tokyo.

Her mother died seven years ago at the age of 96.

The remains of her father, who was killed when he was 26, still lie somewhere in Attu. This past May marked the 80th anniversary of Rokuzo’s death.

Hatsue recalled that her mother used to go to bed clutching her spouse’s letters affectionately. Her father’s letters all bear the imprint of having been thumbed repeatedly over many years.

“The letters have become so worn out,” Hatsue said. “She seemingly could not forget my father.”

Moving through a cache of missives again, Hatsue found a letter written by her mother and addressed to her father.

“Amidst slumber’s realm, my heart does yearn for you in my dreams, and appearing in reality’s domain are phantoms of you in waking hours … A poignant sense of solitude resides here.”

Chiyo also fretted about Rokuzo “because you have not written to me lately.”

She went on, “Time moves quickly as a year has passed since you left for the war. Hatsue is sleeping soundly. It is 10 o’clock now so I will go to bed. Goodbye.”

The letter was dated June 27, 1943, a month after Rokuzo perished in the last-ditch attack. That means it never reached her beloved husband and was returned to his widow.