Two Steps to Tokyo was originally written straight after the war in 1946, The Hodder version I picked up is the revised 1958 edition. Normally books written eighty years ago do not stand up today. Despite an older style this one holds its age well.
Two Steps to Tokyo by Gordon Powell is a compact and often overlooked memoir that captures the experience of an Australian soldier in the final phase of the Second World War, when the expectation of a costly campaign against Japan still shaped daily life. What distinguishes the account, however, is Powell’s position as a chaplain, a role that places him both within the military structure and slightly apart from it, giving his observations a particular depth.
Powell writes in a direct, unadorned style. There is no attempt at literary embellishment. The strength of the book lies in its immediacy and restraint. He records the rhythms of service life, the uncertainty of movement, and the persistent sense that the war is not yet finished. The title itself carries that tension. Tokyo is imagined as close, almost within reach, yet dependent on events beyond the control of those preparing to advance.
His role as chaplain shapes the narrative in important ways. Powell is not concerned with directing operations, but he is present at the points where cohesion is most under strain. He moves between units, speaking with men, listening, and absorbing the undercurrent of anxiety that comes with the expectation of future combat. The work is quiet and continuous. Conversations, shared silences, small personal burdens. These are the moments he records, and they reveal a dimension of military life that sits outside formal reporting.
The Reverend Dr Gordon Powell AM MA BD c. 1986 by David Cameron
There is little overt preaching. His faith is evident but understated, expressed through presence rather than instruction. Religious services appear, but they are not the centre of his work. More significant is his accessibility. As a chaplain he exists outside the strict hierarchy of command, and this allows men to approach him in ways they might not with officers. His authority rests on trust rather than rank, and this gives him a stabilising role within the unit.
The memoir is particularly strong in its portrayal of anticipation. Powell is dealing with men who expect to fight on in a major campaign against Japan. Fear is present, though rarely stated outright, and there is a sense of suspended tension. His role is to contain that pressure rather than remove it. In this respect, the book provides a clear illustration of how emotional and psychological strain is managed within a military formation. It shows that cohesion is not maintained solely through discipline and command, but also through quieter forms of support.
When the war ends abruptly with Japan’s surrender, the narrative shifts. The forward momentum implied in the title dissolves into uncertainty about purpose and direction. This transition is handled without drama, but it underscores the central experience of the book: a force prepared for one outcome, suddenly confronted with another.
As a historical source, Two Steps to Tokyo is valuable precisely because of its modest scope. It does not attempt strategic explanation. Instead, it offers a grounded account at the small unit level, attentive to relationships, morale, and endurance. Through Powell’s position as chaplain, the reader gains access to the interior life of the unit, the management of strain, and the quiet mechanisms that allow men to continue in conditions defined more by expectation than by action.
Well worth picking up. Again it is one that I wouldn’t buy new for $29.00 (available on Amazon), but second hand I wouldn’t hesitate.