CHIRAN, Japan — As young army pilots took off on suicide-attack missions in the closing days of World War II, the schoolgirls in this southwestern Japanese town waved handkerchiefs and branches of pink blossoms.

“Remembering that still makes me tremble,” said Chino Kuwashiro, now a tiny 86-year-old with a stooped back. “We waved and waved until we couldn’t see them anymore. Why did we have to endure such sorrow?”

She and the other girls were called Nadeshiko, after the fragile pink flowers seen as a symbol of femininity in Japan. They were ordered to take care of the pilots at the army base in Chiran. Their jobs included cleaning, doing the laundry, sewing on buttons, and saying goodbye.

The 100 or so girls had their jobs for barely a month in the spring of 1945, but the farewell ceremony, in which some were ordered to take part, is etched painfully in their minds. Only about a dozen Nadeshiko women are alive today.

Chiran served as the takeoff spot for 439 pilots on suicide-attack missions, many of them also teenagers. Japan surrendered four months later.

Kuwashiro broke into tears as she pointed to the green-tea groves and pumpkin patch where the runway once stood. The planes tipped their wings three times in a farewell salute — a bomb hung from one wing, a fuel tank from the other.

Japanese here say Chiran today highlights the horrors and extremes of war and want their town of 10,000 to be designated as a UNESCO World Heritage site. They have yet to gain even the approval needed from the Japanese government, but an exhibit thousands of miles away suggests there are powerful lessons in the lives lost here 70 years ago.

Photos, letters and poems from the pilots of Chiran are now on exhibit, for the first time outside Japan, on the battleship USS Missouri, berthed in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. The items are from the Chiran Peace Museum, which is devoted to the suicide-mission army pilots.

Though such Japanese pilots in World War II are generally known as kamikaze, that name applied specifically to navy pilots. Their army counterparts, like those in Chiran, were called tokko. Those who refused to fly to their deaths were imprisoned.

“I have a big smile, Mother, as I am about to carry out my last, and first, act of filial love. Don’t cry. Please think I did good,” wrote Fujio Wakamatsu, 19, in one of the letters on display.