However, in April of 1918(Taishō 7), the following year, Anjo Township, using the curriculum that we developed, established a new girls’ supplementary school and negotiated that the tuition at their school would be free for local students. With as many as 70 % of the students in our school being from higher elementary schools in our town, that rule almost put us out of business. The next April, we weren’t able to enroll any students from within the town. During the first few years, while welcoming several students from the nearby village, the total number of students dropped below fifty. We ended up not having to add additional classrooms or hire new teachers.

Driven into a corner, I felt very sorry, but hardened my heart and pleaded insistently with my husband, “Please lend me your retirement bonds. I need to pawn them to raise funds.” My husband’s response was, “It’s out of the questio… I can’t stand it here anymore, I am going back to Osaka.” With that, he packed up his things and left. A short time later, he came back home to see the children, but he would leave home a few more times due to the financial situation.

My household budget became tighter and tighter over the next three years. I pawned all our clothes, leaving none even for winter. I wore a faded, unlined long kimono with 15 cm of cloth backing on the bottom edge. For my children, I provided clothes by cobbling together sleeves, rumps, collars, and other salvaged pieces of material. Even now, my second oldest son, Seiki, talks about his old elementary school days of wearing patchwork, which was, of course, seen as unusual.

At New Years, we didn’t even have mochi(rice cakes). My oldest boy began to cry when he saw the other children in the neighborhood eating mochi. Feeling terrible for him, I bought several pieces and gave them to him. It was very difficult for me to provide a fifty sen allowance for my mother, a situation which cut me to the quick.