Christmas in Iceland - 15.12.1940, Qupperneq 12

A taxi crawls down to the fishing quays
at Fleetwood, north-west port of the fisher-
fclk, loaded up with radio sets and electric
fires — and piled high with top, and the
latest in Stetson, hats.
The fishing skipper who has hired it sits
b rck among his treasures, smoking a fat cigar.
He doesn’t speak much English, but he is
happy — and rich.
Yes, you’re right — he’s an Icelandic trawl-
erman. He is enjoying the reward well-earned
for his hazardous voyage to Britain with a
ship load of good fresh fish, another valuable
contribution to our wartime larder.
■Icelandic fishermen are making fortunes in
1he Fleetwood fishing industry and are spen-
ding huge sums of money in the shops there
causing the most extraordinary boom the
town has known for years.
These fisherfolk are making from £ 80 to
£ 100 each for a trip lasting 10 days — but
they are not allowed to take more than £ 10
out of Britain.. their money is frozen. So most
of them spend the surplus on goods they can
take home and sell.
Everytime a trawler comes into port — and
they arrive usually on five days of the week
— the men go out on mass shopping expedi-
tions. It is therefore not uncommon to see
them driving round town in a taxi laden
with clothing, electric apparatus, and crock-
ery — anything they can lay their hands on.
Often suites of furniture and second-hand
motor cars are loaded on to the trawlers to
be taken back to Iceland.
And when these husky fishermen buy they
buy. One skipper strolled into a shop and
instead of buying one suit of clouthes he
bought a dozen expensive suits. The same
skipper went into a well-known hat shop and
bought eight silk top hats.
These fishermen are making their money
because most of Britain’s trawlers have been
acquired by the Government for other pur-
poses.
One catch, for instance, realised £11,574 —
the result of 10 days’ fishing. The usual tak-
ings vary from £3.000 to £10.000.
And so it’s not surprising that Fleetwood
is enjoying a boom — probably bigger and
better than any experienced in pre-war days.
Our England
The cold Atlantic water, grimly sweeping
O’er Iceland’s barren shores, nor ever sleeping,
While in captive bounds, fair England’s
sons,
Their tireless vigil, constant keeping,
Man Freedom’s guns —
What story bringest thou from that fair beach
Which thou canst circle, though beyond my
reach?
I listen to thy murm’ring, fondly peering
Toward the land which thou art ever nearing,
And to my query, like a soothing balm,
Thine answer cometh — blessed hearing —,
“Thou may’st be calm.
Thy kinsman stands, as thou art standing
here,
On that beloved shore — Thou need’st not
fear.
For Britain’s sons and daughters, nothing
daunting,
Are guarding well their own; no tyrant
taunting
Shall ever seize the fortress they have made,
Nor will they rest until, all perils flaunting,
The debt is paid.
Fear not for England, ye who gaze across the
ocean,
For she will live by England’s own devotion.
J. S. Woodford.
10
CHRISTMAS IN ICELAND