Interesting Icelander: Nelson Gerrard
- Icelandic Roots
- Jun 20
- 8 min read
By Nelson Gerrard
Each month Icelandic Roots presents an Interesting Icelander, a person that has positively impacted the lives of of fellow Icelanders. Nelson Gerrard, an historian and genealogist, is one such individual. If you are involved with searching your ancestral family, you've most likely heard of Nelson's contributions or have possibly exchanged family details.
An accomplished author, Nelson Gerrard has also received recognition for several honourable awards. In 2004 he received the Iceland Order of the Falcon in honour of his work on Icelandic genealogy, the historical photographic preservation, and his cultural heritage work. He has also received the Queen Elizabeth II Gold Jubilee Medal in 2002 celebrating the 50th year of Her Majesty's reign, and the Queen Elizabeth Diamond Jubilee Medal in 2012 in celebration of the 60th year of her reign. The Jubilee Medals are awarded to an individual for outstanding and exemplary contribution to their community or Canada as a whole.
Nelson resides in Riverton area of Manitoba where his ancestors settled generations ago and has lived and worked in Iceland. He shares with us his story.
When asked about my involvement in the Icelandic community, I think back to my boyhood and wonder that I had any involvement at all...
As a fifth-generation descendant of Icelandic pioneers who arrived in Manitoba in 1876, I grew up with little knowledge of the Icelandic heritage or language. My mother, born and raised at Riverton, Manitoba, had grown up understanding spoken Icelandic, but as a great-granddaughter of the pioneers, even she was unable to speak the language. Her parents had agreed not to teach their children Icelandic, to avoid handicapping them with an accent in the post-World War I era. That pragmatism was reinforced during and following the Second World War, and again when my mother married my father (whose parents had arrived in Canada from Scotland in 1911). Nor were there many opportunities to learn about “things Icelandic” during my first 18 years, while growing up on the farm “with the soil of Manitoba under my fingernails”. My Icelandic vocabulary consisted of about 10 words.
There were, though, little glimmers of awareness and connection from time to time. Our family doctor in nearby Shoal Lake was Dr. Sigurgeir Bardal, who attended my birth and later extracted my tonsils. There were occasional long, dusty road trips to Riverton to visit Amma and my mother’s many relatives who spoke with an odd accent. They lived in the marine environment of the Icelandic River, surrounded by water, boats, fish, and beaches.
In 1969, when I enrolled at the School of Art at the University of Manitoba, my interest in things Icelandic was kindled by the many Icelandic connections in Winnipeg. One of my professors was Gissur Elíasson, and having never seen a “real Icelander”, I sought out Professor Haraldur Bessason, Head of the Department of Icelandic - who would later play a major role in helping me onto the path I would eventually choose. Later, I registered for courses in Icelandic and spent many hours at the Icelandic Collection, where I embarked on the learning curve of genealogical research. Although I went on to complete an honours degree in Fine Arts, majoring in ceramics, and was accepted into graduate school in Gothenburg, Sweden, upon graduating in 1973 I changed my course entirely and enrolled at the University of Iceland.
At that time, the Government of Iceland offered one scholarship a year for a student from North America, and they relied on Professor Bessason’s recommendation. I have him to thank for four wonderful years at the University of Iceland. There, while studying the language, I was able to become relatively fluent in all forms of Icelandic. Outside study time (together with a friend of now more than 50 years, Geraldine MacDonald from Vancouver), I began spending countless hours at the Þjóðskjalasafn (National Archives) on Hverfisgata, learning the ropes of Icelandic genealogy. At that time, researchers were handed original manuscript volumes of church records. Most were elderly regulars, and when at a loss to understand handwritten entries, I relied upon them for interpretations. I began advertising my genealogical services in Lögberg-Heimskringla (to which I had subscribed in 1969 and am still receiving 56 years later!) During my four years in Reykjavík, I compiled genealogical reports for numerous clients in Canada and the US, typed up on a Brother typewriter bought in Reykjavík.
The year 1975, marking the 100th anniversary of New Iceland in Canada, was a watershed year. In the corridor of the main building at the University of Iceland, I spotted a summer job notification from the Placename Institute of Iceland (Örnefnastofnun Íslands) calling for students to research placenames in rural Iceland. With New Iceland’s centennial in mind, I approached the director, Þórhallur Vilmundarson, to suggest that similar work be done in Canada. Þórhallur contacted Haraldur Bessason, and funding for this project was approved (from a bequest left by Páll Guðmundsson of Leslie, Saskatchewan). I returned to Canada for two months that summer and travelled the length and breadth of New Iceland, interviewing the
oldest residents and documenting the names of homesteads, landmarks, roadways, etc. After follow-up research, including scouring volumes of Lögberg from 1888-1959, the results were compiled into a catalogue of placenames entitled Örnefni í Nýja Íslandi (Placenames in New Iceland).
This research into placenames would become the foundation for Icelandic River Saga, an in-depth history of Riverton area homesteads and pioneers, started in 1977 while I was working with Lögberg-Heimskringla. The catalyst was a conversation with Ingibjörg Sigurgeirsson McKillop, originally from Hecla Island, who was dealing with the printer of L-H on her book of recipes. I had already toyed with the idea of compiling a book on the pioneers and homesteads of Hecla Island, and when Ingibjörg announced that she had chosen this as her next project, I decided to shift my focus to the Icelandic River district, where my mother’s people had settled.
Soon afterward, I began compiling material after work - by combing through dusty old volumes of Lögberg and Heimskringla that were kept at the L-H office on St. Anne’s Road. Eight years later, in 1985, by then teaching full time in Arborg, I had 3,000 copies of Icelandic River Saga printed at a cost of more than $80,000. The book was more than 800 pages and weighed 8 pounds, so I took delivery of a virtual mountain of books hauled to Arborg in a borrowed cattle trailer! Approximately half had been pre-sold by subscription, and though it took another 10 years, every copy found a home.
In the wake of a positive experience with Icelandic River Saga, a follow-up volume entitled The Icelandic Heritage was printed in 1988. Much smaller, it was intended to bridge the gap between current generations in North America, unable to read Icelandic, and the wealth of Icelandic source material on Iceland’s colourful history and culture.
The next project I envisioned was an in-depth history of Gimli area pioneers, to be called
Gimlunga Saga. A massive, three-volume project modelled on Icelandic River Saga (completely unrelated to Gimli Saga), it includes in-depth, independently researched chapters on all known pioneer families who have lived in the Gimli area, even briefly, since settlement in 1875. Yet to be completed and published after 35 years of intermittent progress, it currently consists of thousands of manuscript pages.
In 1988, having bought a small acreage on the shores of Lake Winnipeg, I undertook to
build not just a home but a facility that would house a growing collection of Icelandic artifacts, historic books, newspapers, documents, and photographs. Resurrecting the property’s historic name, Eyrarbakki, I called the project the Eyrarbakki Icelandic Heritage Centre. It was also the repository of the only complete set of Icelandic archival microfilm (ministerial and census records) outside Iceland apart from Salt Lake City, Utah. These were pre-computer/internet days, with all communications by letter, phone, or in person, and these sources were otherwise inaccessible to researchers, except by spending time in Iceland or Utah. Perhaps the most notable holding at Eyrarbakki, however, is the extensive photographic archive with thousands of unique early photos of Icelandic immigrants, their relatives in Iceland, and their pioneer descendants.
Around 1990, I was invited by Stefán Stefánsson and Óli Narfason of Gimli to join the board of the Icelandic National League as “historian”. My first trip to Iceland, in 1971, had been aboard an INL charter flight, so I had bought a membership at that time, and once, during my student years, I had looked in on an INL convention in Winnipeg, seeking to connect. At that time, however, it seemed an exclusive domain for elderly speakers of Icelandic. The eventual game changer for me was being asked to join, and so began several years on the board of the INL, with monthly meetings, often involving the long drive from Arborg to Winnipeg on Sundays in the dead of winter. It was always a pleasure to join the other board members, however, and during this time, I was able to initiate projects such as the Icelandic Heritage Sign project and the INL Calendar.
In 2000, Iceland’s millennium year, I received a visit at Eyrarbakki from Valgeir Thorvaldsson, now well known as the founder of the Icelandic Emigration Centre (Vesturfarasetrið) at Hofsós, with an invitation to spend summers as genealogical consultant at the visitor centre at Hofsós. Thus began many memorable summers at Hofsós and my dream job solving genealogical mysteries for clients. This wonderful opportunity (including many a “happy hour” with my Hofsós neighbour Bill Holm) resulted in the opening of the exhibit Silent Flashes in 2004. Featuring early (1870-1910) portraits of Icelandic emigrants/immigrants, this exhibit was based largely on photographs in my collection at Eyrarbakki, many having narrowly escaped the burning barrel. Apart from one summer at Harpa in Reykjavík, Silent Flashes has now been a visitor attraction at Hofsós for 22 years.
In 2006, Icelandic River Heritage Sites (a registered non-profit charity) was organized at Riverton to preserve and promote local history. As a founding member, together with a strong group of dedicated volunteers, I have worked over the past 20 years on a series of ambitious projects, including a life-size bronze statue of Sigtryggur Jónasson, “Father of New Iceland”; the restoration of a pioneer home called Engimýri; interpretive kiosks at several historic sites; stewardship of the Nes Cemetery (1876-1883); and the salvage of Fagriskógur House. Our group also hosts many visitors, including tour groups and dignitaries from Iceland.
In 2012, in order to save the historic homestead Víðivellir (birthplace of poet Guttormur J. Guttormsson), I took out a mortgage and bought this storied property—and unwittingly became a farmer. Now 14 memorable winters into being a keeper of goats, Icelandic sheep, Icelandic chickens, and Irish Dexter cattle, I have no regrets despite the many challenges. Guttormur is now commemorated in a little park called Guttormslundur, where his home once stood, and Víðivellir has been rejuvenated. Tending the “invisible landscape” of Víðivellir and caring for a menagerie of animal characters have been life-altering experiences, affording insights into the challenges our pioneer forebears faced. No one was more surprised than I was by this choice, but such is life: a series of unexpected twists and turns along a path charted by the influences we encounter.
For me, the rewards of both my homestead experience and my involvement with our Icelandic heritage have been immeasurable, and hopefully I have contributed something in return. In acknowledging the stepping stones that made my journey possible, I recognize first and foremost the Department of Icelandic at the University of Manitoba, which served as a portal to the Icelandic language and culture and as a link with the Icelandic community. If we in North America are to maintain an Icelandic profile for generations to come, I believe it must be an informed one, and for this we need continued access to formal studies in the Icelandic language, culture, and history here in North America, as well as strong links with Iceland. Other important links for me were the Icelandic Collection at the University of Manitoba, our newspaper, Lögberg-Heimskringla, organizations such as the Icelandic National League, and the Government of Iceland’s scholarship for study in Iceland. With more recent innovations, including the Snorri Program and online communities such as the genealogical learning hub Icelandic Roots, which offers additional opportunities for meaningful involvement in our rich heritage, the future is bright.
