Lögberg-Heimskringla - 06.12.1985, Page 5

WINNIPEG, FOSTUDAGUR 6. DESEMBER 1985-5
Gwen
Her name was really Guðný, but
in the non-Icelandic environment of
Canada, Gwen was more convenient,
so she was satisfied with what she
thought was a suitable anglicized
version.
Her background was Icelandic. It
was from Iceland that she had
escaped, to seek another life here in
the land of her adoption. The feeling
of escape came from her childhood
days, when her parent's poverty had
forced them to accept assistance from
the local authorities, who in turn split
the family, sending her parents to dif-
ferent farms, to become vessels of
masters who accepted them as addi-
tional help, while Gwen and her
sister were taken to a distant district
to become wards of a reluctant un-
cle. As they grew up, toil was part of
daily living, tending and milking
sheep, preparing wool to be spun into
yarn, knitted into the many garments
worn by the people who made up the
populace on their uncle's farm, nest-
ling in the lee of a high-rising moun-
tain bordering on the sea.
Gwen cast her eyes toward the
ocean and wondered how far beyond
the horizon the distant land of
Canada could be, the new home of
her sister and niece. She had last seen
them as they departed on foot for
Reykjavik two years earlier and
boarded a ship heading towards
America. Eagerly she had hoped to
hear from her sister, perhaps she
could help her reach the new lands
to which Icelanders were moving in
large numbers. The bleat of a gheep
broke the silence, and her dream of
distant lands faded as she herded
them together and returned them to
a lava-walled corral in preparation
for the evening milking session.
Slowly the months passed depress-
ingly and spring arrived, with tiny
bright coloured flowers reaching for
the sunshine amongst the lava crags
— the familiar song of the birds
pierced the air as they returned from
the southern climes. Life began to
feel more pleasant. Little did she
know that the major turning point in
her life was close at hand.
In the distance she saw a rider on
horseoack, following the well-beaten
path that marked centuries of travel
across the lava wasteland. Gingerly
the faithful Icelandic pony carried
the traveller towards the farm that
lay beyond Gwen, the home of her
master and uncle Thórður. As the
rider approached, Gwen gradually
moved her flock of sheep towards the
well-travelled path. She was greeted
by the traveller as he brought his
steed to a halt. "What is your name
my dear?" asked the traveller.
"Guðný" came the reply and "who
are you?" sprang from her lips. "I am
Sigtryggur, emissary of the Canadian
government seeking people who are
interested in moving to Canada."
Guðný was stunned. She could not
utter a word; they seemed to stick in
her throat. As Sigtryggur was about
to proceed, the words came loud and
fast. She pleaded with him not to
leave, but tell her about America. Be-
ing a kind man he heeded her re-
quest, but held little hope that she
could be a candidate for emmigration
to the distánt land he represented.
She was young — just turned 20 —
with a face of beauty characteristic
of Icelandic women, which defied
the hardships of the late 19th-century
era that dominated Iceland.
Her questions and plea for help
weakened Sigtryggurs' heart as he
reluctantly promised to heed her re-
quest. It was a stern warning that he
passed on to her about the problems
which people faced on arrival in
Canada, not the least being the
language barrier outside of Icelandic
communities. No knowledge of
English was to be mute, as if power-
less to speak. That was a major pro-
blem which would face her, for there
was no employment to be had with
Icelanders. Thórður was furious
when he learned that his niece even
so much as though of leaving his farm,
let alone go to Canada. Sigtryggur
stayed that night at Thórður's farm.
During the evening conversation
Thórður learned that his niece Guðný
had been in conversation with Sig-
tryggur and his worst fears were con-
firmed; she wanted to go to Canada.
He berated Sigtryggur, and threat-
ened to have him and his ilk banned
from the country. Ranting and raving
he accused them of exaggerations and
untruths about real conditions in
America and that they urged people
to leave Iceland where they lived
under desirable conditions, to face an
unknown hell of starvation and death
and, even worse, to be physically torn
apart by savage Indians that roamed
the countryside at will.
Sigtryggur let Thórður carry on un-
til emotional fatigue caused him to
slump down in his chair, and in a low
voice utter, "I do not know what
causes good Icelanders to abandon
this land of ours which offers moun-
tainous glacial beauty, sparkling
rivers, sheltered valleys, and a sea
teeming with fish.” Sigtryggurs’
thoughts were harsh winters, cold
summers — when the grass would
not grow, volcanic eruptions, land-
locked Arctic ice, the dangers of the
sea in small open boats, and the lack
of land for its many people who were
committed to a lifetime of farm
labour with little or no remuneration,
one step removed from serfdom, of
families torn apart when cir-
cumstances forced them to seek
public assistance, and the harsh facts
of life for the many locked into
poverty, stricken with a system that
offered no escape. Canada gave hope,
where -160 acres of land could be had
for 10 dollars in the vicinity of fresh-
water lakes teeming with fish.
Sigtryggur, deep in thought, re-
solved that Guðný would go to
America. On his return, he took Guð-
ný to Reykjavík and placed her
aboard a ship leaving for England.
She waved to him as he stood on the
dock, wondering if she would ever
see this wonderful man again.
Joining the Icelandic group on
board ship, she felt happy — careful-
ly clutching her purse that contained
her fare to Canada. Sigtryggur had
reached into his pocket to make up
the shortfall in the subsidy of the
Canadian Government, and added a
few dollars for her personal use.
In England they transferred to an
ocean liner landing at Quebec ten
days later.
Arriving in Winnipeg Guðný in-
quired about her sister only to be told
that she was in New Iceland pro-
bably on Hecla Island or at Riverton.
She was saddened but resolved that
somehow she would find a place in
her new land of adoption.
On inquiring, she was told about
Svava Jónsdóttir who had come from
the North of Iceland with a child, and
worked as a domestic, learning the
English language. Seeking Svavas' ad-
vise, they went through domestic
help-wanted advertisements in the
daily paper. There, staring them in
the face, was a requirement which
stated:
"Wanted: A domestic to act as a
housekeeper for a Swedish widower
with four children. Preference will be
given to a Scandinavian woman.
Board and room with train fare in-
cluded, wages to be arranged."
—Gus Gustafson, Rat Portage, Ont.
Final arrangements were made and
Guðný headed East by train to Rat
Portage, present-day Kenora.
Svava had advised her to take the
job, for the reason that her employer
was Swedish. Some of the words in
Icelandic and Swedish would be
similar and that was better than
English, which had very little similar-
ity to Icelandic.
Sitting upright, this fair-haired,
blue-eyed beauty from Iceland in her
Icelandic costume, looked like a fairy
princess, yet presented a determined
look.
Gus was at the station, startled
when he saw Guðný. His heart skip-
ped a beat as he beheld her beauty,
but the recent loss of his wife had
been cause for bereavement and sad-
dened him, the effects of which still
lingered in his heart. Quickly he took
Guðný's belongings, placed them in
the back of the democrat and drove
through Rat Portage with a prancing
team of horses.
Guðný was reasonably happy in
her new circumstances. The children
quickly became friendly. They had
obviously been well looked after by
their recently-deceased mother.
From them Guðný began to pick up
a few words in English. Gus came
home for meals but otherwise
Guðneý did not see him. He seemed
to be very busy with his work. She
did not give him much thought, he
seemed to be a reasonable person in
his late thirties. The odd wrinkle was
beginning to line his face, the hair
was becoming steel grey. On Sun-
days he went to the Swedish church,
while Guðný quietly read her Ice-
landic Bible, after caring for the
children.
More and more Gus began to
notice the slim, tender lines of
Guðneý and her physical attraction
began to occupy his mind, as the
memory of his wife receded into the
background. Her unlocked bedroom
door was not far away.
Guðný began to notice that Gus
was becoming more friendly and
generous with the household money.
He was beginning to linger at the
table longer after meals. She mis-
takenly thought that business was
improving, so that he had more time
on his hands and more money for the
household. She thought differently
when one day he put his arm around
her shoulder as she stirred the bean
pot. Taken aback in horror, she
swung the spoon hitting Gus in the
face. There he stood with splattered
face, beans nestling in his hair and a
bubbling bean pot on the stove, about
to burn its contents. Guðný rushed
into her bedroom, locked the door
crying her heart out, convinced that
she would be rired from her job.
The days went by, yet Gus did not
send her off by train to Winnipeg. Lit-
tle did she realize the power of attrac-
tion she possessed, her tantalizing
beauty had Gus spellbound. He was
not about to press his luck. He was
prepared to wait.
The months went by and there was
little change. A daily routine estab-
lished itself. Guðný was beginning
to get used to Gus. She was beginn-
ing to feel that he no longer looked
as old as when she first arrived, but
then she stayed at home and did not
see any younger men that would
have been a contrast to the lines that
Continued on page 6.
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