This is part six of Mama Asia, a long-form journalism series in which Sally Sara meets 12 inspirational Asian women.

By 1945, even the children living in the Japanese city of Hiroshima knew an attack was coming. No-one had any idea how devastating it would be but they were bracing for it. Fourteen-year-old Tomiko Matsumoto and her younger brothers wore their clothes to bed, rather than pyjamas, because there were so many air raid sirens at night.

During the day, the children were forced into work gangs, demolishing wooden houses in the city centre, to make fire breaks in case of a bombing. The plan was to stop the entire city catching on fire if it were hit by an airstrike. Japanese soldiers stood guard as the children used their hands to tear down the houses. Tomiko and her friends were terrified that Americans would invade their city.

"Our teacher at elementary school said Americans are like demons, shiny hair and tall noses and blue eyes, exactly like a demon. So we were so scared. We were trained with bamboo spear. We were told 'if the airplane appears, the enemy will come down with parachute, then it is your turn to kill with bamboo'. We were trained for that.

"They said 'rather than be raped by American soldiers, kill yourself. Suicide is better.' Everybody believed that.

"Every day I was shivering with fear because I could hear the sound of airplanes. Other cities had been attacked and destroyed. I thought, next time, maybe it is my city."

As the children demolished the houses, mothers of soldiers being sent to war stood on street corners. They asked passers-by to each make a single stitch with red thread on a white sash for their son, believing it was good luck.

"When a family had a call that their son or husband was being shipped away in the army, they would ask the people, I need one stitch from you. They would need to gather 1,000 stitches. I did that many times.

"Everywhere when we went out in the downtown area, many women were holding sashes for their sons, asking for one stitch from each person. The sash was used to cover the soldier's stomach when they went into battle, they would wear that. It meant they had 1,000 people's wishes that they would come back alive."

Before the war, Tomiko's family was middle class. Her father owned a mattress factory and her mother was a genteel woman who wore beautiful kimonos. Tomiko was taught traditional Japanese manners. If she were offered a cushion, she would politely decline and sit next to it on the floor and offer it to someone else.

As Japan entered the war, the kimonos, tea parties and cushions at Tomiko's family home started to disappear. Expensive fabric was sold off to buy food. Kimonos were cut up to make blouses and pants for work. Rice was in short supply, along with sugar, flour and fruit. It wasn't until years after the war that bananas would return to Hiroshima.

"All the beautiful things disappeared. We were exhausted. I was thin. We were hungry."

Tomiko remembers members of her family talking about the war. They knew that Japan would be defeated. In public, people were patriotic and obedient, but at home there was a sense of inevitability. American forces were moving closer and closer, across the Pacific.

"When America won Okinawa, the fear became concrete solid. We thought we would be defeated. We were desperate. Hiroshima had not yet been bombed but other major cities had been completely destroyed.

"I did think something was wrong but I wasn't allowed to say that Japan might lose the war. It was prohibited."

On the morning of August 6, Tomiko was running late for school. The air raid sirens had gone off during the night and again after sunrise. When the all-clear was given, Tomiko started her usual walk from home to school. Just before 8am, she walked past the Aioi bridge. It was a bright, sunny morning. Tomiko remembers the sky was blue and clear.

The mushroom cloud from the Hiroshima atomic bombing splits in two. ( AFP: Honkawa Elementary School )

Just before 8.15am Tomiko arrived at her school, Minami Takeya-cho. Her classmates were already lined up outside for assembly. Then everything changed, as if the world stopped. The atomic bomb exploded above Hiroshima, only 1,800 metres from where Tomiko was standing.

"I was in the midst of the bright, bright light. I felt as if the sun dropped on me. Then the blast, strong blast attacked me. I found myself under the rubble of the school. I was not sure how long I was unconscious.

"I was in the darkness, I couldn't see anything. No-one was there. No teacher, no student at all. No-one. I was worried because I was the only one still alive. About 320 girls were on the playground and 10 teachers but there was nobody, they just disappeared and left me in the darkness. It was very quiet, no sound, no-one.

"I shouted, cried, called my friends' names and teachers' names. But there was no sound, just silence was around me. I was insane, going crazy. I couldn't understand the reason why it was like this, what happened. I couldn't imagine anything. I wanted to find somebody and ask what happened.

"In the dim light, I could see all the houses were all crashed down. Not burning yet - just crashed down houses. I wanted to go home. I tried to find the road but all the roads disappeared.

"I walked toward Hijiama Hill. I could hear people were moaning under the rubble, 'help me'. That is the thing I heard for the first time.

"It was getting lighter and I could see around myself. I could see the wounded people, the burnt hair people, the severe burns. Their skin was peeling off and hanging down. They were gathering there, by the bridge. For the first time I wondered what I looked like. When I saw the others I thought, 'how about me?'

"My skin was peeling off and hanging down from my neck and then my clothes, my back was burnt and the clothes were just tattered and hanging down. The skin on both legs was peeling off. You can imagine as if socks were inside out and open. My leg was like that, all the skin on my legs was peeling off and hanging down. Pieces of glass were speared into my head. For the first time I looked at my wounds and I became sick, vomiting. At the same time, I felt so thirsty. I wanted to get water, trying to find water, but there was none.

"Then I sat down on the ground and I couldn't move for a while. I was just sitting and I saw the burnt people jumping into the river. I really wanted to jump into the river because the sun was so hot the burning skin ached a lot. But I was not brave enough to do so. Finally I made up my mind to escape to Hijiama Hill.

"I saw many refugees crossing the bridge, like me all of their skin was peeling off. It was so heavy for them, they were walking with holding their arms like this, their skin was hanging down. There were dead bodies and dying people floating on the river. I saw them, they were floating.

"I thought if I could go up to the top of the hill, I could see the whole city and the direction of my house. But only halfway up I couldn't see the whole city. I just sat down. I just sat down desperately. Then in the afternoon a military truck finally came and took the wounded people in the truck. I was taken by a soldier and he put me in the truck. We were cargo. We were not treated as human beings. We were jammed together, too many wounded people in the small truck.

"I was taken to a small town, Fujijo. The school was used as the first aid station. I was taken to a small classroom. There was a straw carpet on the floor. In that small town there were not enough people to help and take care of us. Nobody appeared, they just let us lie down on the straw carpet, we just waited.

"I met some of my classmates and one teacher there. I heard their voices and we embraced each other. My classmates had been facing the blast. Because of that, all of their faces were burnt and their hair was burnt and their chest. Their skin was a reddish, black colour and swollen.

"My friends envied me because I had the flash from the back and my face was okay. I said, I had strong flash from back, I asked them to look at my back, because I didn't know how it was. Then my friends said it was very severe, and we comforted each other.

We were lying and talking to each other and wondering how long we could survive. But, gradually they became quiet. By the next morning I was the only one alive; all my other classmates died.

"We were lying and talking to each other and wondering how long we could survive. But gradually they became quiet. By the next morning I was the only one alive, all my other classmates died.

"Each time somebody died, they carried the person on the straw mat out of the room and took them to the centre of the playground and cremated them. They put a bunch of the dead bodies together and then they were continuously cremating.

"I couldn't move, I was very seriously wounded. I do not remember how many days passed. But the room was full of a bad smell, mingling with the cremating smell and maggots appeared. Everywhere people were vomiting. It was so, so bad. Incredible.

"The maggots were walking on my burns. I could not move at all. I didn't have any energy to chase them away. I don't remember how many days passed. Then people died every day and every moment the room became a bit empty because of the dead.

Two brothers who survived the atomic bombing by the US army on Nagasaki, Japan in 1945. ( AFP )

"One person came to me, a man, and for the first time he took maggots away for me. Until that time, I didn't have anything to eat. He brought wine. 'Wine will encourage you and give you energy,' he said. Red wine.

"I was all naked and he bought a cotton kimono and covered my body. He said, 'if there is any place to contact your relative, I will contact them'. I gave him my address, my home address. I said 'please find my parents, tell them I am here'. He said 'Hiroshima was completely burned out and demolished and people cannot enter the city'. So he thought my house was already destroyed.

"I thought, what will I do? I became so desperate. I had no hope.

"The next day the man appeared. He said 'even if your house in the city was destroyed, don't you have any relatives in the suburbs?' I gave him my relatives' address in Tomo, Tomo is far away. There was a big distance. He was very kind but I thought maybe he can't find my relatives. He was so kind.

"He came with his bicycle. I couldn't move at all I was so badly wounded. He found some wood, put it on the bicycle and put me on it and tied it with rope. He walked the bicycle to his house. My aunt had a rickshaw and then I was put on that.

"People were so happy that I had survived. 'Welcome home,' they said. But my uncle's place was already full of other wounded relatives and they had already used all the bandages and medicine. I was the last person and there was no medicine and no bandage at all.

"After I arrived at my uncle's, the acute symptoms of radiation appeared. I had diarrhoea and vomiting and bleeding from my gums and nose. People were wondering but at that time we didn't know about the radiation. By the end of August, everybody knew the symptoms were caused by what they called the special bomb.

"I had been wondering where were my brothers and my mother and father. Nobody appeared. Nobody told me about them. I was wondering what happened to them. Finally I asked where my brothers and my parents were.

"My grandmother brought a rice cake box and she opened it and showed me inside the box there were the ashes and bones of my mother and youngest brother, the three-year-old. The other five-year-old brother was missing. My father stayed in Hiroshima city and tried to find out what happened to me and my five-year-old brother.

"I didn't cry, no tears. Because I was shocked, there was nothing I could think. I couldn't believe, even though my grandmother said my mother passed away and these were the bones. I couldn't believe it at all. I was so desperate. I thought I could not live without my mother, there was no hope. I didn't want to believe it for a long, long time.

"At the beginning of September, my father finally came to my uncle's house. He had been walking too much in the city. He got full of radiation. When he finally reached home, he showed the typical nuclear after-effect symptoms. He started to vomit and diarrhoea, the same as me. We lay in the bed together. My symptoms went all the way to the tip of my fingers, including nails were burnt. My nails became dry and dark and black and fell off. The keloids [a type of scars] appeared on my flesh. The symptoms of the two of us were the same.

"Until I heard my father's voice, I was thinking not only my mother was dead, my father must also be dead. So, hearing his voice I was so happy. My father was alive. He said, 'You are still alive, I tried to find you for so many days. Finally I've found you. I'm so happy you are still alive.'

"At that time I didn't know Japan had surrendered. Nobody told me about that. He said there will be no war from now on. 'We will have peace, your grandmother and you and I, the three of us will live together in peace.' He encouraged me and said I must take care of myself and my wounds will get better. He said the three of us can help each other and survive and live. He said, 'Let's live together strongly'. He encouraged me.

"In November, father started getting well and we moved back to Hiroshima city. I couldn't walk. I was on a carriage. I lost my voice. Because it was very far from the uncle's house, I saw the whole city was demolished. I could see the inland sea and islands. I couldn't say anything because of shock.

"We entered the city and it was all burnt and demolished. We needed to make a house to live in. My father and uncle got some pieces of wood and iron and made a small house, exactly on the site of where our house had been before. It was only one room, with a closet. The kitchen was outside.

"We could scarcely live. After building the house, my father became sick. The after-effects appeared so badly. After that he stayed in bed and couldn't get up. Grandmother took care of my father and my burnt skin gradually recovered. But father became worse and worse. He couldn't eat at all but still had diarrhoea and vomiting. Under the skin he had spots and bleeding. There were purple spots on the skin - the typical effects of radiation.

"My father said, 'I want to die, I want to die.' I said, 'If you say such a sad thing, I want to die with you too. Please remember that I am still with you. Don't say that.' Really the family wanted to take him to the doctor but we had no money.

"There was a rumour that Hiroshima would have no plants at all for 75 years. But at the end of the year we saw some weeds growing. So my grandmother dried the weeds and boiled them and she made them into tea. She told my father it was medicine from the doctor and told him if he drank it he would be getting well. Every day we gave him boiled weeds tea. It was the only thing we could do.

"In 1946 I started to go to school again. I lost my hair, so I wore a cap and a straw hat. I didn't have any clothing, so my relatives gave me a blouse and some pants. I had wooden Japanese sandals, no proper shoes.

"I went to school and then coming home I would gather iron and metal and sell it to get small money. Every day was so hard, harder than before the bombing.

"There were only two classes, 80 students. There were around 30 survivors, all of us had scars and burns. Many had fingers stuck together and their faces had severe keloids. Every day I felt very lethargic. One by one, they died."

There was no proper medical care for the survivors of the atomic bomb in Hiroshima. Many who survived the initial blast were struck down by infections, malnutrition and radiation sickness.

In 1946, US president Harry Truman ordered the establishment of the Atomic Bomb Casualty Commission (ABCC) in Hiroshima, to monitor the health of the victims. It was built on Hijiyama Hill, the same hill where Tomiko had fled on the day of the bombing. The ABCC was set up for scientific research, not medical care. The researchers studied rather than treated the victims.

"Once every month the American jeep came to my school and around four students were taken to the ABCC. They looked at me like a guinea pig. I was furious because they took photographs of my keloids everywhere, they took blood, but they didn't do anything. They just looked and took photos, that's all. I had hatred for that.

"The first time I saw an American soldier was when I was at my uncle's place. People were saying American soldiers were around. We thought women might be raped, so all the women would disappear. But I couldn't move. I was so scared the first time. The second time was hatred and anger. I really wanted to throw stones at them.

"I went to ABCC but there was no invitation for my father; the target was schoolgirls. My father was just in our small house. Every day he said he wanted to die, from morning until the end. In 1948, I found my father dead; he committed suicide.

"My grandmother and I ... we were shocked so much. I thought, why did he kill himself without me? I said, 'Why didn't you take me with you? I wanted to die with you.' Every day after that, I wanted to die. But I thought of my grandmother. We were so miserable, I could not do such a horrible thing and leave my grandmother.

"My grandmother and I had a hard time to live. That was in 1950. After I graduated from school, I tried to find work. But I had severe keloid scars and tried to hide them. Even in hot summer, to hide my keloids I had to wear long sleeves and try to hide as much as possible. I visited many places to find work but there was no work for survivors. I couldn't find any job.

"I finally found a job in 1952 in a cake shop. I was so happy. But about six months later, all of a sudden, I vomited blood in the shop. I was taken to the hospital and they found I had a stomach ulcer. I had an operation and a blood transfusion. The blood gave me hepatitis. I thought I would die soon, I would be released, I thought. I was so desperate. But my grandmother said 'don't say that, I am with you'. She took care of me, all of that time.

"In 1955, my grandmother died. She was 78 years old. She became weaker and passed away. After my grandmother passed away I couldn't go out of the house. I lived alone. That was the most miserable time - no work, my relatives delivered food sometimes, I got up in the morning and listened to the radio. I would not step out of the house. I would listen to the radio and read books. Relatives would visit me from time to time."

Tomiko was one of the thousands of 'hibakusha' or survivors of the bomb. It's a Japanese word that means people affected by explosion. The hibakusha were recognised by the government and given special concessions for health care but they were often shunned by other residents of Hiroshima.

"There were so many different kinds of discrimination. People said that girls who survived the bomb shouldn't get married. Also they refused to hire the survivors, not only because of the scars, but because they were so weak. Survivors did not have 100 per cent energy.

"There was a survivor's certificate and medical treatment was free. But the other people were jealous. Jealous people, mentally discriminated. So, I didn't want to show the health book sometimes, so I paid. Some of the people, even though they had the health book, were afraid of discrimination, so they didn't even apply for the health book. They thought discrimination was worse than paying for health care.

"I was shocked because I was discriminated against by Hiroshima people. We lived together in the same place and Hiroshima people know what happened but they discriminated against each other. I was shocked.

"Always I tried to hide my burns and tried to sit in the corner of the public baths. Always I was so conscious of my body. I thought I could hide my scars but some people saw me. I was banned by the owner of the bath so I stopped going there and boiled water at home and washed my body at home. That was one of the reasons I tried not to go out so often. It was such miserable feeling."

But there was one visitor who brought some hope. His name was Toshimi. He was small, fit and tanned - a former baseball coach at Tomiko's school. Toshimi was also a hibakusha. He was on a street car in central Hiroshima when the bomb went off and suffered severe burns from the molten metal. But he was handsome and full of life. His burns were hidden under his clothes.

"All the girls adored him. I was one of them but I was not brave enough to ask him for a date. Baseball players were stars at that time, especially representative players. Secretly I was thinking 'I like him'.

"He said if I stayed in the house alone it was no good for my health and my mental health.

"I didn't think in the future we would get married, he was just a friend. It took two years before I made up my mind to get married. One day he took me to visit his family. I saw such a big family. He had two brothers and two sisters and his parents were so warm. It was like a dream. I thought I wanted to be a member of this big family. I adored the family. After the visit, I thought if he asks me to marry him, I would like to say yes."

Tomiko and Toshimi were married in March 1955.

"We had a wedding ceremony in my husband's house. My husband's relatives gathered, it was not like a wedding reception, just a gathering, not a gorgeous one. Japanese girls usually prepare a lot of items but there was nothing to take with me for the wedding. I only had a Japanese wrapping cloth with my clothes. I took that with me. Nothing else, no furniture. There was no honeymoon. The next day I started to work with my husband's family, gathering seaweed.

"Some of the relatives thought it was a double problem to have two survivors together. The relatives were worried about my health. But every day was so busy and I didn't have enough time to complain. From early in the morning until late in the evening, I worked and worked. Work was hard but I was happy. There was no time to grieve for past miserable days. I forgot while I was working, in that sense I was happy. Everything was new, I was a little bit excited.

"Two years later I had a baby. I have two daughters and they are fine. We had a big fear about having children. I had two daughters but those two daughters, even though being married, they have not been able to have children, both of them. One had severe anaemia. The doctor says they don't think there is any relationship between that and the radiation. It is something we worry about. We have a fear, even now."

For more than 50 years after the atomic bombing, Tomiko lived a shy and dutiful life. She was still deeply self-conscious about the burn scars on her body.

"I tried not to take somebody else's attention. Everywhere I went, for example taking a streetcar, I would try to sit down in the corner and not be seen by others. It was a habit for a long time. In a way, I was timid and afraid of the eyes of others. I tried to hide my burns.

"After I got married, and because of my husband's family it did help. But I was very obedient, almost never said no, always when they said to do something, I said yes. I hate quarrelling. I tried to believe in other people, even if they were telling a lie.

"In those days my hair was long and I always thought somebody might see my burns. I always was afraid of the eyes of others. Now I have short hair but still I never wear very short sleeves. Deep in my heart, I feel inferior about my body. As much as possible, I try to hide my body. Maybe my husband has seen my scars accidentally but as much as possible I want to hide."

Tomiko's personal story was hidden too. She quietly mourned her family for decades but spoke little about the loss. Every August 6 was a painful day. She still thought of her five-year-old brother who was never found after the bombing. She wondered what happened to him. Was he killed straight away? Was he alone? Was he frightened? Did he die of sickness after the blast?

In 1998, Tomiko told her story in public for the first time. She was so nervous she was trembling. A group of schoolchildren sat in silence as she gently spoke of her unimaginable experience after the bombing. A friend, and fellow hibakusha, told Tomiko she had a duty to share the truth. It was life-changing.

"Telling my story to the students, this is my life now. It is very meaningful. I am a kind of representative of the dead. I have a kind of responsibility.

"When I recall my dead family members, I think they will be happy seeing me and they are always watching me. So life has both sides, they encouraged me. That is the reason why I started to tell my story to the school excursion students. Let them convey my feeling that this is the way to think about Japan's future about how Japan should walk.

"I feel so sorry for the dead people. They passed. Every time I recall them, I have a responsibility to tell their grief, their strong feelings against war. Through me, I need to tell as many people as possible.

"Every day so many times I think, why do human beings not pay attention about how precious life is? Every day until now, so many years, I have been thinking and I cannot understand. I can't believe some of the people. Human beings are so greedy and think about only themselves and their desires. They are so greedy.

"I do not have a hatred toward American people. But still I want the leader of America to say sorry and it was wrong to drop the bomb. I want them to apologise. What I really want to have, I want to work with them for peace. I want to persuade them and tell them how to change their mind. I do not have a feeling of revenge or hatred. I have a fear that some Japanese leaders didn't learn from the past. They might want war again. I am worrying very much.

"Even though I tell my story, nobody can really understand my fear, my sorrow and my experience. So some of them think it is better to keep silent. They have a dream, they want to tell, but there is no way. They cannot forget. It is a dilemma everybody has.

"Each survivor's feelings are very complicated. They want to forget those days but they can't. I recall those days and for instance, when I eat some sweets I recall my classmates, how much they wanted to eat something sweet. How badly they wanted to eat such a thing. It is sometimes hard for me to eat sweets, when I am recalling them. That happens always, even now.

"Everybody says fireworks are beautiful but I do not like to see them. Fireworks, the flash instantly switches my mind to the flash of the bomb and the smell, the burning smell, I recall those days instantly. I do not like fireworks.

"During the war, sometimes we had to get out of the house immediately because of air raids. Even now, every night I carefully fold my clothes to wear by the bedside. Always the clothes are ready, so whatever might happen, I am ready, I can get out of the house. It is a habit I have been keeping for a long time.

"Before I started telling my story, I felt like I had a heavy burden on my back - very heavy and a feeling of pressure. But more and more as I talked the burden became lighter and lighter. Children give me the power to continue this work.

"I want to hand it down to the younger generations, so they will create world peace after hearing my story. My painful experience is a kind of power. Let them understand the misery of war. It is their turn to do something for the world. I pray for that. My dream is a peaceful world."

Sally Sara is an award-winning ABC journalist who has reported from more than 30 countries, including Afghanistan, Iraq, Sierra Leone and Zimbabwe.

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