Lögberg-Heimskringla - 15.11.2018, Síða 14

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14 • Lögberg-Heimskringla • November 15 2018
Stefan Jonasson
It’s long been said that history
is written by the victors, which
seems true enough, but it can also
be said that history is typically written
about those who happen to hold key
positions at critical points of time.
Social history encourages us to dig
deeper and explore the past through
the everyday experiences of common
people. While conducting a graveside
service for Valdine Johnson in Piney,
Manitoba, last June, I learned about
her remarkable father, John Johnson,
who had immigrated from Iceland as
a young man, served in the Canadian
Army during the First World War, and
then farmed at Piney for several years
in conditions that seemed every bit as
challenging as wartime before moving
to Winnipeg where he devoted himself
to the Icelandic community.
John was born Jón Jónsson on
August 28, 1885, at Auðbrekka in
Högárdalur, the valley that runs
westward from Eyjafjörður, just north
of Akureyri. He was the son of Jón
Snorrason and Sigríður Jónsdóttir. His
maternal grandfather, Jón Einarsson of
Laugaland, was the hreppstjóri (reeve)
of Glæsibæjarhreppur and a recipient
of the Order of the Dannebrog from
the King of Denmark. Jón’s father died
when he was just six months old.
Jón immigrated to Canada in
1914, settling in the Piney district
in southeastern Manitoba, near the
international boundary, where he
boarded with Einar Einarsson and
his wife Margrét (née Eyford). Einar
was the local police magistrate and
secretary-treasurer of the municipality.
Arriving right at the end of the major
period of Icelandic immigration,
Jón found himself confronted by an
economic depression and a nation on the
brink of war. With little work available,
he enlisted in the army of his new
homeland.
Less than two years after arriving
in Canada, Jón became John Johnson
when he enlisted in the 222nd Battalion
at Emerson, Manitoba, on March 2,
1916. He was determined to be in good
health with normal sight and hearing,
measuring just under 5 feet 6 inches in
height and weighing 150 pounds. He
had brown hair, blue eyes, and a fair
complexion.
In November, John began writing to
the editor of Heimskringla with news
of his movements. “Just a few lines to
let you know that the 222nd battalion
has arrived,” he wrote on November 6,
“and also to let you know my address
and to ask you to send me Heimskringla
as soon as possible. I have not received
it the last two weeks, and I would like
to get it without delay.” The battalion
had left Camp Hughes, near Carberry,
Manitoba, before dawn on the first
day of the month and arrived at West
Saint John, New Brunswick, late in the
evening of November 5. The troops
travelled by train along the CPR line,
but they were taken for a one-hour road
march every day and John goes into
surprising detail by naming the places
where they drilled along the journey
– Fort William and Smiths Falls, in
Ontario, Montreal, and then Moncton
as they neared their destination. “We
were received as if we had been born
and raised there. We were greeted by
two brass bands. They went ahead of us
and played their beautiful march music
throughout the town. We left there
accompanied by many heartfelt good
wishes, which indeed was the case in
many places.” In Saint John, they were
greeted by cheers and served a meal
prepared by a local women’s society.
“There is no way of knowing how
long we will be here,” he wrote towards
the end of his letter, but he soon had
an answer. A week later, the 222nd
Battalion was on its way to Europe. They
sailed on November 13, 1916, aboard
the Olympic, a sister ship of the Titanic
that had been chartered by the Canadian
government for troop transport, arriving
at Liverpool, England, on November 19,
although they remained on the ship for
three days after it docked, awaiting their
transportation to their new camp, which
was nine hours away by train.
After his first letter, John’s letters
were signed “Jón Jónsson frá Piney” and
that is how he came to be known to the
readers of Heimskringla, even though
he’d scarcely been a resident of Piney
for two years when he was deployed.
Five weeks after his battalion’s arrival
in England, he wrote again, expressing
thanks for receiving the paper, which
was arriving weekly. He reported
that the troops had received six-day
leave – a “King’s Holiday” – and they
had enjoyed it travelling around the
countryside. Some had apparently been
able to make it as far as Scotland and
even Ireland before returning to base.
He described the voyage to England
in some detail, saying, “one hardly
notices if the ocean wrinkles her brow
occasionally when one is on board
such an excellent ship” as the Olympic,
which was large enough to carry 10,000
men on its six decks. There were seven
battalions on board, the 222nd being the
only one from Manitoba. Every soldier
was given a lifebelt on the ship, which
they were required to wear at all times.
“Since our arrival here the weather has
been wet and hardly a day has gone
by without rain,” he observed, adding
that the troops drilled daily, including
Sundays. He noted that two of the
Icelandic soldiers had been promoted to
the rank of corporal and reported that he
expected they would be in France within
weeks.
In Shoreham, England, John
underwent another medical examination
on December 6, 1916, to ensure that he
was fit to be sent across the channel.
The physician reported that he was in
good health, other than noting, “both
feet flat and have been for years before
enlistment. They don’t bother him any.”
John was transferred to the 44th
Battalion, Canadian Infantry, on
December 28, 1916, and deployed to
France the following day. On February
18, he wrote “a few lines, to let my
acquaintances know that I am still
among the living,” suggesting that the
potential danger of his situation had
become clear to him, but he had not
lost his sense of humour. “I have seen
many things of various descriptions,
which previously I had no idea could
exist.” His letter shows that the troops
had settled into a routine, wherever they
were at the time. “We live here as others
do, we eat and drink and sleep, and other
daily activities as you do back home.”
He described the soldiers’ cookies they
were given as part of their rations,
comparing them to the “Flandra kex”
biscuits he had known in Iceland while
saying that the English referred to them
wryly as dog biscuits. “Anyone who has
been so fortunate as to have tasted this
bread of many names, will know how
soft they are to the teeth,” he joked.
“I am quite certain that we are given
them in order to strengthen our teeth.”
But he assured readers that he had no
complaints about the food because the
syrup was sweet beyond all comparison
and they had good portions of beef and
Danish mutton. Who knows? Some of
that mutton may have been Icelandic
lamb. The only thing missing was
that he hadn’t received any copies of
Heimskringla since New Year’s Day.
On Good Friday, John wrote again,
declaring that he had been relieved of
duty in the trenches that day. “The reason
for this good fortune is not clear to me,
and I am not asking any questions.” The
sun was bright and a warm southerly
breeze was blowing, and he described it
as “a day of good cheer.” He continued,
“I met a few Icelanders today, which is
always reason for good cheer. They were
in good spirits and full of hope for the
future, certain of a complete victory for
the Allied troops.” In all, nine Icelandic
Canadian soldiers found themselves
in one another’s happy company that
day. Three months in to their time in
France, he observed that there had been
no “serious mishaps” on either side
but conceded that the situation seemed
precarious.
In a surprising bit of advance
information that somehow slipped by
the military censors, John wrote, “pay
attention to the news you will get of the
eighth and ninth of April, which might
be quite newsworthy for the Canadian
troops and their story” – an obvious
hint of the coming Battle of Vimy
Ridge. After complaining that he hadn’t
received either Heimskringla or Lögberg
since arriving in France, he revealed
that he had heard a rumour that the
223rd Battalion would soon be joining
them. “I am very pleased to think that
they will be coming, our compatriots
from there, for there is much need of
able-bodied men to tie up the last knots
around those Germans.”
He distinguished between those
Icelanders in the frontlines and those
“who have a position as officers in the
army, that just go as far as England and
sit themselves there while this bloodbath
continues.” He admonished all Icelandic
soldiers: “No, my compatrots! Never
let it be said of you that you hold
yourselves back and shield yourselves,
thinking that you were created to teach
others to fight, both for themselves and
for others. No, come all the way to the
battlefield, no matter how high a rank
you have earned and show that you have
not enlisted only for that rank which you
have been offered until now, rather to
fight for a good cause against evil and
by that show that you are true Canadian
Icelanders.”
True to his own word, perhaps, his
next letter was written from a hospital
bed, saying that he had received a
“slight wound” during an engagement
on June 3. He reported that several
Icelanders had been wounded, and some
killed, over the previous two months.
Of the 24 Icelanders he knew about in
his own battalion, five had been killed
and 14 wounded. “That is a lot, but
it does bear clear witness to the fact
that our compatriots do not hold back
when there is something to be done.”
He further observed, “I feel quite safe
in saying that our men have gained a
reputation for being courageous, quick
and especially adept at deciding which
course of action would be the best under
any given situation.”
In July, he wrote to Heimskringla
again, which by then had a new editor,
and listed seven other Icelanders by
name as being with his unit, which would
have been reassuring to any of their kin
who may have been wondering if they
were well. He closed his July missive by
reporting, “our king was here yesterday.
He was inspecting the troops and wanted
to see what conditions were like for us
JÓN JÓNSSON FRÁ PINEY
Military Medal (World
War I). Portrait of Corp.
John Johnson (Jón Jónsson
frá Piney) in Minningarrit
Íslenzkra Hermanna