Silence. Imagine 352 souls, vanished in a flash. The Hiroshima Nicchu Cenotaph remembers them. This monument, a simple stone slab, barely a meter high and four meters wide, carries a heavy weight. It bears the names of the students and staff of Hiroshima Second Middle School, lost on August 6, 1945. They were just 600 meters from the hypocenter, participating in building demolition work near the Honkawa River. The Hiroshima Nicchu Cenotaph isn’t grand or imposing. It’s a quiet testament to a devastating loss. The stone’s rough surface, inscribed with the names of the victims, stands as a stark reminder of the fragility of life. Across from the Hiroshima Nicchu Cenotaph stands a song monument, erected in 1953. It features a poem by the former principal, Sadao Kodama. His words express the profound grief and bewilderment of a community shattered by the atomic bomb. The Hiroshima Nicchu Cenotaph is more than a memorial. It’s a place of reflection, a stark reminder of the human cost of war, and a silent plea for peace.
芸州廿日市御本陣旧跡
“A castle built on the plain?” you might ask. “Isn’t that a bit…exposed?” And indeed, the Hiroshima Gokoku Jinja, the