A Smile to Youth

By Eva Hemming

Eva Hemming, the Finnish Operas solo dancer and prima ballerina, grew up in Helsinki in the 1920s.

In her captivating memoirs starting with the early childhood years, she describes the stages of her dance career, the hard work and the performing tours abroad, the joy of dancing, and also the competition and intrigues behind the scenes.

With humor and warmth, she describes the dramatic and difficult wartimes and entertainment tours in which she herself took part in. The performances at the front lines in East Karelia and the Karelian Isthmus during the Continuation War became unforgettable experiences.

During her career, she shared the stage with many internationally renowned dance artists.

Eva Hemming and Leif Wagers romance forms a central part of the memoirs. The young ballerina and Finnish cinemas applauded star seemed destined to each other already after the very first meeting, but there were many hurdles to overcome before they could come together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504992329

Book preview

AuthorHouse™ UK

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403 USA

www.authorhouse.co.uk

Phone: [phone]

© 2015 Evi Wager. All rights reserved.

Finnish original title Hymy nuoruudelle

First published 1991 by Kustannusosakeyhtiö Otava, Helsinki, Finland

ISBN 951-1-11898-6

Cover photo:

Eva Hemming performing for front line soldiers in 1943

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   01/15/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5049-9231-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-9230-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-9232-9 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

CHILDHOOD IN HELSINKI

1. IN MY BROTHERS’ CARE

2. THE DREAM OF A NEW LIFE

3. OUR ISLAND

4. MY FATHER, THE BOXING COACH

5. A NEW PLAYMATE

SEDUCED BY THE LIMELIGHT

6. ELLI TOMPURI’S RECITAL

7. THE MAGGIE GRIPENBERG SCHOOL

8. JOSEPHINE BAKER

9. IN A REAL THEATRE

STARTING A BALLET CAREER

10. ELISABETH APOSTOLI

11. THE RUSSIAN BALLET’S TRADITIONS

12. A FULL-TIME DANCE STUDENT

13. TO PARIS

14. INTERNATIONAL LIFE

WAR CHANGES PLANS

15. THE FIRST BOMBINGS

16. A WAR CHILD

17. A STAR IN UPPSALA

18. A YOUNG BALLERINA’S WORRIES

19. ONCE AGAIN IN A DARKENED CITY

20. KATARINA AND THE COUNT OF MUNKKINIEMI

ENTERTAINMENT TOURS

21. ON THE WINTRY KARELIAN ISTHMUS

22. LUCKY OMENS

23. PRINCESS OF UHTUA

24. THE ENCHANTMENT OF EAST KARELIA

25. PERFORMING AT THE FRONT

26. OPERATION CARMEN

MEETING LEIF WAGER

27. A PIECE OF NORWEGIAN CHOCOLATE

28. AN UNEXPECTED ADMIRER

29. DATING IN THE SAVOY

30. JAZZ EVENT IN TURKU

31. HOT FEELINGS

32. COMPLEMENTARY STUDIES

33. ONLY YOU I LOVE…

LOVE OVERSHADOWED BY WAR

34. MOMENTS OF FAREWELL

35. WORK SERVICE IN PORKKALA

36. A BESOTTED CORPORAL

37. A SECRET LOVE HOLIDAY

38. WORK AS A REMEDY

39. CASTLE OF HAPPINESS, THE PREMIÈRE

STUMBLING BLOCKS

40. A GRUDGING MOTHER-IN-LAW

41. A SURPRISING EXPERIMENT

42. CHOREOGRAPHY CONTEST IN STOCKHOLM

43. SUMMER TOUR

44. TAKING THE REINS

LIFE IS SMILING

45. MAJOR ROLES

46. EXPRESS CONFIRMATION

47. THE FINNISH BALLET´S FIRST GUEST TOUR

48. WEDDING PREPARATIONS

49. WEDDING TRIP IN NORWAY

THE QUIRKS OF DESTINY

50. IN NINI THEILADE’S SCHOOL

51. TURMOIL IN THE OPERA

52. A JOINT VENTURE

53. REVISION OF THE RUSSIAN SCHOOL

54. INTRIGUES AND UNCERTAINTY

55. A HOME OF OUR OWN

56. IN BIRGIT CULLBERG’S GROUP

57. CAREER OR LOVE?

EPILOGUE

001%20The%20dying%20swan.jpg

Eva Hemming as the Dying Swan

CHILDHOOD IN HELSINKI

1. IN MY BROTHERS’ CARE

My father was a Swedish-speaking Finn. Originating in Belgium, his family had gradually spread through Sweden and Ostrobothnia to southwest Finland and had finally settled in the surroundings of Fiskars.

Johan Waldemar Hemming had strong Ostrobothnian blood in his veins. He had raven black hair and brown eyes that were sometimes gentle, sometimes fiery. He was also typically Ostrobothnian in character: restless, adventurous and short-tempered. Not long after completing elementary and confirmation school he left his parents and his home and travelled to America to make it rich, like so many other Finns at the time. In 1909, only 17 years old, he joined a ship that took him to North America. On the journey he became acquainted with other like-minded and adventurous young people and together they decided to go north to the forest workers’ area around Long Lake, where they lived for a whole year in a single shack, working, hunting and fishing, far from the civilized world.

Eventually my Father got tired of the harsh, primitive life and joined a roving carnival company, where he performed as some kind of fakir. I don’t know if he had the talent for this line of work or not, but in a photograph taken at the time my father has a turban on his head and a convincing mythical look in his eyes! The carnival life however did not interest him long, and at a suitable moment he quit and settled in New York.

At the beginning of the 20th century boxing was an extremely popular and relatively new sport. My father also became an enthusiast, and as New York offered qualified teachers and good training opportunities he decided to take up boxing. Thanks to the effective training, he became a moderately good boxer. Venting himself by forceful means also helped calm his restless temper and dispel his progressively tormenting homesickness. It was said that boxing could make you rich in America - if you were lucky! My father was not, so he decided to return to Finland.

But the thought of returning to the Fiskars countryside after New York was not very alluring. It had to be Helsinki, but what kind of work could one get there? Father pondered his options, and concluded that art and painting would interest him. Perhaps he could study painting in addition to some other work! Without wasting any more time, he moved to Helsinki, took a retouching job in the Artistic Photography-Enlargement Shop on Mikonkatu, and signed up for evening classes in the Ateneum Academy of Fine Arts.

While Father’s experiences in America sounded like an adventure taken from some silent movie, my mother’s story was a typically old-fashioned, romantic tale: The poor and beautiful farmer’s daughter who came to the capital to seek her fortune.

Eeva Elina Salonen was born in Petäjävesi County in the heart of Finland as number eight of eleven children. Rasila cottage was small and cramped, but poverty was no obstacle to a happy childhood. All the children were gifted, each in their own way: there were violinists, accordion players, wood sculptors, a carpenter, a skilled embroiderer and a gifted artist.

The latter was my mother. Eeva Elina’s drawing enthusiasm was immense. With a pencil and drawing pad constantly on her lap, a keen eye and a sensitive hand, she portrayed everything that came before her. Having finished elementary school she travelled to Helsinki on her sister Anna’s invitation.

My aunt Anna worked in the restaurant business though her childhood dream had been to become an actress. The uncertainty of livelihood, however, had dispelled these vain dreams, and instead of an actress she became a skilled cook. Anna worked in a restaurant called Gourmand on Aleksanterinkatu. She was able to arrange a job for her little sister as a nanny in the family of the Russian Colonel Smirnoff who had two sweet children, Olga and Alexander.

The shy and sweet Eeva Elina was received with open arms. The Smirnoff’s treated her well, so, only fifteen years old at the time, she felt at home and stayed with them for over three years. Living in close contact with an upper-class family as the children’s bonne, she got the unique opportunity of learning etiquette and Swedish, for both the Colonel and his wife also spoke that language. Any State official who was sent to Finland to represent Russia had to master Swedish so that communication with the local high society would flow flawlessly. Eeva Elina was able to engage closely in the family’s life, their joys and sorrows, and was even allowed to participate in family celebrations and outings.

Soon enough the Smirnoff family discovered the young girl’s talent, and when the family’s close relative, State Counsellor Tretyakoff, came from St. Petersburg to meet his relatives he was shown the portraits of Olga and Alexander that Eeva Elina had drawn. The State Counsellor was delighted with the drawings. He immediately offered to pay for the girl’s art school, if the young lady would allow it - so my mother told me. Being a shy girl, my mother kindly refused the offer, which in my opinion was a real shame. If she had begun studying art at that time, she would surely have become something. But instead, she tried to save the money herself and only a few years later she was she able to sign up for the Ateneum evening classes.

By this time my mother had grown into a lovely young woman who turned men’s eyes. And now Cupid put a finger in the pie. Mother and Father met in Ateneum, fell in love - and after a few years they got married and abandoned their studies. Only a few skilfully made drawings and a couple of beautiful watercolours remained of the big dream of becoming an artist.

A gateway with a vaulted ceiling and ill-coloured walls leading from a windy and dark yard into the street; the sun, suddenly filling everything with blinding light; the scent of lilac flowers in the air, warm and full of the sound of chirping birds. A moment like this is my only recollection of my infancy. I must have been lying in a pram, for I only remember seeing the high, dirt-gray façade of the ugly stone house clinging to the blue sky, and tree tops with hanging, fragrant flowers.

The Anttila apartment house was my first home. It still exists at the far end of Lastenkodinkatu behind Maria Hospital, next to the railway. We lived in the back of the inner yard - a dark and bleak yard untouched by sunshine. The house was dull and lacked all the amenities. No elevator, no hot water, no bathroom. The water was heated on a wood stove. In the kitchen, a little tub had been acquired for bathing and for washing the laundry.

I was a much longed-for and welcomed child. After three sons, my parents still very much wanted a baby girl, despite my mother’s difficult and painful childbirth experiences. When I finally came into this world, I was the family pet. My brothers rejoiced. I was loved and cherished, and all three brothers fought to take care of me. Until then, they had been playing with a female doll they called Liisi - now they had a life-sized doll, that also had to be called Liisi; what else! Thus the poor former one quietly disappeared into the trash bin and was forgotten. My parents were considering various names for their daughter and in the end, decided on the name Eva Lisa - in Swedish - to my father’s satisfaction. They had found a name that pleased both my parents as well as my brothers. Nevertheless, to my great indignation I remained Liisi until my school days. The name of the dumb doll could not be forgotten that easily.

The dangerous proximity of the railway fascinated my brothers. The steep slope at the far end of Lastenkodinkatu was stony and full of shrubs, and ran straight down to the railroad tracks. Despite incessant prohibition, my brothers always played in the gravel bordering the tracks, overgrown with daisies, nettles and small willows. They often lingered there to watch the coal trains pass by, harassing the locomotive drivers and yelling at the top of their voices: Throoow cooooal! waving their arms, jumping and joking. When a few pieces of coal were thrown at them, they were ecstatic. Victory was theirs!

With regard to our upbringing, Mother had included many traditions from her former gentlefolk. She demanded courtesy, good behaviour and table manners. However, there was one custom we did not like: the cold water cures! Every morning she toughened us up by splashing us with cold water. We hated it with all our hearts. We screamed at the top of our lungs, kicking and howling.

But this is so healthy. I always did this with Olga and Alexander, Mother tried to comfort us. Oh, how we hated those two. Because of them we had to put up with this torture! We were moreover extremely jealous of these foreign children our mother always remembered.

Both my parents worked in the Artistic Photography Shop, although Mother, because of the children, was forced to take her work home. She usually sat with the two smallest on her lap, retouching photographic prints that needed to be ready for the next day. As a result of this intimate cooperation we learned all about retouching tricks. When we were a little older and short of pocket money, we were often given a few photographs to do ourselves. Father sometimes tried to ease Mother’s burden by removing us from under her skirts. He brought us paper and colouring pencils, and taught us how to achieve a snowy winter landscape with only two colours, blue and pink. Learning this gave us an enormous sense of well being and we would let Mother work undisturbed.

Mother tried to save on everything, even on pencils and paper. Half-scribbled sheets and chewed, half-used pencils annoyed her. One had to be respectful of them. In her childhood home, Rasila cottage, the children had had no other paper to draw on than the white borders of the newspaper. The pencils also had to be used until you could not get your fingers around them.

I used to trot along after my brothers and take part in their reckless games. Although my brothers had vowed to take care of their little sister, in their wild games they once forgot about me and disappeared down the side streets. A police officer picked me up and since I could not explain where I lived, I was taken into custody at the police station. Admittedly I was not put in a cell, but allowed to keep the friendly policemen company in the emergency room where I was treated like a princess and offered sweets.

A lady with a big Alsatian appeared through a door at the end of the long room bringing cocoa and biscuits. The strange surroundings and the unfamiliar faces did not worry me anymore. The cocoa tasted good and the biscuits disappeared smartly into my mouth. I started playing with the dog. It was frisky and boisterous and larger than I, although still a puppy. I had fun. I chased it, and it chased me. I climbed onto the emergency room’s long table to escape from the dog; I crawled under the benches and tried to grab its tail.

Meanwhile, my brothers had sought in vain for me. Unhappy they went home but Mother was not there. She’d gone out on an errand, and came back only after a long while. When she saw her boys´ unhappy faces, she guessed at once that something was wrong.

Where is Liisi? What happened? The boys explained that they had lost their sister but they could not remember where.

Mother was desperate. She grabbed her coat and purse and ran out. Anxiously, she visited every known playground, but in vain. She asked the lady in the dairy if the girl had been there, but no. Nowhere did they know anything about me. There was no other choice than to go to the police to report the disappearance.

Mother ran to the police station, pulled open the door and rushed into the room. Amidst barking and laughter she found her daughter standing on the large oak table, a big dog dancing wildly back and forth around it. When the cheerful, laughing policemen noticed the strange lady in the doorway, they took on a more official pose and turned inquiringly toward her, but Mother saw none other than her missing daughter.

Thank God, here you are!

The situation needed no further explanation. But for my part, I didn’t want to leave that incredibly fun place at all. I screamed at the top of my voice when we left.

Eerikinkatu, where we had moved to, was a cobblestoned street. Early in the morning we awoke to horse’s hooves clattering on the stones and the rumble of wheels of the milk cart coming down the street. The milk cans bounced to the paving, and by rotating them along their base they were rolled, rattling, in front of the shop and lifted inside.

Hirvisalo’s Dairy & Bakery was right next to the barber’s shop, opposite the stone building we lived in. In those times, all houses on the north side of Eerikinkatu were still low, one or two-story wooden houses, standing on an approximately one meter high stone base. The shop doors were so high up that stone steps were needed to get to them.

Mother often sent us on errands to the shop, and we never needed to be asked twice. But the high steps were hard to climb especially for a small child like me. I had to use both hands to help me reach the shop door. To open the door with Mother’s handwritten purchase note in hand was not easy either, but when I finally managed it, an unforgettable smell of buns, cakes and sweets came to me. What a pleasure it was to breathe in all those delicious aromas! Sometimes Mother gave us a coin as compensation for our small errands and we would immediately fly across the street to buy something good. With a keen eye we watched Mrs. Hirvisalo make a big paper cone, open the lid of a large tin can and scoop up bright red strawberry sweets into the cone with a large metal ladle. At such moments I always thought that when I grew up I wanted to have a job just like hers. Then we would sit down on the stone steps to enjoy the sweets. We would joke and make each other laugh by painting our lips and our nose tips red with caramel.

Once when we were as usual sitting on the shop steps, a sharp smell of smoke reached our noses. We sniffed and sniffed, and then we suddenly heard the clanging of fire trucks. The sound grew louder, and indeed - the trucks came driving at full speed, rattling down our street. They rushed past us towards the Hietalahti shore and disappeared over the railway, in among the wooden shacks. Soon the sidewalks filled with people.

The Udd Brothers’ lumber-yard is on fire! shouted someone.

After a while smoke billowed into the sky and thick tongues of fire blazed in the distance. We followed the frightening sight with outstretched necks.

What if it comes our way and burns all the houses! I was terrified, and before my eyes I could already see our whole neighbourhood turned into black, smoking ruins.

Let’s go home, said my brother Lasse, who was always very calm. Our house won’t burn, it is a stone building.

So we ran home and rushed to the window to watch the fire. It was a mighty fire. We children unanimously agreed that it was great to live in this new place, where such exciting things happen all the time.

Our backyard was a large and exciting playground. Across from our kitchen window there was a two-storey building, a printing house, whose pounding could always be clearly heard. From its wall hung a large winch and a hook with which the heavy rolls of paper were lifted from the outside directly onto the second floor, where the printing presses were. All basement windows in the yard had a deep pit in front, fenced with iron railings. We used to dangle and swing on these like monkeys at the Zoo. It didn’t occur to us that we could fall into the recess and suffer serious consequences.

The whole yard sloped gently down toward the printing house. In winter it became a natural slide. My woollen knickers were always full of ice lumps when I finally decided to go home. Once in the midst of our winter games my tongue got stuck to one of the iron-bars and I dared not move. I screamed at the top of my lungs and my chivalrous brothers freed me from the awkward situation by pulling me so heavy-handedly that I ended up with a big sore on my tongue. I could not speak or eat properly for days. Screaming was also my best weapon if I had to defend myself against my brothers. Naturally they could not bear the dreadful sound I emitted for too long, so I always got my own way! I screamed loud and often - and was immensely pleased with the effect!

One Sunday afternoon, my parents wanted to have some time off, so they sent all four of us to the movies. In Kino Edison they were showing the adventure-movie The Last of the Mohicans. It was screened weekly, one chapter at a time. In actual fact I was too small to see such a movie, but in those times, who cared. What suited my brothers had better suit me too; after all, we always played Cowboys and Indians together.

My eldest brother Elmer was given the task of escorting all of us from Eerikinkatu, and in order to get good seats we arrived at the movie house one whole hour in advance. The courtyard soon filled with impatient and noisy children. When the doors finally opened there was a struggle to get in: first at the cashier, then at the entrance-door. There was a frantic rush! The kids not only ran along the corridor, but also climbed over and under the benches with the hope of getting a good seat. Then, endless traffic to the toilet or the candy-stall started. Meanwhile, somebody else would always try to grab the empty seat but after a short fight it was reclaimed.

There were four of us. We managed to get front row seats by walking close together and holding hands tightly, not letting anybody by. In our opinion the front row was always the front row, even if it meant having to watch the screen almost lying down with backward-bent necks. The air got warm and thick with the kids’ uninhibited emissions, and caramel-wraps flew back and forth through the air. A bosomed lady appeared from a side-room and sat down by the piano. The lights went off, and an expectant silence followed. The movie started along with the tinkling of the piano.

The monotonous music, the heat and the inclined position tired me to the point that I fell asleep almost at once. I only woke up when the kids started shouting and howling. The music was hammering furiously. Red Indians and horses were chasing back and forth in front of my eyes - from left to right, from right to left. We were sitting so close to the screen that our heads were almost under the horses’ hooves, and we could not turn our heads from side to side at the same speed as in the movie. What a racket! What a noise! Somebody saved someone and galloped away. Then the music calmed down and a woman and a man kissed! Immediately the entire audience started imitating them with noisy smacks. Suddenly the screen went white, and some letters appeared on it.

Continues next week! explained my brother Elmer matter-of-factly and rose from his seat. The lights came on and the final rush began. I don’t know how I got out. My feet did not touch the floor even once. Squeezed in among the crowd I was transported out into the fresh air as if gliding.

2. THE DREAM OF A NEW LIFE

My father began to tire of working for others. The old and finicky director Hammarberg had been a good boss, but Father felt that in order to generate better income he had to create his own business. Since he by now had studied all stages of the photography industry, he felt brave enough to try his own wings.

The Atlas Photography Enlargement Shop was established together with three others who worked in the same field. An office was set up on Unioninkatu in the heart of Helsinki, just a few blocks away from the Artistic Photography Shop. Thus, Atlas became a competitor to my parents’ former employer. Besides my mother they also hired others, as well as representatives to handle orders in the countryside. Mother would continue to do retouching at home, because we children were still small and in need of her.

Life soon became constant work. Father had stopped painting watercolours altogether, but he did not abandon his boxing hobby. Boxing was his breathing hole between working hours. Mother took care of the home, the food, the children and her own retouching work. She had no time to herself anymore, or for drawing. The atmosphere at home became tense and irritable. My parents grew silent and cheerless. Being self-employed was consuming and the responsibility of success weighed upon their shoulders. Did this make sense? Was this what life lead to?

My Father grew increasingly restless and impatient. He was still in his prime. He had a good wife and wonderful children, but he had greater ambitions. He often recalled his youth and his journey to America, and thought of the opportunities offered there. Then one day he met an old acquaintance, an Ostrobothnian, who was planning to emigrate to South America with his family. Father confessed his desire to travel. The friend became very enthusiastic.

Come with us! Lately there has been a real exodus to Argentina and Paraguay. Everyone wants to move there. They say that there are great opportunities to become rich there!

The words rang in Father’s ears. He thought it over for many days before speaking to Mother about it.

Why don’t we go to South America too, for example to Paraguay where my friend is going? he said.

The matter was discussed thoroughly and in depth. Mother thought it wiser to continue with their business in our home country. She believed it unsafe to gallop off to strange lands:

Atlas will surely prosper soon; it’s only been active for three years. And where would we get the money for such a journey?

We’ll sell our share in the company, our personal property and the apartment. That will give us travel money and start-up capital.

Father was full of enthusiasm. His Ostrobothnian blood longed for travel, adventure and excitement. After long discussions and reflection Mother finally gave in. She was brave and the idea of an exciting new life was beginning to fascinate her as well, even if it scared her a bit.

Father sold his company shares to his business associate. The furniture was also sold, as was our home at Eerikinkatu 50. Boat tickets to Penedo, on Brazil’s east coast, were purchased. From there, to reach Paraguay one either had to make a long train-ride across Brazilian territory or take another boat along the Brazilian and Uruguayan coast to Montevideo. This was the plan. For us kids it sounded like a very exciting adventure.

The whole family went together to have our passport photo taken. In that photo, we children stood in a group in the middle, sweetly holding hands. At the agency, the photograph was glued to the passport and sealed with a tight string. A big stamp was placed on it, and all our pertinent information was written carefully in graceful ink handwriting.

How was one to dress then, for the climate over there? Our thick clothing would, of course, not do. New clothes had to be bought for everyone, a Safari helmet for Father, plus other similar items. Dark blue sailor suits for my brothers, and a white, thin muslin dress with a pair of matching shoes, for me.

Never before had I owned such a pretty dress! It had large, pink roses and buds with light green leaves on it. The beautiful green shoes were of fine, glossy leather with three leather buttons on one side. The buttons had to be attached one at a time with a long snap hook. It was a difficult job. I tried very hard to learn to button them, and would not let anybody help me. The shoes never left my sight, not even for a moment. I carried them around in my arms, sniffing at the lovely fragrance of the genuine leather, caressing their glossy surface. Going to bed at night I placed them for safety under my pillow and slept happily. I have never forgotten those shoes.

The property had already been sold to the next owner. The passport was ready. Travel tickets were purchased. Everything was ready so we began packing. Wooden boxes reserved for the purpose were scattered in every room. The whole family eagerly took part in the packing process. Then, Destiny threw us into a new world. But not in the way we had imagined.

One day a few weeks before our departure, Father came home pale, sat down in a chair, sighed and shook his head. Finally, he said that his friend had cancelled his trip. War had broken out in Paraguay! The entire border had been closed, and foreigners were not allowed in at all. My mother stared at my father, paralyzed. True, border disputes had existed between Paraguay and Bolivia from time to time already for many years, but had been considered so insignificant and harmless that they barely were mentioned in the papers. My parents were overcome by uncertainty. What now? With four children it would hardly be wise to travel alone to a foreign country on such an adventure. Very soon it became clear that we dared not go there without the company and support of our friends.

My parents sat speechless for a long time. Chaotic thoughts whirled through their heads. Horrified, they thought about the home they had already sold, the workplace that no longer existed. A great part of the capital had been used for our travel preparations and other expenses. What on earth would they do?

Mother finally pulled her thoughts together.

Let’s start again from scratch. We can certainly buy back our shares in ’Atlas’. Our friends won’t leave you in distress. We’ll look for a new home somewhere. It may be a smaller one at first. Everything will be all right.

Mother was right. Father’s childhood friends did not leave him in the lurch. He was able to buy back his shares and Mother was allowed to return to her previous job. A new home had to be found urgently, not easy to do in a hurry. You just had to take the first one available. It was found in Tunturikatu, in the Töölö quarter.

After three rooms and a kitchen the new apartment felt cramped though it was more modern than the previous one: central heating instead of a wood stove. But it was just one room with an alcove, a small kitchen, an even smaller bathroom and a tiny hall where two adults barely fit at the same time. There, my parents and four children had to fit. Luckily we had sold everything, so we only needed to get the most necessary furniture and utensils. Mother rummaged through auctions and second-hand shops and found two beds for the alcove, and for us kids an expandable sofa bed with a high back. On it, two of us would sleep in one direction and two in the other. In addition, she bought a pair of armchair-like seats, a kitchen table and four wooden rib-backed chairs. It was dreary. The windows facing north added to the gloominess. Not a glimpse of a sunbeam. Only sometimes we got a glimpse of a borrowed sun from the reflecting windows of the building in front.

I was often alone at home in the evenings while my parents worked overtime and my brothers were out somewhere with their friends. I turned off the lights and climbed onto the window sill. From there, I watched the lit up windows of the apartments opposite and fantasized about the people living there. The home right in front of us was especially interesting. They often had parties. Finely dressed ladies and men walked around from room to room, the chandeliers glittered and all the lights were on. It was totally different to our home where you always had to save electricity by turning off unnecessary lights. It was exciting to imagine who they were and what they were talking about. Later Mother told me that the man who lived there was a famous writer, Mika Waltari.

My brothers were already so grown up that they no longer wanted to include me in their games. However, there was one game that they could not play without me. That was Willy’s Adventures, a cartoon published in a weekly magazine, Allers. It was about three boys on adventures in the jungle in the company of a black panther. The Panther was, without a doubt, me, for I was the smallest, lightest and most agile of us all.

Grrrauuu! was my only line as I squinted and looked dangerous. I slowly slid, on soft paws, from the back of one armchair to another, I leaped to the floor and up again on the table, where I hissed and scratched at Willy and his friends when they came too close. Then I would climb on the narrow shelf on top of