The Kamui Limited Express[1] left Sapporo, heading to Abashiri. We soon left the urban areas with their tall buildings, speeding through vast expanse of whiteness where sometimes farm buildings or houses cuddled together can be seen in the distance. Hokkaido is one of Japan’s biggest islands, yet it’s sparsely populated. Unlike in the Honshu heartland, where towns seem to be joined into one vast sprawling urban area, here towns are separated by large farms and lands left to the mercy of nature.
We had originally planned to visit Asahikawa on 4 December when we’re heading back from Abashiri to Sapporo. Fortunately we ran a double check and found that the museum was closed on Mondays, so we moved the visit to Sunday, 3 December, after Otaru. With Japan’s on-time trains, we figured we could arrive in Asahikawa at around 2pm and would still have enough time to take a look around the museum.
I had always thought that Hakodate was the second biggest city in Hokkaido after Sapporo, but it turned out I was wrong. It was Asahikawa. The area now known as the city of Asahikawa was developed since the Meiji era by the tondenhei, the farmer-soldiers sent from other parts of Japan to develop Hokkaido. These tondenhei were then organized into their own division, the 7th Division of the Imperial Japanese Army. Their headquarters was in Asahikawa, so no wonder the museum dedicated to them is located in this city. By the way, the Japanese name of ‘Asahikawa’ was actually a mistranslation of the Ainu name for the Asahi River, Chiu Pet (the river of waves). It apparently was misheard as Chup Pet (the river of the sun), and so the Japanese called it ‘the river of the morning sun’, or ‘Asahikawa’.
We arrived in Asahikawa’s main station at around 2:35pm as scheduled. What we didn’t expect was the heavy snow raining on the city; the cold white piles outside contrasted with the warm wooden interior of the station. On map, the museum would have been reachable on foot… maybe in the summer. We had planned to walk all the way there, looking around the town, maybe making a few stops at food or drink stalls. But right now it’s nearly impossible, so we stuffed our suitcases into two lockers and then hopped into a taxi waiting in front of the station.
The driver was a cheerful old man who drove insanely (but he seemed to be sure-fire about how to slide through the snow so we just trusted him) and did not hold back from cursing (cheerfully) in front of us. He asked us things, and although his local dialect made it rather hard for us to actually understand what he said, we managed to keep a conversation with him. For instance, he told us how in two more months, the snow will be far higher than it was today in the town. He was so nice; not only he would give explanation about what we saw along the journey to the destination and back, he also called the museum to ensure it’s still open.
‘To the destination and back’? Yep, because when we told him we’re going back to the station after visiting the museum, he said to us he’d wait. “It’s difficult to find taxis or buses back to the station.” We somehow knew he was right, and we figured even when he kept the meter running, we would only pay about 1,000 yen more or so (later it turned out we only needed to pay 400 yen more). Saying “onegaishimasu”, we got off his taxi and entered the Hokuchin Memorial Museum (Hokuchin Kinenkan), whose red-brick colour made it stand out among the snow.
The story of the museum started when in 1962 when vice commander of the 2nd Division of the Japanese Ground Self-Defense Force (JGSDF) at that time, Wada Moriya, accepted a military sword that was used by a Cossack cavalryman during the Russo-Japanese war. The 2nd Division of the JGSDF was formed after the 7th Division of the Imperial Japanese Army was dissolved, taking over their responsibilities to guard Hokkaido as well as their nickname, the Hokuchin. (Hokuchin can mean ‘Pacifiers of the North’, but it’s more often translated as ‘Defenders of the North’.)
Wada was concerned that mementos like the sword would disappear, so he suggested the establishment of a memorial hall. The first memorial hall of the Hokuchin was then opened in August 1963. In October 1964, a Showa-era stable owned by the then Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry was relocated to Camp Asahikawa. It is this building that now serves as the memorial hall. Although it’s part of Camp Asahikawa, civilians can come into the museum without undergoing check first.
When we entered the building, we were asked to fill the guest book. Not only our name and origin, we’re also supposed to fill in the column about how we found out about the museum. We looked at each other. “Well, Golden Kamuy it is,” I said, writing down the title of the manga in the column.
Some JGSDF soldiers, all smiling, welcomed us. One tried to help us in English, and later looked for us to offer brochures in English. He asked whether we spoke Japanese. We said yes, a bit, and he said “If there’s any question just ask me!”
We proceeded to the first floor, where most of the 2,500 items in possession of the museum were displayed. As soon as we arrived on the stair landings on the first floor, we knew we’d made the right decision to visit the museum. Everywhere we saw were artifacts that bore witness to the history of the 7th Division, from the signed Rising Sun flag to old photographs and books and insignias.
Since the 7th Division began with the tondenhei, we could see not only their uniforms, but also the tools they used to open Hokkaido lands on display. Imagine how hard life must be for them, where they had to farm and survive in a land with a harsh climate so different from what they’d been used to in the south!
And since the Hokuchin made up an important part of the Japanese Army in the Russo-Japanese war, naturally there were uniforms from the era on display. We were especially glad to find the model of Ogata Hyakunosuke’s uniform – the one with three stripes on the arms.
We also found an Arisaka type 38 rifle, one of the rifles Ogata used in Golden Kamuy. (It’s the fourth rifle from the top.)
There were also various swords issued for Japanese imperial soldiers, and we tried to find out which one was the one Koito Otonoshin used.
The following is a soldier’s utility belt, like the one Sugimoto Saichi can be seen wearing.
While looking at these ski boards soldiers used in snowy areas, we couldn’t help thinking about the scene where Noma, Tamai, and Okada slid down a slope with their ski boards.
We can also see photographs of former 7th Division commanders on a wall panel. Noda-sensei used the family names, or even the faces, of some of them for Golden Kamuy characters, for instance Koito Gyouichi and Usami Oki’ie. (Read more about it here.)
Although I was excited to see these artifacts with my own eyes, I couldn’t help but feeling sadness thinking that it’s basically the history of war we’re seeing here. The people who looked so courageous, even smiling in these photographs – did they finally meet their end in a rain of bullets, maybe in the 203 Meter Hill or maybe in the Midway Atoll? Did they go home permanently injured and broken, were they disappointed by how the government treat them after that? Did they persevere and proudly continue their duty of guarding Hokkaido?
These questions swarmed my mind as we finally went back to the ground floor. The JGSDF soldiers thanked us for coming, and I hoped they, and we, would never ever see war. Anyway, the soldiers’ wide smiles somehow felt like those of the “we know something” kind, and we wondered whether they’d read our entry in the guest book.
Since the museum was free but very informative, we felt bad if we didn’t contribute anything, so we went to the small souvenir store of the 2nd Division of JGSDF near the front door. The shopkeeper, curious and kind, conversed with us, wanting to know where we’d come from. It turned out he’d visited our country once, so our conversation turned into comparing the climate of our country and Hokkaido.
We ended up buying a few souvenirs of the 2nd Division’s colourful bear mascots, the Hokuchin rangers. We said goodbye and left the building, to find our taxi guy waiting faithfully. He drove us back to the station, still not losing his spirit even after waiting for almost an hour. The snow was still falling, and save for one bus, we didn’t see any other public transport on the road, not even taxis. We’re glad we took his offer to have him waiting.
He dropped us at the station, and he wished us a safe journey. Too bad we could only spend so little time in Asahikawa. We promised ourselves to return one day to the city to enjoy more of what it has to offer.
We took our suitcases and found that we were on time for an Abashiri-bound train. And off we went, to the town from where the tattooed convicts spread to all over Hokkaido and to Karafuto.
To be continued
Hokuchin Memorial Museum is free of charge; it opens 9am-5pm in April-October and 9:30am-4pm in November-March.
[1]This train is covered by JR Pass and JR Hokkaido Pass.
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