Time Passed in Silence

The Diary of a Japanese Schoolgirl in 1926

The lives of ordinary people, often left outside history books.

This is the diary of Yoshi Ueda, a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl who lived in Shiida, Chikujo District, Fukuoka Prefecture—today part of Chikujo Town—during 1926, the final year of the Taisho era and the first year of Showa.

It is not a record of great historical events. Yet in family conversations, school life, annual customs, friendships, small joys, and everyday worries, the breath of a girl who lived a century ago remains vividly present.

Yoshi Ueda's diary page for January 2 — Fading handwriting preserved on paper from a century ago.

Old family photograph connected with Yoshi Ueda — Family photographs kept together with the memories of Yoshi.

From the Diary

“This morning, too, I spent my time rather idly. In the afternoon, since I had received a New Year’s card from Yamazaki-san, I sent one in return, and I also sent a letter to Tanaka-san. Ah, it is already the second day of the year. I have already written in this diary twice. There are only a few days left before I go back to school. Truly, the days pass quickly.”

A casual note from an ordinary day. Behind these words, we glimpse the rhythm of school life, friendships, seasonal greetings, and the atmosphere of daily life in 1926.

From the Editor

The only clue I had to the grandmother I never knew.

In 2022, among the belongings left by my late mother, I found my grandmother’s diary. My grandmother died of pneumonia when my mother was only about eighteen months old. Because of this, neither my mother nor I ever knew her. This diary was the only clue through which I could come to know her.

The paper, nearly one hundred years old, was badly damaged. The writing had faded, and many parts were difficult to read. Old characters, cursive handwriting, family records, and local annual customs—each small mystery became part of the notes and commentary in this book.

As I deciphered the words and searched through records, the girl my grandmother once was began to feel close to me. Her monochrome everyday life slowly took on color.

Three generations