Escaping Vistarband

By Phyllis Smith

Many of us are immigrants—not personally—but through our ancestors. It is because they left Iceland that we’re here today. By telling their stories, we uncover themes of resilience, determination, strength, and even suffering. Unless we knew our immigrant ancestors personally, we must trace their journeys through records and research. Our family lore can add colour and context, but it may not be enough to answer every question.

I never knew my Icelandic immigrant ancestors, and the family lore is either quiet or a bit fuzzy. Through research, I have found records that answer the questions of who, what, when, where, and how they came to Canada. Those facts help me to tell their stories. The question that has been more difficult to answer is: Why? Why Canada? Why leave Iceland at all?

Vigdýs Guðmundsdóttir (I1394682) and Magnús Þorkelsson (I201614) @1854 Photo Credit: Original from the personal collection of Phyllis Smith; damage repaired using Gemini.

Vigdýs Guðmundsdóttir (I1394682) was my maternal grandfather’s maternal grandmother. She didn’t live an easy life, but it was relatively good compared to many Icelanders in the 1880s. Her husband, Magnús Þorkelsson (I201614), owned a fishing business, and the family lived on the Reykjanes peninsula in a relatively new timber farmhouse.

Her life came crashing down in 1885, when the house burned to ashes, taking Magnús with it. Vigdýs had 14 children during her marriage; eight survived. Two were married, leaving her with six children at home, or rather living in a turf house quickly constructed by her neighbours after the fire. Fortunately, Magnús had insured his boats and business, leaving Vigdýs with some financial resources.

She used that money to purchase ship and train tickets to Winnipeg for herself, five of her six children, and a grandson. One daughter was chosen to stay behind until money could be raised to pay her passage. Tragedy compounded tragedy when her eldest son, purportedly the father of Vigdýs’ grandson, died by his own hand. His ticket allowed his sister to accompany the family, who left Iceland in July 1887.

I have been able to trace their journey from Iceland to Edinburgh, across to Glasgow, and then by steamer to New York City. Family lore says they travelled by train to Niagara Falls and then westward to Winnipeg. It's a remarkable emigration story.

What has been missing is an answer to the question of why. The obvious explanation is that many people were leaving Iceland at that time, as they were across Europe. The reasons included a growing population competing for meagre resources—land, food, jobs, and housing. To make matters worse, Iceland also suffered climate catastrophes. Newspaper articles described the Icelandic settlement at Gimli, Manitoba, as well as across Canada and the USA. Earlier emigrants sent letters home about their new home, which likely fuelled hope back home. Yet not everyone left, so why did Vigdýs? If she had insurance money, why did she not rebuild the house? Why did she not stay close to her married daughters and their children?

Recently, I accessed Alda Sigmundsdóttir’s webinar, Life under Vistarband: Iceland’s hidden history of class, control, and generational trauma. I already understood how difficult it had been for my ancestors to acquire a farm leasehold and the challenges they faced when they wanted to marry and start families. The webinar introduced the historical, systemic serfdom (Vistarband) that existed in Iceland from the 1400s until about 1899. Vistarband benefited a small segment of the population while it restricted marriage, independence, and economic opportunities for the poor.

As is often the case, women and children suffered the most under Vistarband. Single women and girls were treated almost as property. And the children of widows and single mothers could be auctioned off as cheap labour. Families were torn apart.

Perhaps this offers an answer to my question. Vigdýs had enjoyed an enviable status as the wife of a man who owned his own fishing business, but was the insurance money enough to protect her? Could she lease and operate a farm as a widow? Might she have been forced into service and lost her children? I have no direct evidence to confirm my fears. As Alda notes, this is a traumatic history few wished to discuss, so I may never know for certain.

Vigdýs Guðmundsdóttir (I1394682) @1900s Photo Credit: Original from the personal collection of Phyllis Smith; damage repaired using Gemini.

Vigdýs appears to have been a tiny lady in photos, but I imagine her as being fierce. Family lore claims that Magnús appeared to her in a dream, urging her to use the insurance money to emigrate. Perhaps it was her own idea, but it was easier to give the credit to her dead husband to justify such a bold decision to the community. At 54 years old, she moved her children, aged 9 to 16 years and a six-year-old grandson to a new country, driven by hope for a better life.

She had to pinch pennies, and the route to Canada was long and circuitous. Life in Manitoba was far from easy, but Vigdýs persevered. She helped her teenage daughters find work and eventually husbands. Her sons were hired onto farms in rural Manitoba, where they improved their circumstances through hard work. She raised her grandson and then another grandson largely by herself. Through it all, she contributed to the Icelandic community as a midwife. Vigdýs died in Manitoba in 1908 at 73 years old.

In her discussion of Vistarband, Alda raises the question of intergenerational trauma. Do the descendants of those who endured forced labour and poverty still carry traces of that trauma? Does it shape our values and decisions today? Perhaps my cousins, who also trace their lineage back to Vigdýs, can see in their families a respect for hard work, a fierce determination to control one’s destiny, and a thread of frugality and sacrifice for the betterment of the family.

Vigdýs left behind a powerful legacy. One of her married daughters later came to Canada with her husband and children. Two of her grandsons, including my grandfather, also joined the Canadian branch of the family. Her descendants worked hard, became Canadian citizens, owned property, and built strong families. Vigdýs not only escaped the grinding poverty of Vistarband herself, but through her courage and resolve, she also gifted future generations a far better life.

Notes:

To learn more about Vistarband, sign up for Alda Sigmundsdóttir’s webinar, Life under Vistarband: Iceland’s hidden history of class, control, and generational trauma. Alda provides a straightforward and fully sourced explanation of the concept.

To learn more about the challenges of emigration from Iceland, see Jason Doctor's post "Wasteland with Words". Jason reviews Sigurður Gylfi Magnússon's book, Wasteland with Words. Also, see the video, Wasteland with Words: A Conversation with Sigurður Gylfi Magnússon.