So . . . at the “risk” of providing more fodder for those of you who find it funny just how often I cite movies in my ostensibly history-oriented blog . . . do any of you remember the 80s “Back to the Future” series? All three movies were fun stories and explored the weirdness that might result from humans moving between multiple timelines and different points in time. Movies like “Time Bandits”, “Time Cop”, “Hot Tub Time Machine”, and “Timeline” have all nibbled around the edge of the fascination we seem to have with moving back-and-forth through time as one might cross a street. Yet in the end, no matter how much we’re intrigued by the prospect, we know these are truly fantastic stories and not remotely realistic. Yet I was reminded this past week that we can indeed travel through time, at least in the backward direction, if we so desire.*
Many of you are already aware I took a short vacation this past week, the accumulated stress of this Chinese Year of the Germ catching up to me in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. During a luxurious week spent avoiding email and election “news” my wife and I decided to take a short trip out west to Aichi Prefecture, home to the Japanese city of Nagoya. Only four hours away by car, for all the years we’ve lived here in Tokyo, we’d actually never been and so decided this was the time. We wouldn’t regret it.
Let me start by admitting I didn’t spend a ton of time planning this one. A two-day trip only requires so much in the way of preparation, but since it was intended to bolster my sanity, I got to choose where we visited. So—and this should come as a shock to nobody—I started looking online for nearby castles. That I found a TON of them in the area wouldn’t surprise anyone, perhaps, given Aichi’s central location along the region’s primary East-West route, the Toukaidou (East Sea Road), but I was thrilled nonetheless.
But that’s it, I didn’t really dig into the background of any of the castles we intended to visit. I didn’t exactly plan for it to be a themed trip at all, though that’s indeed what it turned out to be, quite by accident. By and large, what dawned on me as we made our way from one historical site to the next, was we were walking and driving quite literally in the footsteps of Oda Nobunaga, considered Japan’s first Great Unifier.
I guess I was vaguely aware that the Oda domain was somewhere in the region, but had never really spent that much time looking into the matter. Always being more interested in the Toyotomi years which followed Nobunaga’s assassination, I’d just never dug into it. But suddenly, partway through our trip, I found we were surrounded by evidence of Oda Nobunaga’s life and impact upon Japan.
That realization struck while visiting our second site, Gifu Castle. Built precariously atop Mt. Kinka, Gifu Castle is really, REALLY high above the valley below. In fact, its so high, you might not even notice it up there if you weren’t actively looking for it. Originally constructed in 1204 A.D., Nobunaga laid siege to the castle in 1567, accepting the garrison’s surrender two weeks later, solidifying his control over what was then Owari Province.
Apparently Nobunaga fell in love with Gifu Castle—or more likely, the panoramic views from the castle keep and it’s centralized location in Owari—and over time turned it into his military headquarters. He ordered the construction of multiple smaller fortifications on and around Mt. Kinka to garrison his growing forces. The concentration of subordinate elements of his army in such close proximity allowed him to more quickly assemble his force than any of his opponents in the coming years of warfare. Later, he’d have an expansive and ornate palace complex built at the foot of Mt. Kinka, and as his power grew, Nobunaga would host foreign dignitaries there—even some from far-away Europe.
While I hadn’t intended to necessarily visit the epicenter of all that was Oda Nobunaga, we’d sort of tripped into it and, all of a sudden, our eyes were opened and we saw him everywhere we went. Inuyama Castle—one of Japan’s twelve surviving “original” wooden castles—was taken by the Oda family not once, but twice, the second time by Nobunaga himself in 1564.
While the city of Nagoya is currently Japan’s fourth largest, in the 16th century it was a relatively minor waypoint and fishing port along the Toukaidou. Yet Nobunaga was born and raised at Kiyosu Castle, now fairly near Nagoya’s city center, having long ago been absorbed by the growing metropolis. It seemed everywhere we turned we found remnants and reminders of Nobunaga’s influence.
Our last stop on the way back home, the castle ruin and battlefield at Nagashino perhaps did more to make Oda Nobunaga’s reputation than any other event at the time and established his military dominance of Japan. This small castle, built onto the cliffs overlooking the confluence of two minor rivers, held up an invading army of the Takeda Clan for several weeks while Nobunaga and his ally Tokugawa Ieyasu gathered their forces and marched to relieve the siege.
The battle which followed may be the second most noteworthy in Japanese military history—after Sekigahara in 1600, of course—not only for solidifying Nobunaga’s status as virtual ruler of Japan, but for what occurred during the battle itself. Aware of the shocking power of a Takeda cavalry charge, the allied army positioned 3,000 selected arquebus marksmen behind makeshift bamboo fencing along the steep bank of a stream just west of the siege lines around Nagashino Castle. But instead of spreading these gunners along the entire width of the barricade, Nobunaga positioned them in three ranks, one behind the other. When the expected Takeda cavalry charge took place, that elite force was decimated by the murderous, continuous fire coming from the barricade.
Nobunaga had, perhaps quite by accident, developed volley-fire by massed firearms, an infantry tactic that would dominate Western battlefields until well into the 19th Century. While the claim is disputed by opposing historians, apparently so are all other reported “first uses” of volley-fire during the period making it plausible that Japan, a relative latecomer to the use of firearms in combat, discovered an enduring tactic that would for a long time change the face of warfare.
The Takeda forces lifted their siege and withdrew, their power, and dreams of conquest, evaporating forever. Oda Nobunaga was declared Grand Minister of State by Emperor Ogimachi in 1578 having already terminated the 237 year-old Ashikaga Shogunate by defeating and then exiling the last Shogun in his line, Ashikaga Yoshiaki. Eschewing the title of Shogun himself, Nobunaga ruled as de facto military ruler until his assassination by a subordinate in 1582. He would be avenged by none other than Toyotomi Hideyoshi himself, an Oda retainer, bringing into relief just how close Japan’s three Great Unifiers were to one another late in the 16th Century.
For us, however, this brief travel through time was fast coming to a close. We’d both enjoyed and endured the continuous barrage of Sengoku Jidai (Warring States Period) factoids and historic sites throughout our short 36-hour trip. And were amazed at the intense swath of Japanese history we’d been able cut in such a short period of time. In Japan, with an approximately 2,000 year-old culture, one really doesn’t have to look very far to find locations of historic significance, and we were reminded of this once again in Aichi Prefecture.
Regardless, this short trip—masked though we were for most of it as a COVID measure—makes clear once again the urgent need to get out and see the world around us. Every place on earth has its own story to tell. And while some are certainly more interesting, more profound, and often more bloody than others, I think it’s always good to travel, to get out of one’s comfort zone and see new sights, meet different people, and learn just a little bit more about our fellow humans. For that is, after all, what history really is, the story of us all.
So, good luck in your own time travels! Stay safe, enjoy yourselves, and don’t forget to keep your powder—and flux capacitors—dry.
M. G. Haynes
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