Arngerður Jóhanna (Gigi) Grímsdóttir Friðriksson

Gigi Friðriksson, Lifetime Honorary member of the Icelandic Canadian Club of Toronto passed away on January 16, 2021.

In honour of Gigi, members of her family and of the Club have brought forward the following story penned by Gigi about what her life in Iceland was like before she emigrated.

Enjoy!

My early years growing up in Iceland: from Patreksfjörður to Reykjavík

by Gigi Friðriksson

I was born on a small farm on the west coast of Iceland, Barðastrandasýsla, the fourth of ten children. My parents, who were both orphans, had been placed with different farmers, and worked as farm hands until they got married.

The little house consisted of two rooms, a kitchen in the middle and a small hallway. For water, a little hut was built over a nearby stream and there was a wooden box which held water to rinse clothes. This was called brunhús. Light was provided by oil lamps; heating came from the kitchen stove which burned peat.

Like most families, our farm was on an inlet near the sea, so the livelihood was from fishing and farming. My father had a little motorboat which was also used for transporting supplies from the village on the other side of the fjord. Our seashore, which was all white sand, was a treasure for us kids as we could collect shells and other things from it. Our other toys were lambs’ horns, or leg or jaw bones. We pretended each piece was a farm animal. Almost all of our clothing was made at home. Socks and mittens were all hand knitted and shoes were sewn from skin.

When I was five years old, I remember my mother sitting on the bed at night, knitting and teaching me the alphabet. She never walked between farms unless she had her wool ball under her arms and was knitting.

Sand was used to scrub the wooden floors. I remember my two older sisters doing that.

By 1930, we had moved to a bigger farm in the same neighbourhood. The house was two-story, had a well and later on, water was pumped into the house, which my mother thought was a big luxury.

As I was going on to six years old, my mother was quite ill. I was asked if I would like to leave home and live somewhere else. Soon I agreed. My mother had been brought up with my foster father’s family and they wanted to help out for a while. I never went back except for a visit to the farm, but we were always in close contact as my parents came to shop and visit in the village.

I remember the day I left. My older sisters had been teasing me that I would be a cry baby when I left. No, I didn’t cry; but my mother stood crying on the seashore as I left with my father across the bay in his little motorboat.

Patreksfjörður was a prosperous fishing village with two trawlers, a freezing plant where the ice was cut from the lake, a fish meal plant, a machine shop and general store. These were all family owned businesses by Ó. Jóhannesson & Co. There were also three other small stores. All goods were moved about on flat wagons on railroad tracks. There was also an old Ford truck and it was a treat to get a ride with the driver.

My foster father was a marine engineer who ran the machine shop near the dock. When we arrived, we stopped in there and I thought it strange that this was the house I would live in. We then walked through the village and came to a big, beautiful house where we had lunch. Then, my father left, and only then did my tears break loose. My foster mother carried me around and gave me some treasure to play with.

My foster father’s mother lived at home and became my teacher. I had to do reading, writing and arithmetic for a certain period each day as we didn’t start school until age 10. The minister visited each home once a year and tested the children in reading. In the spring following our school year, we had to take a reading test at the school. The school year ran from October 1st to the end of May. The hours were 9:00am to 4:00pm. There were about 30 children in each class. Ten and eleven year olds were together’ and twelve and thirteen year olds were together. At the end of the school year, we had a big assembly. There was a gymnastics show, the choir sang and there was a showing of our handicrafts, as this had always been an important school subject.

For leisure in the winter, we went skating, on sleigh rides and skiing. There were no ski poles. The skis were tied together with a  rope which we balanced and steered with down the hills. After getting down to the bottom, we climbed back up again. The young tots skied on barrel boards to start with. In the summer, we went mountain climbing, fishing, rowing and swimming in the sea.

In 1938, my foster parents decided to move to Reykjavík, and they asked me if I wanted to come with them or go back to my parents. This was a major decision for me to make. I remember staying awake at night thinking about all the angles … I decided to go along.

When we moved in the fall, It was my first trip on a big ship. It took ten hours and I was seasick almost the whole time.

Oh, how exciting Reykjavík looked to me. The main streets, Austurstræti, Bankastræti and Laugavegur with all the stores; Hafnarstræti where all the wholesaler importers were located. It all seemed so big to me.

I had one year of public school in Reykjavík. At that time, there were only two public schools, Austurbæjarskóli and Miðbæjarskóli. I went to MB. It was a six day school week, as all work was. One thing I was not very fond of was when the nurse came in the classroom with a big jug of cod liver oil and poured it into our mouths, although we did get a pint of milk afterwards. The other thing that was new to me was the school dentist. We were called in two at a time, alphabetically. The dentist looked into my mouth and said, “what the hell do you eat?” Well, it must have been all the harðfiskur we helped ourselves to on rainy days, sitting in the fish sheds where the fish was drying in Patreksfjörður. I was lucky though, no drilling. This dentist was known for skipping the drill.

Swimming was compulsory at school. We had lessons at Sundhöll on Báronstígur once a week for a couple of months. Gymnastics was also compulsory and afterwards we had to go to a shower room for hot and cold showers. Hot and cold water poured from the ceiling, there was no way out, as the caretaker took care of the switches. We also had to take cooking for four hours a week.

As public school finished, we all had different summer jobs. Many went to farms; my first summer out of school, I was a mother’s helper (babysitter).

I went to Verslunaskólinn business school for 3 years. I was a bank messenger for Kauphöll, a mortgage company. One thing in particular sticks in my mind. The boss was on holidays and his partner sent me to the bank with a note for 50,000 kr. “You don’t need a bag,” he said. “Phone me when it comes through. I will tell you what account to deposit it to.” I phoned. “Bring in the cash,” he said. It was quite a stack of bills, as at that time, we didn’t have bills larger than 50 to 100 kr. I don’t think I’ve ever run faster in my life, over a narrow wood plank which covered the trench, from Útvegs Bank across Lækjartorg with my arms wrapped tightly around the bundle of cash. There were lots of young men in the trench, as they were digging the heating system for the city, and did they ever whistle at me. I arrived at the office, assisted in recounting the money and took it back in a briefcase to the same bank for deposit. The same poor teller just said, “now Mr. A is on holidays.” A few years later, I happened to work with one of these men and he hadn’t forgotten me with the big bundle of money.

In the summer of 1942, I worked on a farm in Rangervallasýsla. While there, I visited a farm named Húsum which had mud floors throughout the house. I had never seen this before, it was probably the last of its kind, it was really clean too.

Working hours on the farm were from 8:00am to 8:30pm. Meal times were 7:30 for coffee and light bread; 10:30 for a light lunch of skyr, bread, harðfiskur; the main meal was at 3:00pm; a late afternoon coffee break between 5:00 and 6:00pm brought out to the fields; and at 8:30, a meal much like the lunch. We only worked these hours during the harvest season due to the long daylight hours.

One summer, I worked at a fishing plant in Dalvík, on the north coast. As most young people, I experienced many different kinds of work during my education.

May 10th, 1940 is a day all Icelanders remember. This was when the British invaded Iceland. It was a frightening sight to see soldiers everywhere with guns on their shoulders. In May 1944, while the war continued, Iceland voted for independence. On June 17th, we joyfully celebrated being an independent nation after nearly seven centuries of foreign rule.

In the mid 1940s, I worked for two years in a flower store. Once, during the lunch hour, a big, handsome navy officer walked in. “Oh my God,” I thought. My English was so poor that my heart sank into my stomach. To my big surprise, however, the man spoke beautiful Icelandic. He happened to be the late Valdimar Björnsson from Minneapolis.

My last job in Iceland was with Blöndal hf, a grocery importer, a candy factory and a coffee roasting plant. I worked on customer accounts and sales. This was at a time when we had shortages and coffee was rationed by coupons. I had to divide all the goods between the customers so everyone got something. It wasn’t easy, but somehow I kept everyone satisfied.

All Icelanders enjoy singing. My closest girlfriend, Margaret, was the daughter of Pétur Jónsson, the opera singer. At his home, we had many good concerts as he gave lessons to a few of our best opera singers: Guðmundur Jónsson, Magnús Jónsson, Ketill Jónsson, Ól. Magnússon from Mosfell, Sigfús Halldórsson and others.

I also remember that once I was at a birthday party that ended at 2:00am. With my aunt as a leader playing her guitar, we marched and sang down Laugavegur and through town. People were coming to their doorways in night clothes to see these marvellous singers. Those were the good old days. I have many fond childhood memories.

Thank you for listening.

May 1, 1991.

Posted in News.