65° - 01.11.1969, Side 7

Editorial
CHRISTMAS IN ICELAND
All families in centuries past, and on some
farms as recently as 1920 made good use of the
articles shown on our cover, and Christmas had
a mellowness and a simplicity overlooked now
but still remembered.
The covered wooden pot, carved from a single
piece of driftwood pine log was made double for
insulation, the outer cover held by strips of wood
bound horizontally around the pot. So artistically
was its lid carved by the man in the house that,
as in the case of the cover photo, when the pot
itself became useless, a new pot was made to fit
the old lid. Each member of the family owned
such a pot, or askur: small for the children, large
for the adults, but ample for stews, porridges,
puddings and skyr. The predecessor of the cas-
serole, it was even more practical. Covered, in-
sulated, watertight from moisture, the food stayed
hot, and by grasping one handle and cradling the
askur to the breast, one could enjoy the aroma
and warm the hands and breast while eating.
A piece of smoked meat was passed to each
member for the Christmas meal. Food was im-
portant, made of hoarded precious ingredients,
served with ceremony and eaten with the appetite
only long anticipation can savor.
Gifts were few and usually homemade. Mittens
and socks of one’s own sheep’s wool, washed,
carded, spun and knitted by the woman — a pair
for each member of the family — were the
“something new” for Christmas. They were gifts
always welcome and made with care. The old
mittens were often handily knitted with two
thumbs, one to be tucked in till the used one
wore out.
Cards were imported even in the old days,
though not to be used until Christmas Eve was
over. Whether imported or homemade, the cards
were a main part of the holiday festivities that
centered in the home.
Most important wrere the candles, not the more
the merrier, but the more the better to dispel
shadow's, for evil spirits lurk in shadows. Some-
times the candlesticks were of fine metal, trea-
sured by the family, sometimes a rude crosspiece
of wmod.
At this time of year the sheep were long in
from the mountains and the cows from the home-
fields. Slaughtering over, the salted and smoked
meats were laid down and the winter stores long
put by. The huts had been returfed, and repaired
and the stones chinked. Inside, the weaving and
knitting were well underway while the men re-
paired farm and household implements and
carved all manner of beautiful and useful things.
In this season of interdependence and conviviality,
of long shadows and tall tales, Christmas was a
fitting time to rest and relax, to pause in the year
as nature pauses before moving on.
In modem times, the dwindling “spirit of
Christmas” has been most felt in so-called Chris-
tian countries. The sanctity, the holiness, the
very existence of Christ is questioned, and the
hollowness stuffed w'ith hucksters’ delights. That
annual extravaganza, exhausted before curtain-
time, is no longer Christ’s Mass in any sense, for
“there is no peace on earth for men”. Instead of
a time for joy, it is, for many, a time for bitter-
ness.
To Iceland has also come the superabundance
and glitter, but aside from the pinching costs, it
has none of the profound disillusionment it has
in actively Christian countries. This is the dif-
ference that makes all the difference.
From pagan days, Christmas has meant the
beginning of the season of light, i.e. the winter
solstice, the period when the longest night has
passed and when, day by day, the hours of light
will increase. Christmas meant that the hardest
part of winter was over, not the worst weather or
the hardest work, but the lessening of depression
that darkness brings. For this Iceland, it was a
pleasant coincidence that the Church should
superimpose the Christ symbol so as to profit
from the earlier meaning. As everyone knows,
Christianity never really “took” in Iceland, so at
Christmas today, Icelanders are not saddened.
They retain its earlier natural meaning, and
Christmas marks the time when hope is indeed
based on reality.
65 DEGREES
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