The Last Japanese Family to leave Tashme
by Tak Negoro
When the war broke out in 1942, the Negoro family was living at 1254 Powell Street in Vancouver. Our father was dispatched with other adult males to Gosnell, a road camp on the North Thompson River. Due to a cave-in where a man was killed beside him, he was designated to accompany the body back to Vancouver, thus reuniting our family. In early October 1942, we were all sent to Tashme. When we arrived in Tashme, we were housed in ‘bell tents’, in an open field west of First Avenue. We went to a hall adjacent to the commissary for dinner which was stew on rice. I recall that the meat was not simmered very long, so it was chewy and tough. Globs of fat did not help the appetite either.
People of Tashme will recall the rows of tar-paper shacks with a common water tap located every second duplex on the boulevard, or every fourth house on the avenue. The boulevard duplexes were located across the main road from the avenues of shacks, and situated perpendicular to the shacks on the avenue. Water was carried in pails to their kitchen sinks. Rice was usually washed at the tap. No running water at your kitchen sink meant hauling buckets of water several times a day for all your needs. This was one of the hardships inflicted upon the residents of this camp. Shikataganai. A photo of a typical residence in Tashme shows that between each residential unit there was a connecting structure, roof and cladding of cedar shakes, used primarily for storage of firewood. It is most fortunate that there was never a fire in Tashme, because with the combination of tar paper shacks and cedar clad frame which was like a fuse stretching the length of each roadway, this was a disaster waiting to happen. Each unit, whether on the avenue or the boulevard, had the same floor plan - five rooms consisting of an approximate 10’ X 16’ main living/dining/kitchen, with oil drum stove and a wooden sink, and four bedrooms. The entrance way to the bedrooms were on either side of the partition separating the bedrooms but had no real doors. The BC Security Commission issue blankets served the purpose of providing further privacy. The bedrooms were about eight feet square and two bedrooms were situated on each side of the main room. There were windows in each bedroom and one above the sink in the main room. There was only one entrance, the front door. I would guess that the floor space for each unit was about 416 square feet. Lighting was by kerosene lamps. The glass had to be cleaned of soot every three or four days, first with the kerosene and then washed with soap and water. Later, we had a Coleman lantern; I remember a fragile mantle and having to pump the pressurized fuel tank to give a much brighter and white light.
The toilets were outhouses, as to be expected. They were about six feet square, partitioned into four seating areas, one for each of the four families. Everyone expected exclusivity of their designated ‘seat’. The Negoro’s biffy was located behind the Hinatsu’s unit, our neighbor to the west, about twenty feet away from the duplex. Now that I think of it, if the water supply was near you, you had to go further away to the ‘john’. The winter of 1942-43 was brutal, particularly for those who were unprepared, which was practically all of us. The snow started to fly by late October/early November. We were on 5th Avenue at the time, sharing a unit with another family before we got our own on the boulevard. I recall the freshly cut green firewood being distributed by horse and sled. This firewood was useless, as it sputtered and hissed in the stove, generating no heat. A snowfall of about 10 inches deep got into our gumboots so our socks and feet were wet and cold. The clothing we brought was inadequate. The bath houses were north of the avenues, so we had to trek about a quarter of a mile in the snow with a flashlight to guide our way. The Japanese custom for a bath was to wash yourself first, rinse, then soak in the hot water to relax. Well, by the time we got back to our house, we were cold and shivering so the benefits of the hot tub were for nought. I felt for the elderly. Kuroshita.
In a community of about 2500 people, how does one keep the populace informed of the directives from the BCSC or other important news? There was no radio as they were banned and confiscated due to security concerns. There was no printed media. So the elders of Tashme relied on the ‘kairan ban’, literally translated as a circulating bulletin board. A wooden board, usually with a one page notice printed in Japanese, was relayed from door to door, with a sense of urgency. Since someone was usually at home, it was an efficient means of relaying information.
People who worked in Tashme were paid something like 34 cents an hour. The Commission store and meat market charged for the goods they sold, but generated no profits. It was self sufficient on a bare bones basis. It was on this point, I believe, that my father convinced the ‘powers that be’ to set up a miso/shoyu factory that would generate revenue by exporting staples to other camps. They agreed and allowed him to set up shop in a building across from First Avenue. They gave him virtual ‘carte blanche’ to requisition manpower, supplies, tools, etc. He had a staff of about five or six men, his right hand man being Mr. Shibuya. A key person on his staff was a finishing carpenter. They proceeded to fit out the building with their needs: an oven to roast the grain, a steam room to cultivate spores, large fermentation vats, and a deck about four feet off the floor to facilitate mixing with a long hoe like mixing paddle. The products of the factory were sold at the commissary and shipped to other camps such as Kaslo, Slocan, New Denver, and others. Even though he had management/supervisory responsibilities, his stipend was the same as his men.
Early in the spring of 1943, I noticed some residents digging under their units to create a basement, presumably to increase storage space. I took a shovel and started digging behind our house. My father joined in and we earnestly excavated until we had a full basement under our house. His process was to sift the diggings so that the soil was deposited in the back for a garden (which every family in Tashme seemed to have) and the tailings were wheeled to the banks of the Sumallo Creek, just beyond our garden. The entrance to the basement was some ten feet wide to ease access. With the use of ‘house jacks’ to support the floor, and the lumber from the factory, he shored the walls to prevent cave-ins. The floor of the basement remained as dirt which served as a root cellar for ‘hard vegetables’ like potatoes, turnips, carrots which were grown in the garden. The digging reached the pipes for the water supply in the corner adjacent to our house, so father tapped in above the shut off valve and extended the piping to the kitchen sink. We then had running water in our kitchen.
Simultaneously he renovated our living quarters. The partition between the back bedroom and the living room was dismantled and opened up to become a separate kitchen. He added a kitchen counter, and moved the sink to below the previous bedroom window. This is where the piped water came in. He also altered the front bedroom by building a loft against the partition wall for a bed for my brother and me. Hence we had play space below the loft to keep out of the way while our parents were busy, and a space for our studies. This space was also fitted with built in benches and storage space underneath them which were enclosed by sliding panel doors. Cedar was a handy and workable material.
Then my father proceeded to add a Japanese furo with large stones from the creek bank and concrete. He built a fire box, and with the help of his friend the carpenter, assembled the wooden tub above it. Piping was extended for the water supply. A doorway was cut in the back of the house for access to the furo. The house was eventually extended to enclose this bath area, with another back door for easier access to the ‘john’. We had a small bath stool made by our carpenter friend to sit on while we washed ourselves. One cannot really appreciate the convenience of having a furo to warm up with before going to bed, unless they experienced the alternative. So why were the Negoros the last family to leave Tashme? My father got together with a group of entrepreneurial Japanese Canadians, including Mr. Steve Sasaki, a Judo fifth black belt sensei, Mr. Arthur Nishiguchi, Mr. Magojiro Nishiguchi, and Mr. Suzumoto. They planned to set up a shoyu/miso factory in Ashcroft where these men resided. The group had purchased the raw inventory left over from the Tashme factory which was decommissioned about the time the ‘repats’ were sent to the port of Vancouver for transfer to Japan in 1946. We were in the process of filling large barrels with soya beans when the RCMP and administrators vacated in the fall of 1946. My father did not sign up to go to Japan, so we were the last ones left to fend for ourselves. Mr. Arthur Nishiguchi had a one-ton boxed trunk which he drove in with Mr. Sasaki, son Kiichi Nishiguchi and nephew, Kaichi Nishiguchi. We loaded up the truck along with our meagre household effects and with mom, Mr. Sasaki, my sisters Emi and Shigemi in the front seat, the rest of us with dad holding Kazumi, rode the tailgate, making our way slowly down to Hope. This would have been around the 4th or 5th of November 1946, a few days before my twelfth birthday. From Hope, we caught the train to Ashcroft.
This is an excerpt from a longer story entitled ‘The Last Japanese Family to leave Tashme’. Takashi (Tak) Negoro, P. Eng. is the retired Vice President of BCTV and recipient of the Gold Ribbon Award for Engineering Achievement conferred by the Canadian Association of Broadcasters. One of our nisei who overcame the tribulations of the evacuation and postwar readjustment to achieve industry recognition.