The Icelandic Canadian - 01.12.1979, Side 30

28
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
WINTER 1979
MY MOTHER, HALLFRIDUR
by Lillian T. Sumarlidason
Whenever I am asked to spell my long
Icelandic surname, I eagerly rise in defence
of its length, its pronounciation, and its
spelling.
The suggestion that it could be simpli-
fied. or shortened provides me with an
opportunity for explanation. Usually my
own enthusiasm creates a respect for the
names of our forefathers who came from
Iceland and added strange words to the
western world. We, Canadians with Ice-
landic surnames, inherit a reflected glory as
the story is told of their incredible victory
over circumstances. The story of their
courage in leaving a homeland they loved,
to sail over the sea to an unknown future, is a
dramatic, heart-breaking tale of determina-
tion and endurance during those first unbe-
lievable years in the 1870’s.
In the mass immigration from Iceland,
they transported the roots of our ancestors.
Now they are all departed but the family
names remain as tokens of their courage in
adversity, their nobility of mind, and the
will to persevere and to conquer. The suc-
cess which eventually came to them has
provided their children with a luxury of life
unequalled anywhere in the world.
They gave up their homes in Iceland
through the quirks of nature. The volcanic
upheavals, loss of crops and stocks, frost
and ice in the fjords, and loss of fish brought
on famine and distress. They came to the
new world full of hope only to find hunger,
cold, poverty, illness and ridicule for their
customs, language and inexperience. Yet,
their sense of law-abiding responsibility
remained firm. As time passed the bountiful
rewards of their adopted land eased the
memories of the miseries and homesickness
they had suffered.
One can feel a sense of pride in the man-
ner that the women adjusted to the discom-
fort, the inadequacy and the hopelessness of
homemaking. Much ingenuity and inven-
tiveness were required, but more important,
a cheerful acceptance; and a strong faith in a
divine power must have bolstered them in
the discouraging problems of settlement.
Our mother was one of these first daring
travellers. She lived through pioneer days in
Kinmount, Ontario, for two years, then to
Markland, Nova Scotia, for almost seven
years, then to North Dakota until her mar-
riage to our Dad, Thorarinn Gudmundson.
As a bride, she moved to Alberta, Canada,
with her mother and my Dad. Later, moving
to a farm in Saskatchewan, she hoped for
improvement in the health of her soldier
son. In 1944 she was laid to rest in Forest
Lawn cemetery in Vancouver, B.C.
By spanning the continent, she learned to
be an ardent Canadian, and her loyalty was
sorely tried when her teen-age, only son
endured the poison gas attacks in the battle-
fields of France, in the first world war, only
to return home with indifferent health and to
linger for a few short years.
I do not recall that Mother ever moral-
ized. nor scolded nor punished us, yet we
felt her sweet personality demanded proper
behavior. She valued an honorable name
above wealth; and education for her children
was an obsession.She filled her days with
concern for the home and community. An
excellent seamstress, she was a successful
fund raiser for St. Luke's Church, in Red
Deer, as Dorcas secretary, and was a life-
member of the Icelandic Ladies Aid in
Elfros, Sask. The Icelandic Ladies Aid
‘Vonin’ formed in Calgary in the 189()’s
was moved to Markerville and is still in
existence though none of the charter mem-
bers are alive.
When troubled or disappointed with the
antics of her children, her beautiful, dark