Lögberg-Heimskringla - 15.11.2018, Blaðsíða 11

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Lögberg-Heimskringla • 15. nóvember 2018 • 11
Stefan Jonasson
Whether one was
a lonely pacifist
like Stephan G.
Stephansson, who opposed
participation in the Great
War (or any war, for that
matter), or one of the many
Icelandic community leaders
like the poet’s own friend,
Rev. Rögnvaldur Pétursson,
who believed it was the duty
of Icelandic Canadians and
Icelandic Americans to serve
the war effort however they
could, the armistice that ended
the war at the eleventh hour
on the eleventh day of the
eleventh month of 1918 came
as a welcome relief. Over the
century that has followed,
people have debated the merits
and follies of the war and the
events that led up to it, but
everyone was glad when it
was finally over. Although
it proved not to be “the war
to end all war,” as some had
hoped, that particular war was
finally done.
The Icelandic newspapers
Heimskringla and Lögberg
celebrated the war’s end in
their issues of Thursday,
November 14, 1918. The war
had ended on the previous
Monday and we can assume
that the editors and printers
were working overtime to
announce the breaking news
at the speed of print. The
Manitoba Free Press Evening
Bulletin announced on the
cover of its November 7 issue
that fighting had ceased,
although it cautioned that
the armistice was not official
and, to emphasize the point,
embedded a question mark in
its red headline: “Armistice
is Signed? Say Great War
Ended.” So it may be that the
Icelandic papers had been
preparing for the story all
week, since rumours of the
war’s end had been swirling
for some time. Both papers
had supported the war effort,
so its successful conclusion
and the Allies’ victory
were, among other things, a
confirmation of the editorial
policies of the Icelandic press
in Winnipeg, as well as deeply
satisfying to the majority of
the members of the Icelandic
community, whose patriotism
was beyond question. From
politicians to clergy, and from
business leaders to women’s
organizations, there had been
broad support for the war
among the individuals and
organizations of the Icelandic
community.
Noting that, for Icelanders,
“there was no tradition behind
them, no acclaimed war
heroes among their forebears,”
Walter J. Lindal observed that
Icelandic Canadian enlistment
in the military during the
First World War had been
remarkable; he estimated that
6.7 percent of the Icelandic
community on the Canadian
prairies alone enlisted to serve,
compared with 7.2 percent
for the population as a whole.
Walter J. Lindal himself was
among those who served.
In the rural communities,
it took a while for the news to
arrive. The late Einar Arnason
reported that his family
didn’t receive word about
the war’s end until six days
later – November 17, 1918 –
when an excited postmaster
handed his mother a copy
of Heimskringla with the
bold headline, “Vopnahlé” –
Armistice! “The end of World
War I did not have a meaning
to me and my sisters, as we
were too young to grasp the
significance of this world
event,” Einar conceded. “We
did, however, sense the impact
on adults who made it their
main item of conversation.”
Einar came to believe that
the armistice may have been as
much a sign of exhaustion as
a mark of victory. “The work
was at a stalemate, which
ended only as exhaustion
of the countries involved
brought about a peace so
greatly desired, including
distant homes remote from
the battlefields of Europe.
Our Icelandic districts of the
Interlake country felt anxiety
relieved, as their sons would
now return home to enjoy the
prospects of an extended life
that had been denied to the
multitudes who lost their lives
during those four bitter years.”
Reflecting on the war,
and especially its final days,
from the vantage point of
1974, former editor Caroline
Gunnarsson wrote, “in the
few hours that passed from
the signing of the treaty at
dawn, until the last shot was
fired, many a young man
lost his life. Many more lay
permanently maimed in the
battlefields, pitiful remnants of
rugged manhood, condemned
to a hopeless existence on
the edge of life in hospitals
and nursing homes.” The
carnage continued until the
last moment – and there were
many injuries and fatalities
even after the armistice came
into effect. Caroline lamented
that many had been “deprived
of their future before it
began.” On the other had,
she acknowledged that many
others “returned home with
high hopes of a bright future
in the occupations they left
to go to battle, then zestfully
applied their energies to
rebuilding shattered industries
and to healing and tilling
the soil of a bomb-tattered
homeland.” At the same time,
they were forced to contend
with an economic depression,
labour strife, a peace treaty
that hadn’t really secured
the peace, and a League of
Nations that proved to be far
less effective than anyone
had hoped. A generation later,
the world was again at war.
During the nearly six decades
that had then passed since the
end of the war, Caroline noted
sadly, “there has never been
peace in the world. Not even
an armistice.”
And so things have
continued to the present day.
Peace remains elusive – but it
remains our highest aspiration
and our greatest hope.
ARMISTICE: THE ENDURING HOPE OF PEACE
The cover of Heimskringla on November 14, 1918,
announcing the armistice (vopnahlé) that brought the
First World War to an end.
Lögberg featured President Woodrow Wilson and Prime Minister
David Lloyd George prominently in its coverage of the end of the
war, with Sir Arthur Currie standing in as the face of Canada
“Beyond, behind a blasted grove of poplars
A soldier rose to rest upon his haunches.
Amid the shelling he had crawled and huddled
In blood and filth; and since the eve before
All through the autumn night he’d lain prostate
Against cold clay, breathless for life and shivering. …
“Glancing across he saw the enemy resting,
And in the trenches there a grim-faced soldier,
A foreigner, who’d lately been his foeman,
Perhaps the very one who’d killed his son.
He called a greeting in a friendly way,
As if he were a comrade, sharing all
The hell and agony of war.”
– Stephan G. Stephansson, from “Vopnahlé”
(Battle Pause), 1915, translated by Paul Sigurdson
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