Sunshine, Swedish Meatballs and School

The Dalecarlian painted horse has become a symbol of Sweden.

Gudrun and I attended the Majornas högre allmänna läroverk (Majornas higher general grammar school).  Although I had a Swedish tutor that helped me with grammar and speaking, I didn’t understand much of the class lectures for the first few months of school. I mastered the art of seeming mesmerized by the lesson while my mind escaped into elaborate daydreams.

Eventually, I was able to understand the readings and lectures.  I particularly enjoyed Swedish poetry. I remember a poem dealing with the unpredictability of life. It compared our existence to a seedling clinging to life on a rocky coast, battered by waves, wind and rain. The theme reflected the rugged geography of Sweden.

Our modernized school.

I didn’t always shine on English quizzes.  As in France, students learned British English.  I used to get the wrong prepositions.  For example if a sporting event doesn’t occur due to weather, Americans say it is rained OUT.  In Britain one says it is rained OFF. To be enrolled IN a course versus to be enrolled ON a course…different FROM vs. different THAN etc. 

By Spring, I was able to sit for 8-hour-long exams.  We wrote essays on various topics that were graded by several teachers. For example we would write about the Great Swedish Empire of the 1600s. It would be graded by the history teacher for historical facts and by the Swedish teacher for the grammar and development of ideas. I imagine my opus was jam-packed with errors.

One day we participated in an all-school “orienteering” competition.  We were dropped off in the woods in groups of 4.  With the aid of a physical map and a compass, we found our way over rough terrain and through heavy woods. There were several check points before reaching the final destination. The contest took most of the day and we were outfitted with warm clothes, sandwiches and a thermos of coffee. The winning group completed the run in the least amount of time.

Orienteering tools.  Part of the trick is to carefully read the map so that your group doesn't get stymied by an impassible  stream, bog or a steep gorge.

Guess what?  They really do eat Swedish meatballs (Köttbullar) in Sweden!  They were on the school lunch menu once or twice a week.  Usually the meatballs were served with a pool of puréed potatoes and a lake of lingonberry sauce.  Another school lunch favorite was hash (Pyttipanna) served with a fried egg on top. This was also served with a lake of lingonberry sauce or sliced beets.

In the winter we left for school in the dark and came home in the dark. It was debilitating. Sometimes at noon, the girls would stand pressed against the warm wall on the South side of the school.  They would raise their faces up to the sun like worshiping sunflowers.

Breakfast in Bed and Midsummer's Night in Finland

The first morning in Sweden, I was awakened by a light tap at the door.  It was Greta, my adopted Swedish mother, bringing me a breakfast tray. I plumped up my pillows and she placed the tray on my lap.  There was a thermos of coffee and a pitcher of warm milk. Two pieces of toast were arranged on a pretty plate.  One was covered in thinly sliced cheese and the other was spread with a delicious berry jam.  I said,“Tack så mycket" (thanks so much) - one of the few phrases I knew in Swedish at that point. Breakfast in bed!  Wow!  What a treat!

This was repeated every morning.  I awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and I could laze around in bed and wake up slowly.  I wrote my mother about this delightful occurrence and she wrote back: “Debbie, I am disappointed to hear that you are staying in bed and not helping Greta with breakfast.  Get up and offer to help.  Shame on you.” You get the gist.

The next morning after receiving this commandment from home, I insisted on getting up and helping to carry trays up to the other members of the family.  Pretty soon, Gudrun was coming downstairs too and we sat at the breakfast table and had our coffee with Greta at the big kitchen table.  We chatted and laughed.  But Greta was not happy.  Finally after a couple of days, she begged me and Gudrun to stay in bed.  She wanted to sit quietly with her coffee and cigarettes and contemplate her day. She did not want help and she did not want company.  So the upshot was I had breakfast in bed for the entire year!

Savonlinna is the town where the Olavinlinna Castle is located.  See above on the East side of Finland. It's a hop, skip and  jump from the Russian border. In 1961, at the time of the Cold War, the proximity to our Number 1 Enemy provided a frisson of excitement and fear.

In the latter part of June, the family attended a Scandinavian medical conference in Savonlinna, Finland.  We took a car ferry across the Baltic to Helsinki and drove from there to Savonlinna. At that time there were not as many hotels as their seem to be now. Gunnar and Greta stayed in a hotel, but Gudrun and I were housed in an empty hospital ward.  There were perhaps 20 metal beds in the room.  

On the hospital grounds was a little rustic hut that was used as a sauna.  In the chilly mornings we donned our bathing suits, wrapped up in towels and went down to the hut. We slipped inside and sat down on our towels. I remember there was a wood fire and we threw water on it to create steam.  After roasting for 15 minutes, we flew out of the hut and jumped into the icy cold lake, screaming and laughing all the while.

On midsummer’s night, there was a medieval feast in the Olavinlinna castle.  The dinner took place on long trestle tables and we chowed down on rustic victuals like Knights of the Round Table or Viking Lords. Musicians entertained us with medieval airs on period instruments.

Olavinlinna Castle with the town of Savonlinna in the background. The town is surrounded by lakes.

Part of the magic of the evening, was that we were celebrating Midsummer’s Eve.   This is one of Sweden’s major holidays.  If you think about the long, dark winters, it’s no wonder that summer and the arrival of long, sunny days are to be celebrated. I just checked.  In Savonlinna on June 21st, sunset is at 10:57 and sunrise is at 3:16.  So there is a very brief night where it barely gets dark. People stay up all night and drink aquavit (water of life), a strong spirit flavored with spices and herbs. Children make crowns of flowers and in some villages they perform folk dances.

I remember wandering the castle after the dinner and climbing up on the ramparts as the sun set.  Later curled up in my hospital bed, I could hear the twittering of birds that were welcoming the new day.

Göteborg (Gothenburg) and Enhanced Driving Skills

Here's Sweden in orange.  Göteborg is on the bottom-left near the tip of Sweden.  It's an important port.

Göteborg

We arrived in Göteborg on a sunny day.  Gudrun’s parents were there to greet us as we stepped off the ship.  For a day or two I felt a little dizzy, as though I were still on the rolling sea.  I just learned this is called MDdS syndrome (mal de débarquement syndrome).

The family consisted of Gunnar, Gudrun’s father that we called Papa-lilla.(little daddy) - a term of endearment; Greta, Gudrun’s mother and Lars, her little brother. I remember the story of Greta and Gunnar’s romance.  Greta was somewhat of a party girl.  She wasn’t settling down with her studies and her parents were worried.  They decided to send her away to stay with an Aunt who lived in lapland in the northern most reaches of Sweden.  Up there she would have no distractions and could devote herself to her studies.  As it turned out the only eligible young man for miles around was Gunnar who was in residency in a small hospital in the wilderness.  Of course Gunnar was entranced with the pretty Greta and they became engaged. They were a happy couple but quite mismatched.  Greta enjoyed society while Gunnar buried himself in his research.

Another view of Göteborg

The Jungners lived outside of town.  Their large, comfortable house was perched on a hill above the sea. The first floor contained a living and dining room as well as a large kitchen.  Upstairs were four bedrooms and a bath.  During Gudrun’s absence, her parents had turned her bedroom into a sitting room with sofa and chairs.  A spiral staircase led up to the remodeled attic. There were two bedrooms with a bath in between.  My room was decorated in deep, royal blue and gold. The bed was built-in and surrounded by book shelves. Blue wall-to-wall carpeting covered the floor. Under the window was a desk and chair. It looked out on a road that wound down through fields to some woods and several summer cottages.  Beyond was the rocky coastline and the sea. I loved the view and that cozy little room. 

After a week or so, Gunnar came home with a new car. He presented me with the keys.  Before leaving the States I had obtained an International Driver’s License.  The legal driving age in Sweden at that time was 20 and Gudrun couldn’t drive yet. Greta had never learned and Lars was too young.  So I became the designated driver/chauffeur.  I will never forget the first day. I headed out on the road in fits and starts.  I had never driven stick-shift and I had never driven on the left side of the road.  Gudrun, Greta and Lars were all in the car and giving advice.  It was a hair-raising experience.

Maybe the car I drove was a little Saab like this.

Off to Sweden on the Kungsholm

I love the colors of the Swedish flag! Blue and yellow have been used as national colors since King Magnus III's royal coat of arms of 1275!  The cross represents Christianity. (Wikipedia)

After a year in France, I returned to the Washington D.C. area to complete high school at BCC, Bethesda Chevy Chase High School.  My French sister, Luce, arrived in the late summer and spent the following year attending school and perfecting her English.

At BCC, I made the acquaintance of a Swedish girl, Gudrun Jungner, who was in the USA because her father, a renowned biochemist, had been invited to do research at NIH. (The National Institute of Health).  He had a one year fellowship.  Gudrun  wanted to stay on after her parents left and receive an American high school diploma.  After my adventure in France, I was ready to try another international experience. (I considered myself oh-so-cosmopolitan) So together we cooked up a plan. We invited our families on a picnic.  Once our parents were sitting across from each other we sprang our plan.  Pretty sneaky! Eventually, they agreed to the exchange.  So Gudrun stayed on at my house after her parents left. A year later, after graduation, we left for Gothenburg, Sweden on the Kungsholm, a Swedish-American ocean liner.

The Kungsholm 

My parents drove us up to New York on a sunny June morning.  They accompanied us up the gangplank. Together we found our small cabin and dumped our bags.  We were hyper-excited. Up on deck we tearfully bid my parents adieu.  The majestic Kungsholm pulled away from the shore and we continued to cry as my parents disappeared from view.  Then we looked at each other, screamed with delight and started to laugh hysterically.  Our adventure had begun.  Two 18-year-old girls, unsupervised, on a week-long voyage.  We scurried downstairs to unpack.

Don’t imagine a romantic cruise, we were crossing the North Atlantic and the North Sea.  The weather was terrible and we barely went out on deck.  I was seasick a good part of the time, but that didn’t keep me down.  We participated in activities and went dancing every night.  I ate all the delicious food but didn’t always keep it down.  Sometimes I went to the swimming pool in the bowels of the ship.  Being in the pool water counteracted the effects of the roiling sea.  I remember one time going upstairs when the ship plunged sharply down a wave so that I was almost going downstairs. Oh-la-la!

I remember we drank a cocktail called a White Lady: Cointreau, gin, lemon juice, sugar syrup and an egg white; all shook up. I haven’t had one since! 

Le Grand Départ -Leaving France

Beuvron-en-Auge - A lovely village in Normandie in the center of the cider and Calvados region.

After school let out at the end of June, I spent a few more weeks in France before flying home.  A friend had asked me to come along on a Cub Scout camping trip.   In France, teenage girls act as Scout leaders for the Cubs.  Luce and I had participated in the camping trip the year before.  Both times we set up camp in Normandy in an empty field. Along with the tents, the boys constructed a complicated structure for cooking over an open fire. There were games, singing and a lot of rain.

A Solex motorized bicycle.

That first summer my knowledge of French was minimal. Since I wasn’t much good at organizing the boys, I was sent on errands. I remember I was asked to take the Solex (a motorized bicycle)into the village to buy the boudin (a sausage made with dried blood and seasonings). Finding my way to the village was an adventure.  I had never ridden a Solex and I didn’t have a clue what I was purchasing. In the village, I went into the wrong shop and was directed to the butcher. I bought a long string of boudin.  As I remember my trip back was by trial and error as I wasn't quite sure where the camp site was located.  We enjoyed the grilled boudin with applesauce and mashed potatoes.

Here I am on the second cub scout camping trip.  The boys presented me with a birthday cake! 

Two weeks later I left for home.  A group of friends came to see me off at Orly.  I cried as I made my way to the plane.  I would greatly miss my French family and all the friends I had made.

Le grand départ.  Check out the chic full skirt and scarf.  In my hands I hold flowers and a baguette.

When I arrived in Washington, I put on a black hat with a brim to go through customs.  Under the hat I smuggled in a camembert cheese. Very naughty and highly illegal! 

Another group of family and friends were there to greet me as I exited the plane.  I was hugged and kissed and I laughed and then I cried…for joy to be back home.

Home is deep in your heart. 

It empowers your departure.

But it welcomes you back,

With arms spread wide.

It’s the fulcrum of your life,

A tether to your soul.

Here's a plaque I made with my Dad as a young girl.  We used a red-hot washer and a nail to burn in the inscription.

School Days

As I remember school started in late September.  I was enrolled in the high school: Le Lycée Mixte Enghien-Montorency with Luce and Annie. The “mixte” means it was co-ed. My first day was not propitious.  Upon arrival, I was told to speak to the Surveillante Générale, the Dean in charge of discipline.  I don’t remember why?  But I knocked on her door, waited for a response and then went in.  A thin woman was seated behind a desk. Her hair was pulled back in a tight chignon. She eyed me critically and I became nervous and plunged my hands into my pockets.  I said, “Bonjour Madame.” and she barked something at me.  I didn’t understand.  She barked again and I must have looked like a deer in the headlights.  Then she got up and came around her desk and yanked my hands out of my pockets. It was not polite to put your hands in your pockets when addressing an adult. That afternoon, Tante Suzanne went back to the school with me to complain to the Directeur. After that the Dean honored me with an obsequious smile whenever we met.

I took, French, English, German, Math, History-Geography, Science, Music and a home economics class where we learned to sew by hand. Most classes met 2 or 3 times a week.  Each day I had a different schedule and Thursday was a day off.  However, we were given homework assignments to keep us busy.  And we had classes on Saturday morning.  During the week we had a two hour lunch break.

In French we did dictées to improve our written French, analyzed short passages of literature and read books and plays.  I remember reading Le Silence de la Mer.  It was written in 1941 by Jean Cruller under the pseudonym Vercors and published secretly in German-occupied France.  It’s about a German officer that is billeted in a French family in Brittany. The young girl and her uncle promise to never speak a word to the young officer.(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Silence_de_la_mer).

A movie was made of the book in 2004.

We also read La Princesse de Clèves - a story about the court of Henri II written by Madame de La Fayette. 

The first week of English class was about how to make a proper cup of tea.  We memorized the lines : “I boil the water in the kettle.  I measure the tea into the pot. etc.”  The teacher spoke with a British accent which he considered the proper way to speak.  Sometimes he had me repeat the lesson aloud so the students could hear the American pronunciation.  This often elicited some giggles.

I particularly remember chanting verb forms:  For example present tense, past tense, past participle:  

bring - brought - brought, (I bring, I brought, I had brought)

sing - sang - sung, 

broke - broke - broken,
take - took - taken 

fall - fell -fallen, 

am - was - been.

In Math class we studied algebra and geometry on alternate days.  My Mother sent me a geometry book for reference.  On the whole Math was the easiest class because numbers could be understood with a minimum of words and many of those were cognates.

The teachers remained aloof from their students.  It was THEM versus US. There was none of the camaraderie that American teachers strive to engender.  When they entered the room, we all stood up; then waited for permission to sit down.  Sometimes the teacher would lecture all period at the board and perhaps call on a student or two to elucidate the homework. That might be your one and only chance to shine during the marking period.  All of this created a certain amount of tension.  Sometimes when the professeur left the room, the class went haywire; books went flying and students were bouncing off the walls.

On the whole my teachers and fellow students were friendly and helpful. At the end of the year there was La Distribution de Prix - a prize-giving ceremony.  The three top students in each subject matter received a prize, usually a book.  Very kindly, the school awarded me a poetry book…probably for making it through the year! 

THE LAKE

It’s a perfect spring morning or is it?  While jogging on the beach, Francesca Antonelli is horrified to find a little girl floating face down in the water.  Now Francesca’s life has turned into a swirling nightmare of calculated murder.  The shadowy intruder of her childhood has morphed into the lake monster.  She must conquer her personal demons and apprehend the killer before he strikes again.  As editor of the Banner Bee, the local on-line newspaper, Francesca is uniquely situated to investigate these crimes. In the background Lake Michigan looms as a mesmerizing force. Her power and beauty are not to be denied and her secrets are hers to keep.