A Candle in the Dark

By Bryndís Viglundsdóttir

The Icelandic Roots Writers' Group meets monthly to discuss Icelandic life and lore. One of their recent writing prompts was "A Candle in the Dark", which has a different meaning for each of us. Today, we present an article by accomplished Writing Group member, Bryndís Viglundsdóttir, author and dedicated member of Icelandic Roots.

Here is her story:

I wrote a blog post Amma Sumarlína-A Mother's Day Remembrance for the Mother’s Day edition of Rætur-Fréttir/Roots-News in 2022. In that post, I talked about my maternal grandparents, mostly my amma, Sumarlína Pétursdóttir (I128090), and certainly also about afi, Grímur Jónsson (I129017). 

I venture to say that the flame of the candle they held in their hands shone brightly in the dark. That flame was a blessing for many. May I suggest that you, dear reader, view the blog mentioned above to understand the meaning behind my sincere words.

I will now also add this story about the mindset of my afi, Grímur. 

My afi, Grímur Jónsson (1884-1957), was a fisherman when he was a young man. He had a safe and good position on the trawler Rán, owned by the company Alliance. In those days, steady work was hard to come by; only the best were given steady jobs. 

The crew would fish until the trawler could not carry more, and then they sailed to England to land and sell the catch. They would usually land in Grimsby, sometimes in Hull. They typically stayed anchored for two or three days. They had the evenings off and, having made themselves presentable, they took off into town to find a pub for some English beer and, hopefully, some fun. Afi would never go with the crew in search of adventure. When I later asked him why, he smiled and said, “I was not interested in beer, nor the other ingredients available in the harbour pubs.” 

On one such trip to Grimsby, the catch was especially good and sold for the best price. The company would pay the crew their cut while they were still in the harbour, and this time they got a very nice amount of English pounds. Afi would, as always when he was abroad selling the fish, run to the village and find something nice to bring home for his children and his wife, whom he loved so dearly. 

There were three youngsters on the boat sailing abroad for the first time. Some of the older men told them to get ready to join the crew for some fun. Be sure to take your pay with you! So, they did. 

Once they were in the pub, the older mates told the youngsters that they must order rounds for the crew and drink well! In no time, these youngsters, who were not used to drinking beer or anything stronger than whey, were drunk, and their pockets were empty. Thus, they returned to the boat. Afi helped them to their bunks. 

The following morning, they were in rather a sorry state. They had all planned to find something nice for their parents and some toys and sweets for their sisters and brothers.  

After this experience, Afi would talk to the young boys on the crew. He offered to guard their pay while they visited a pub or two. They would have enough for a couple of glasses of stout for themselves, but certainly not enough to treat the entire crew. In this way, they would have money to bring something nice to their families and also help their parents with some money. All of these young men accepted Afi’s offer. 

Many years later, I was visiting Amma and Afi and, while I was there, a guest came by. He visited with Afi and they seemed like good friends. When I asked Afi who this man was, he told me they had been crew members together on Rán many years ago. They had become friends then and there. 

Afi passed away when I was 19 years old, and I miss him to this day. We gave our son his name, Grímur. 

 Grímur Jónsson and Sumarlína Pétursdóttir