On Monday morning, December eighth, Japan time [1941], Miss Denton went to school as usual. It has not been possible to learn from whom she heard the heartbreaking news of the attack upon Pearl Harbor. She returned to her old home at the rear of the campus, went directly to Mrs. Hoshina and sat for a long, long time, holding her hand and saying nothing. She never again set foot in her beloved Doshisha though the life of the school still flowed past her house. "I can never live through another war," she who had passed through three had so often said. Now she must.

Denton house became a strangely silent place, since the police discouraged all visitors. Mrs. Hoshina had moved over from her quarters in the rear in order to take better care of Miss Denton. One day Miss Denton called her and said: "From now on Japan will have to suffer more than you can imagine. Let us send our cook and maid away and we two will live together as simply as possible. Mrs. Hoshina writes:

Miss Denton seldom left her room now. The walls were covered with the photographs of her friends to whom she constantly referred as "my darling Bertha", "my beautiful Kate", "my dearest Helen.” There was her beloved Viscountess Uchida, the former Dogura Masu, graduate both of Doshisha and Bryn Mawr. . .

With her eyes open Miss Denton had cast her vote to remain, and had no intention of returning to her homeland. Nevertheless in August 1942, an order came for her return on the first Gripsholm. Rev. Suemitsu Nobuzo [Mrs. Hoshino’s brother and Dean of Doshisha Girls’ High School] gives the following graphic account of those tense days from his diary:

. . . Miss Denton, who was never easy in extemporaneous speech, wrote out her farewell to her Japanese friends, to be read the next day. A roughly scrawled version of this was found among her papers:

Dean Suemitsu now continues the story:

. . . Meanwhile her hosts of friends in America were eagerly awaiting some word from her, or hoping she might come on the Gripsholm. But she was not on the ship nor was there any message from her. The author finally wrote to Ambassador Grew [U.S. Ambassador to Japan, 1932-1942] who was among those returning on this first trip of the Gripsholm, asking if he had heard anything at all of or from her. He had heard nothing of any Americans outside the Embassy, he replied courteously, but his reference to Miss Denton delighted her friends. He wrote: "As to Miss Denton, I regard her position in Japan as somewhat like that of the pyramids in Egypt; no possible harm could come to her there."

President Makino had increasing opportunities to use his tact, not only with the Mombusho [Ministry of Education], which wished to cut out the words " Christianity " and " Christian President " from the Doshisha Constitution. The Navy also wished to take over the Doshisha buildings on the Iwakura campus, but in spite of "many, many bitter experiences", the Doshisha came through almost un-touched. The radiators and central heating system in Fowler Chapel were left intact while they were torn out of many schools for the sake of the metal. And the precious pipe organ retained not only every pipe, but the motor as well.

On Christmas Day 1942 a good Christmas program was given at the Chapel. The programs, oddly enough, were mimeographed in English, but the paper shortage was already evident. They were mimeographed on the backs of old notices! Even when most of the girls had been taken from the schools for war work, some were always allowed to return for these annual Christmas programs.

It was a strange and lonely life for Miss Denton who had heretofore lived in the midst of her friends and acquaintances. There were no world travelers to whet her conversation and the police were increasingly strict about Japanese callers. Mr. Araki was happy to have had a hand in the unfreezing of Miss Denton's small funds and personally looked after her affairs till the close of the war. He supplied her with many necessities and occasional luxuries.

. . .Though Miss Denton was not allowed to see many guests she did get letters and many small gifts found their way to her. . . Three letters written in May of the same year, 1943, tell the same story of the loving thought of her many friends. The manager of the Fujiya Hotel writes:

Miss Denton's old colleague and friend, Dr. Nakaseko, vas now retired and she liked to see him often and discussed many things with him. He was invited twice a week to dinner. In the early part of the war she followed the progress of the Japanese army with he greatest interest. She asked him to call her even at midnight, if Singapore fell. After Singapore, it was Stalingrad [1942]. It was not long, however, before they began to have difficulty in finding harmless topics of conversation. Both found themselves blocked by the war. Her old friend felt completely stale through the lack of the books and journals he had been accustomed to receive from all parts of the world, and Miss Denton was in the same situation. Moreover she was torn by a double allegiance [sic]. Some report that she knew from the first that the allies would win; others, that it was of a Japanese success she always spoke. It was that ambiguous "we"! She was growing too old to distinguish between her two loyalties, and " we " stood either for Japan or America, at times even for both.

Dr. Nakaseko continued to come but he had little new of which to talk. The members of his former classes had been drafted for factory work and life was narrowing into very small compass. Gradually their conversation became limited to two main subjects; the number of divorces in a well-known American family and the invention of a medicine to conceal the bad breathe of a smoker.... She was insistent that her friend invent something of the kind and once gave him an article on a substitute for tobacco, or worse narcotic. He was grateful for this, for he was collecting material on tobacco.

But as the war advanced food became scarcer and scarcer, and poor Mrs. Hoshina found it increasingly difficult to feed the extra guest. Alumni and friends always brought her food when they could, but this old colleague had nothing left at last but figs, to bring, and their season finally ended. Then he decided to stop his visits, wrote his daughter. She continues:

It became harder and harder for visitors to pass the cordon of guards. The American wife of a Japanese physician occasionally came to Kyoto and would at that time call upon Miss Denton, always bringing her something in the way of food. She found one day an I unusually erect and well-groomed guard at the gate who would not allow her parcel of food to go in before it was inspected. She was told later that he was a special guard ordered by the Imperial Household to take special precautions for Miss Denton's safety. As the situation grew more acute there was fear that she might be harmed, so everything must be examined.

There was little to mark the passage of time, and day followed day in the same pattern. Each morning after the breakfast grace had been said, Miss Denton would repeat an English version of the Japanese National Anthem:

After breakfast when Mrs. Hoshina had made Miss Denton comfortable, they had their morning worship together. By this time Miss Denton was confined to her bed much of the time. Some of her Japanese friends had at times registered concern as she reached her seventies and still kept up her teaching and her multitudinous activities. It is time for her to be quiet they said; to meditate and pray, before she dies. And now in her late eighties the time had come when there-was little else she could do. These hours of Bible reading and prayer meant much to both. Miss Denton and Mrs. Hoshina. That she was always a devoted reader of the Bible was evinced by the ragged copy on her bedside table, but there had certainly been little time for quiet meditation in her former life.

They read over and over her favorite passages; the Twenty third Psalm; the Ninetieth; the first chapter of James; the second chapter of Philippians, and especially the eighth verse of the fourth chapter:

There was the twelfth chapter of Romans, and the thirteen chapter of First Corinthians to be read again and again. And daily they read from the Book of Common Prayer, the Petition for the Unity of God's People:

They continued with the prayer, "In Time of War and Tumult." When they came to the petition, "Save and deliver us, we humbly beseech thee, from the hands of our enemies," it is doubtful whether Miss Denton herself had any clear idea of whom she meant. Neither Japan nor the Unites States of America were her enemies!

In December of 1943 the Red Cross made a great effort to get cablegrams through from Americans in custody in Japan to friends and relatives outside. This in itself made the Christmas of 1943 a little more cheerful. Miss Denton sent a number of messages and some, not all, arrived at their destination. Copies of these are in the Doshisha files, and all express much e same thing. That to her sister Joey, In Santa Monica, reads; "Love to all family everywhere words can never tell care and kindness received hourly from President Makino and all Doshisha Florence". That to Bertha Bosbyshell of South Pasadena: "Grateful love your family church Burnett Board Nichols healthy words can never tell care kindness President Makino all Doshisha." . . .

By the autumn of 1944 Japanese shipping had taken an awful beating and food continued to grow even scarcer. Those who had been most optimistic were worried. Meanwhile a few of Miss Denton's friends were still faithfully visiting her, among them President and Mrs. Makino, and Mrs. Hoshina's brother, Dean Suemitsu of the Girls' High school. . . Some of Miss Denton's friends, however, who had been most attentive till the day war started, never appeared again till the day of the surrender! They too had been warned by the police and thought it wiser to obey. Others who tried to come were turned away by the police.

Until the summer of 1944 Mrs. Hoshina herself had tended the garden, often working late into the night because of the constant calls of Miss Denton during the daylight hours. She hated to be left alone and if Mrs. Hoshina was out of her sight for more than five minutes, there would come the reiterated call, "Mrs. Hoshina, o-o-oh Mrs. Hoshina! Mrs. Hoshina, o-o-oh Mrs. Hoshina!" Conditions grew worse and worse; many men sent their wives and children into the country that they might get more to eat. Professor Nakamura Mitsugi of the Women's College, had a small place some miles from Otsu on Lake Biwa where his wife and two children went to live. He needed a room in Kyoto and Dean Katagiri suggested that he go to Denton House. Miss Denton was failing rapidly, there was no man on the place and it did not seem wise to leave her and Mrs. Hoshina alone there longer.

So Professor Nakamura moved in. He took his meals at the Girls' Dormitory dining room, only a few feet separated from Miss Denton's home. In the evenings a tray was sent in to him from the dining room and he ate with Miss Denton, freeing Mrs. Hoshina for the only hour of the day when she could work without Interruption. This book owes much of the following material to his vivid stories. From this autumn of 1944 he took over the garden, with Mrs. Hoshina's help. Though school was technically in session, Professor Nakamura's actual teaching load was light since most of the girls had been ordered out to work in various factories and plants and were sometimes absent for months at a time. Seeds were hard to get but Miss Denton's friends rallied round and found many things for her garden. It was greatly expanded and from the spring of 1945 they never lacked for fresh vegetables.

They raised tomatoes and cucumbers; potatoes, both Irish and sweet; pumpkins [sic], squash, egg-plant, peas, beans, and cabbage; there were carrots, lettuce, radishes, soy beans and even a little wheat for the chickens. It kept them busy furnishing green stuff for the five or six chickens, but there were usually a few eggs. It was practically impossible at this time to buy even vegetables in the market. One small Japanese eggplant was the ration for four people! Even onions and sweet potatoes were rationed.

Professor Nakamura spent each weekend with his family on Lake Biwa and returned on Monday morning with two quarts of milk from the country. How Miss Denton loved that milk! She always told him he must not bring any the next time, as she knew he had his family there in the country, to feed, but long before his return she began asking Mrs. Hoshina, "Do you suppose Mr. Nakamura will bring milk today? Has he come yet? Isn't it about time for his return?" She was hungry most of the time and so forgetful that soon after one meal she would begin to think of the next. Mrs. Hoshina would get her more food and she often ate six or seven times in the day, always looking forward [sic] to her next meal. . .

On December eighteenth, 1944 there was an earthquake which did tremendous damage to the heavy Industries of Nagoya. Little or nothing about it was reported abroad, but to thinking Japanese who learned of it, it seemed like the death blow for their country. It was felt in Kyoto, where however, it did no real damage. Professor Nakamura was working in the garden and was not at first conscious of it, till he heard the creaking of the old house and at last realized it was an earthquake. He hurried to the house just in time to see Mrs. Hoshina, through the large north window, throwing herself across Miss Denton's bed to protect her from the possibility of falling glass. Miss Denton told of this again and again to her Japanese friends, to the American teachers when they returned, and to the army friends who gathered around her after the surrender. Each time she ended the story in the same way: "And do you know what will happen when Mrs. Hoshina gets to heaven! All the other angels will just fold up their wings!"

From this time on Miss Denton became increasingly nervous and distressed if Mrs. Hoshina was out of her sight at all. "Mrs. Hoshina, o-o-oh Mrs. Hoshina ", she would begin as usual, and again, "Mrs. Hoshina, o-o-oh Mrs. Hoshina," in a much louder voice. Finally it became a wail, "Mrs. Hoshina! Oh my God! Mrs. Hoshina!! O-O-oh my God!" It was quite alarming to those who heard it for the first time. Occasionally Miss Denton's demands seemed so unreasonable that even Mrs. Hoshina's loving forbearance was overtaxed and she would return to her own barren home for a time to regain her self-control. Miss Denton would then call to Professor Nakamura, "Has anything happened to Mrs. Hoshina, Mr. Nakamura? Where is she? Please go out and find her. Perhaps she is ill!" and he would have to go out and call her back.

The days were becoming more and more a struggle for life against death, and the three in the tiny household were bound together with bonds far closer than friendship, even closer than the usual family ties. Like soldiers on the battlefield they faced death together. It was no longer possible to buy fuel, but Miss Denton was always cold and wanted a fire kept in the great stove in the dining room where her bed stood. They began chopping up old boxes and waste lumber about the place; here an unnecessary gate came down and bit by bit was fed to the stove; there an old bench left its time-honored location on the porch, to feed the ravenous stove. At last they began on the trees; the crepe myrtle and the loquat, the flowering cherries and the larger shrubs, all joined in keeping them warm that winter.

This was the coldest winter in many years. In January of 1945 the water pipes froze, then burst, in Denton House, and there was no way of getting them mended. The plumbing was entirely out of order and the roof leaked. It was necessary to use an umbrella to get to the bathroom. . .

Miss Denton missed sweets very much, and her friends tried to help out as they could. A business friend attempted to get her extra sugar but the regulations were so strict that the merchant dared not sell him any without the necessary ration card. When he heard it was for Miss Denton, however, the merchant gave him some free, pretending it had been scattered about through careless handling.

The Christmas of 1944 was the darkest for them all. On Christmas Eve Elsa Schwab came in from Hikone with a potted poinsettia for Miss Denton. She found her sitting in a darkened room with Mrs. Hoshina. There was not a sign of Christmas anywhere. "Why Miss Denton, don't you know this is Christmas Eve?" exclaimed Miss Schwab. "No, no Christmas for me!" came the gloomy rejoinder. The next morning Professor Nakamura said to her, "Merry Christmas, Miss Denton!" But her reply was much the same; "Don't say `Merry Christmas' to me!”

Little was said about the war in Denton House. She herself was so torn between her two countries that although she repeated constantly, "We will win! We must win!" she never analyzed that "we". There was never any division in her failing mind between herself and her loving guardians. They were in it together to the end. Then came the spring of 1945. City after city suffered disastrous bombing, but they did not tell Miss Denton. The Kyoto sky was dull red, the air full of smoke, and the sun a dim, angry ball during the destruction of neighboring Osaka, but it was mot mentioned to Miss Denton.

. . . Money became very short. Through some misunderstanding, funds that were left for her care by the Board did not reach her till long afterwards. There was little to buy but there were bills to pay, light, gas and telephone bills and often nothing in the house with which to meet them. Mrs. Hoshina made over some of her own clothing for Miss Denton's use, and little by little sold many of her personal belongings to pay bills and buy the few necessities available. She never whispered a word of this, but the one to whom she intrusted their sale told of it later.

The spring of 1945 brought the war so close that at last it was impossible to conceal the number of cities that were being bombed. Wild rumors were rife. It was reported that some of the young Japanese teachers at Doshisha were acting as spies; it was reported that there was a forbidden short-wave set sending out messages from Amherst House on the campus, and the place was searched by the police; it was reported that Kyoto had so far escaped bombing, first, because Miss Denton lived in the city, and the United States Army would not dare to bomb the place while she was there second, because Miss Denton had telephoned Ambassador Grew to save Kyoto, and third, because President Truman had once taught for six months at the Doshisha, the crowning absurdity being that he had lived at the Miyako Hotel while teaching! Miss Denton's presence in the city did certainly give many a feeling of security. One of her neighbors used to bow in respect towards her home each morning. After the war another said naively, " We knew the Americans would not bomb Kyoto as long as Miss Denton was there."

Plans were made by Dean Katagiri and others for the protection of Miss Denton in case the dreaded raids took place. A stretcher was kept in the house and several teams of eight girls were appointed in the dormitories to carry her to Fowler Chapel in case of danger. This reinforced concrete building was considered one of the strongest in the city. Mrs. Hoshina's son-in-law, Professor Egami the archeologist [famous for his early postwar work on the Korean horseriders and early Japan], came down from Tokyo on a brief visit and when he learned of these plans, insisted that a near-by air-raid shelter should also be made in the garden and lined with wood. This was done and one day with the sirens blowing an immediate alarm, she was carried there. It was, how, ever, so difficult to get her in and she suffered so much; that they never tried it again. In fact, although all the major cities of Japan were bombed and the industrial districts of the neighboring cities of both Kobe and Osaka were almost completely destroyed, Kyoto was never raided. The two or three bombs that fell in the outskirts of the city were apparently wholly accidental.

At last came the surrender on August fifteenth, 1945. There was great excitement in Kyoto. Difficult as it was for the Japanese to accept, the tension had been too long and too great, and there was relief mixed with their sorrow. In some parts of the city the children, realizing that something dreadful was over rushed into the streets and shouted, "Banzai!" The Last Rose of Summer, long a favorite melody in Japan had been banned during the latter years of the war as being foreign. Immediately following the surrender it was broadcast, and in certain districts of the city from each house floated the beloved melody, so long taboo. Exhausted, discouraged, half-starved, it carried a happy memory of the past, a hope for the future. Many of Miss Denton's neighbors came, asking her to sign statements which declared they had been Miss Denton's friends and had treated her kindly. She signed them all and they were posted at various gates. She was not quite sure what it was all about, however, when they told her the war was over and Japan had been defeated. "Japan defeated?" she would say over and over. "You mean the war is over with Russia but still going on with America?” she would ask, or “Is the war with America over but are we still fighting Russia?" She did not know of the last minute entrance of Russia into the conflict but her mind harked back to those months over forty years earlier when she had, tarried food and comforts to the wounded Japanese soldiers in the Russo-Japanese War.

Her friends were stunned and hurt by the news of the surrender, though it was a relief to know they need make no further effort. "We had expected only about two more weeks of life," said one young Doshisha couple. "We had been ordered to fight till there was not a man, woman or child left alive.” "Did you have weapons?" asked an American friend later. "No, only bamboo staves!" The day after the surrender her old friends began to come back, but at first no one could bring himself to offer her congratulations. Several days after the surrender President Hatanaka of Kobe College came up to see her, shook hands and said; "Congratulations, Miss Denton!" After that they forgot their own wounded pride and generously offered her congratulations.

The citizens daily expected the occupying American forces, the Shin-chu-gun (the Occupation Army, as it was euphemistically named). Some families prepared to send their wives and daughters to the country; others who had been in America assured them that no outrages would occur. Many were thankful to Father Patrick J. Byrne, who helped calm the excitement: “Americans attack women and children?" he exclaimed. “They will be more apt to propose a baseball game and will soon become your friends!"

The army arrived and there was not an incident to mar the early days of occupation. Miss Denton's first American visitors soon made their appearance, several high officers who came almost immediately upon arrival to see how this aged American of whom they had heard, had fared. They were large men, handsome in uniform and most military looking. "They still smelled of war," remarked one of the undernourished Japanese. Professor Nakamura was in the house when they came in, and being troubled about what they would do, listened carefully from the other room. He was soon convinced that they were kindly gentlemen and meant well not only by Miss Denton but by the citizens of Kyoto also. Kyoto was a shrine city, they told her, so it was not bombed. The Chaplains came to call, Catholic as well as Protestant, and all showed her great courtesy. They brought food and did many a kindly service for the household as well.

Then one day a WAC Lieutenant by the name of Denton appeared. She was Miss Denton's own niece, wanting to see her "Aunt Flo"! What a happy day it was for them both. Among the early entrants in the Army of occupation were children of missionaries and businessmen who had been born in Japan or had spent many of their early years there. Charles Warren was one such, a son of Rev. and Mrs. Charles Warren of Tottori, Miyazaki, and lastly of the Doshisha in Kyoto. . .

Young Mr. Warren wrote to his parents [about his trip to Kyoto] in a letter dated October fourth, 1945.

Among the notable visitors of the early days after the close of the war were both Dr. and Mrs. Douglas Horton. Dr. Horton, high in the councils of the Congregational Church in America, was among the group of churchmen who came in October of 1945 immediately after the close of the war, to re-establish contact with the Japanese Christians. He recalls a vivid conversation after the formalities of his first visit to Miss Denton. She looked directly at him and said, "Name a vegetable which begins with A!" He did so and she said, "Now one with B!" and on she went through the alphabet. Then she said, "That is what Japan needs, vegetables of every kind you can name!"

"In view of her profound interest in all kinds of spiritual matters", writes Mrs. Douglas Horton, " it is particularly significant, we think, that in her later years she was thinking so explicitly of all kinds of practical matters, of the food and welfare of her beloved friends."

Miss Denton's birthday on the Fourth of July had for many years been a day of celebration. Her friends came in numbers bearing fruit, flowers and other gifts. Her eighty-eighth birthday, one of special rejoicing, occurred just a few weeks before the surrender, at a time when the people were almost distracted, many of them feeling that they awaited death hourly, and nothing could be done in way of celebration. But this eighty-eighth birthday may be recognized at any convenient time during the year and now that the war was over her friends arranged a super-celebration for October twenty-eighth. It was specially auspicious that with a very little manipulation the Chinese characters for eighty-eight may be written to form the word kome or rice, always an emblem of prosperity. The festivities were arranged not only to celebrate Miss Denton's birthday but to thank Mrs. Hoshina for her long and tender care of their aged friend. Many of her new army friends were invited, and a short service in English was held. Mrs. Takiyama read the Bible, Miss Matsuda offered prayer and Mrs. Buma read the congratulations for the alumni and friends. She spoke as follows:

Miss Denton was up and fully dressed, for the last time upon this occasion. She stood and thanked them all, and then recited the Japanese National Anthem, Kimigayo, in Basic English! It was a happy occasion but in the attempt to make it intelligible to the American Army personal present, Mrs. Hoshina's sacrificial service got but minor acknowledgement, while she was the real heroine of the day, many of her friends thought.

Some of the old friends, living far away, were not able to come. Mrs. Sugimoto Etsuko, well-known author of A Daughter of the Samurai, whose home and library had been "turned to ashes" in Tokyo sent an affectionate greeting and Mr. Kamiya, long on the Doshisha business staff as treasurer, wrote. His wife had died that spring and for some time he had been alone with his little grandson of ten, with no servant or helper. He had wanted to make a trip to Kyoto to visit relatives and to see Miss Denton but the main cities of Japan had been so ravaged by war, and transportation was so difficult that his family would not allow it. . .

Messages from Miss Denton's family and friends now began to come through. It was like water to a thirsty land and yet she was often confused. "Here is a letter from your brother, Loney," they once told her. But they pronounced it "Lonny", thinking it a boyhood nickname. Miss Denton looked blank. "You had a brother, didn't you? You remember your brother "Oh yes, I had a brother; we used to play together." But she repeated questioningly, "Lonny? Lonny?" “How old is he, Miss Denton?" some one asked. "How old? How old...? Perhaps forty or fifty." "But Miss Denton, you yourself are eighty-eight! If you played together he must also be in his eighties." " Oh no, no. NO! He can't be so old as that; perhaps forty or fifty at the most!"

It was made clear later when the author called upon Mr. Loney Denton in San Jose, during the summer of 1949. He was seventeen years younger than his eldest sister "Flo", who had left home before his birth. He could recall their delight as children at her home comings on Christmas Eve, when she always arrived loaded with gifts for her brothers and sisters. Young Loney, however, had never been a playmate of hers. There had been others, now gone, near her own age whom she could recall as playmates.

One of the last letters written by Miss Denton went to Miss Alice Cary in the Board Rooms at Boston. It was dated November 7, 1945, and Dr. Douglas Horton carried it back with him. The wording shows that it must have been a dictated letter, for which she had supplied the, outline.

What a contrast the Christmas of 1945 was to the gloom and discouragement of the day in 1944, even for the Japanese! There were gifts of food for the Japanese as well as for Miss Denton. On Christmas Eve a group of army men came to sing carols for her. But in spite of the war's end the winter of 1945-1946 was a hard one, physically, for all. The destruction which had started the winter before, in order to keep a fire going in the great dining room stove, went on at a faster pace. No fuel was available anywhere. Broken school desks were cut up and no one objected or reproved, such was the general apathy. The amado, [outer sliding door] the floors and under-flooring of Mrs. Hoshina's modest little home were removed and burned. Last of all the shutters of Denton House, still in good repair, were removed and chopped into fuel. There was no kindling and piles of old newspapers, boxes of old papers and letters, were brought down-stairs and stuffed into the stove. No one had the energy to go through them and many invaluable mementoes of a rich life went up in flames. Miss Denton never knew how hard up they were for fuel that winter.

In spite of the almost super-human efforts they made to keep the dinning room, where her bed stood, warm, Miss Denton had another attack of pneumonia in January. She recovered surprisingly well from the pneumonia, thanks in a large part to the penicillin furnished by the U. S. Army hospital, and the constant care of Dr. Saiki and Mrs. Hoshina.

New interest was added to the life of the household when Mrs. Hoshina's daughter, Mrs. Egami, returned with her three children to Denton house after the war. They had left their home in Tokyo to find shelter in the country but now the war was over and they were safe anywhere. Her husband, Professor Egami, could find no house for them in ruined Tokyo and she realized that her mother needed help badly with the care of Miss Denton. The latter was very lonely; she must be rubbed and comforted; she called for constant attention. With Mrs. Egami in the house, her mother was occasionally able to escape from that unending cry, "Mrs. Hoshina; o-o-oh Mrs. Hoshina!"

The children played about everywhere and the young life was very welcome. Little Kiyoko san specially, a quaint and charming little four-year-old, loved to be near Miss Denton. She would bring up her tiny chair and sit by her side, talking gently on like a little old lady. Miss Denton was much too deaf to catch the words, but it was entertainment just to have the child there. After a time the little girl would get up quietly, perhaps reach over and kiss the wrinkled hand, then slip away. It was a hard life for Mrs. Egami who had her family to care for and who worried constantly about her mother's overwork. One day she met a friend when she was out on her bicycle and unburdened herself, not daring to tell anyone else lest they misunderstand. Then suddenly she remembered Miss Denton and how truly she loved her, and became panic stricken. "Oh goodby, goodby! Maybe she is dying now!" she said, and pedaled hastily away.

Later Mrs. Hoshina's son, a graduate engineer, long held prisoner in Manchuria where he had been with the South Manchurian Railway, was allowed to return with his wife and two children. He had worked under great pressure, teaching his skills to the Russians who took over the railway. The strain brought on stomach ulcers and he came home a very ill man. His sister who went to the Kyoto station to meet them wondered who the bent old man, wrapped in a blanket, might be, whom her sister-in-law was helping off the train. Mrs. Hoshina's house must be fitted up again for them. Much had been torn out and burned but the shell still remained. There was little money and almost nothing as yet, to be had for repairs, but restore it they did. Mrs. Hoshina now had five grandchildren with her or next door. Miss Denton's welfare was first, last, and always foremost in her mind; still, it was a salutary change to have her own children and grand-children about to plan for and love.

During that winter boxes from American friends and relatives began to arrive. There was food, food, FOOD! sheets and towels, pencils and paper, and the loving, eager letters, so long awaited. Soon the wives of Army officers began setting up their homes in Kyoto, and several took upon themselves to furnish Miss Denton with a box of supplies each week. They would sit and visit with her. Miss Denton usually asked them first if they were from California and then begged them to send her California soldiers! And a very surprising number of these young men did come to see and talk with her. She almost always invited her guests to go into the living room and look over her books; if they saw anything they wanted, they were to take it. Her Japanese friends were invited to help themselves to her china and other treasures, and at her death the once-filled house had little left of value or beauty. It was like an Indian potlatch, carried out gradually. Some have regretted the dispersion of her many treasures, but a museum or a collection in a school is after all a cold and impersonal thing, and the many hundreds who cherish souvenirs from Denton House will long hold them dear.

In the autumn of 1946 the first of the American Board missionaries returned to Kyoto. There were many delays. Passports were difficult to get; permits to enter, given by SCAP, took many weeks; pledges from the Japanese to provide them with ration cards must be obtained since the army took no responsibility for feeding them. There had been strikes and more strikes among the longshoremen of the Pacific Coast, and months filled with packing and repacking as new directives seemed to be issued almost daily. One sailed from Houston Texas, through the Panama Canal; the other after waiting in three ports for the same scheduled ship finally left from Canada. At long last Miss Hibbard and Miss Clapp arrived in Kyoto, October 1946. Again there was great rejoicing for Miss Denton had never expected to see any of her colleagues again. They had been greatly limited as to baggage and could bring no freight; the food allowance they might bring with them was restricted to fifty dollars worth, and had to include soap, one of the most needed commodities in post-war Japan. Still they were able to bring some much needed supplies and comforts for Miss Denton.

In spite of the kindness of the Army people to Miss Denton and to many Japanese as well the summer had been a very hard one on everybody. The rice crop could not be supplemented from other sources and the relief supplies from the United States and other places did not arrive in time to bridge the gap. People were staggering from hunger on the streets. Transportation was still disorganized and distribution, while honestly administered in most places, left much to be desired. A family might have a two weeks' ration of dried cabbage, and nothing else. Once it was brown sugar, greatly craved as sweets had been entirely lacking towards the close of the war, but some families had cupboards entirely bare, and the children would be given a spoon and a little brown sugar in a cup, with nothing else, several times a day.

The food supplies for Miss Denton had to be doled out, or she would have used them all at once, so a little was taken over almost daily for a time. But the Christmas of 1946 was a happy one; again a group of Army friends sang for her. Many brought gifts, and she could see the happy relations between the Occupation Forces and her Japanese friends. By the end of the year ships were arriving constantly with supplies of food and clothing and the atmosphere was increasingly hopeful.

Miss Denton's ninetieth and last birthday was celebrated upon its true date, July fourth, 1947. As in the pre-war days, gifts were brought in from morning till night. There was little to buy, and for the Japanese, pitifully little to buy with, but all day long the stream of guests flowed in, each with some offering. Mrs. Hoshina had made Miss Denton look as well as possible in a freshly made bed. Young American privates, officers and their wives, and missionary colleagues dropped in. Food and flowers from Japanese friends were piled upon the table at her side, an enormous cabbage from this garden, the finest squash from another. A group of nearly one hundred children from her cherished McLean Kindergarten filed through the room, singing "Happy Birthday to You", and in each hot little hand was a potato, raised in their own kindergarten garden.

Alice Gwinn, who had lived with Miss Denton for three years and had returned to Kyoto that spring, stayed with Miss Denton throughout the day, helping Mrs. Hoshina to meet, greet and thank the guests. Mrs. Hoshina's little grand-daughter who had been intrigued by the whole performance, and who loved Miss Denton dearly, leaned over several times to pat or kiss her. Finally she asked what all the celebration was for and was told it was Miss Denton's birthday. She thought for a moment and then said wistfully, " I didn't notice it was like this for my birthday!" Needless to say plans were made immediately to make her birthday, soon due, something more of an occasion than usual.

At last the day was over and Miss Denton, very tired but very happy, sighed and said slowly; "Yes, I think I love everybody now …" a long pause, and then, "even the Democrats!"

Site Ed’s Note: Even as Miss Denton gradually lost strength in 1947, she continued to receive friends and visitors. She was no longer able to read but was blessed with the continuing care of Mrs. Hoshina. She died peacefully, age ninety, on Christmas Eve, 1947. Dōshisha President Yuasa Hachirō spoke these words at her funeral:

Miss Denton’s life was a unique one. She was not a poet but loved poetry, nor an artist but loved arts; not a diplomat but devoted herself to creating international goodwill. She could not use the Japanese language but she intimately mingled with Japanese with whole-hearted understanding. She was not a scholar but successfully educated our thousands of girls, nor a preacher but continuously impressed us with her life, stronger than any oral speech. Miss Denton had a strong and many-sided individuality, a strong will and an incomparably strong consciousness of responsibility. She was truly an American-like American. When we think of her strong and burning idealist’s attitude and the wide humanity, her unchanging and devoted spirit of service, we see in her a typical Christian American. She was an apostle of Christ as a missionary, as well as an educationalist, and as a promoter of good will between American and Japan. In behalf of the Doshisha I wish to express our heart felt thanks and respect.

When we heard of her death, it was as though

a great star of the winter sky had fallen.

Clapp, Frances Benton. Chapter 13, "War and Occupation," Mary Florence Denton and the Doshisha. Kyoto: Doshisha University Press, 1955; pp. 358-405, 415.