All Honor to Our Father

By Evelyn Henriksen Haglund

This is the story of a boy born on the Froe Islands three weeks after the death of his father. He was raised by his older sister. His Mother had ten children and couldnt provide for all of them, so she sent some of the older children to family members. At twelve years old the boy was taken to Norway by his sister to work as a crew member on his older brothers fishing boat. He met a young lady that won his heart, then had to endure an eleven-year engagement because of the Great Depression. Through Correspondence courses and apprenticeships he became a Marine Engineer. He emigrated to America and worked on tankers along the East Coast of the United States. This man was my father who endured many heartaches and physical challenges, but never lost faith in his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Mar 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781512777246

Evelyn Henriksen Haglund

Evelyn Henriksen Haglund is the mother of three grown children and grandmother of five. She earned her Diploma in writing from Institute of Children’s Literature. She wrote an article for a Christian magazine that was published. She worked in a Christian school for inner city children. She writes about a subject close to her heart, her Dad.

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Copyright © 2017 Evelyn Henriksen Haglund.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

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ISBN: 978-1-5127-7725-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-7726-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-7724-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017903032

WestBow Press rev. date: 03/14/2017

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

Out of Atlantic’s majestic waves these islands rise like gigantic braves,

The sea’s relentless pounding, with wild coastlines resounding

While the storm clouds probe the mountain caves.

Moanings, tunes, and mighty roars, heard through a cloudy day,

It’s the winter’s threatening power play.

Out of Atlantic’s deep blue splendor they rise toward heaven, all dressed in green.

Myriads of wildlife in endless array adorn the cliffs so serene.

What is that whispering in flowers and leaves?

While mountain brooks cascade in glistening sheen,

It’s summer song supreme.

High in the blue-ridged mountains in a roaring storm or perfect calm

Stood many times the islander’s hardy son,

Silently wondering, questioning,

What is beyond the great expanse, adventure, business, romance?

The answer not forthcoming would gravely the mystery enhance.

Son of the islands, you bear the mark of the life on mountains and sea.

Your laughter is not of the carefree prance, nor indeed could be.

You’re not haughty in youth or success, nor are you broken by loneliness.

You’re a spruce, planted deep in the wilderness.

—Original by Sverre Patturson, translation by J.C.H.

Interior_2ndpagebook_20160703081352.jpg

Photo of village of Dad’s birth

Now, I too have seen Færoe Islands. When the stormy weather sent the huge waves crashing against the stupendous, steep cliffs, sending the foaming spray towards the sky. And in the early summer in the indescribably beautiful sunset, when the craggy and steep cliffs and the emerald green ridges were bathed in purple from the evening sun.

—Original by Oberst J. Moklebust,

translation by J.C.H.

Chapter 1

I was engrossed in housework when I heard the phone ringing. It was the director of nursing at the Norwegian Christian Home. Hi, Evelyn. I want to let you know that your dad has his hat on, and I’m afraid he’ll walk out the side door when we’re not looking.

Thank you; tell him I’m on my way to pick him up. I dropped what I was doing, grabbed the keys to the car, and made my way to the home.

Dad loved to take walks, but the walks would be too long for him and he would get lost. He had lived most of his adult life on Staten Island, and now he was a resident at the Norwegian Christian Home and Health Center in Brooklyn. He had developed many friendships with other residents, but no one wanted to go walking with him. They said, He walks too far. At times the staff would go looking for him when he didn’t show up for mealtime.

I remembered one incident the staff shared with me; it was getting dark, and he was lost. He saw some young men who were milling around a car, and he asked them, Do you know the way to the Norwegian Home?

Sure, one young man answered, hop in and we’ll drive you there.

Dad climbed into the backseat, and as they started the car, the extra speakers from the upgraded stereo system made a loud rumbling sound. The sound of the boom box and the roar of the engine caused some of the staff at the home to take notice as the car pulled up to the front of the building.

Dad opened his wallet and offered them money before exiting the car, but the young man driving said, We don’t want your money. Nice meeting you, man.

Today we had averted such an incident. I arrived at the home and found him sitting in the living room, hat in hand, ready to go. How are you, my sweetheart? he asked.

I’m just fine, Dad. How about coming to my house for a cup of coffee and some homemade waffles?

That sounds like a wonderful idea. Let’s go.

As we sat savoring our afternoon snack, I asked, Tell me about our family and your experiences growing up on the Færoe Islands. This wasn’t the first time I’d heard the story, but this time I was ready with a pad and pen. I wanted to record his early years as he told the story.

My father’s name was Johannes, and he was born on Vagarøy. Dad worked on a sailing schooner. I guess many of the men on the Færoe Islands worked on the sea. My mother’s name was Maren, and her maiden name was Hentze. She was born on Sandøy, and I believe her family came from Skopun. There were ten children in our family, and I was the youngest. My father died about three weeks before I was born.

What happened to him? I asked.

I’m told my dad was working on the deck of a sailing vessel. A spar from the rigging broke loose, falling on him and causing his death. The ship was too far from shore, so he was buried at sea. Times were tough for my mom; she couldn’t provide for all of us children alone. She sent some of my older brothers to live with family members. My brother Peter, who was the fourth born, fell over the cliff into the sea, and his body was never found.

Did you ever find out how the accident happened? I asked.

"Small boats are placed on a hoist that pulls them out of the water and secures them under the cliff. I think he lost his footing and fell into the sea.

"The fifth born was Johan Jakob, who I believe became a shoemaker. He made boots for the fishermen. I never heard whether he had a wife or family. Elias Frederik Adelgaard was the sixth born. He became første styrmann (first mate) on a ship that sailed to South America. He developed a fever on board the ship and died. I’m not sure, but I think he contracted malaria. He was buried in Baltimore in the Norwegian Seaman’s Church graveyard. My brother Jakob Andreas was the seventh child. He was called Dia. I think he became a farmer in Gåsedalen. My brother Søren Arnestein was the eighth child. He married a girl from Vik, a very rural area, and he also became a farmer in Gåsedalen. My brother Johannes Martin Sofus was the ninth born. He was just three years older than me. Johannes and I both contracted diphtheria, but Johannes died from it. He must have gotten a worse case than I did. Those who took care of me kept sweeping in my throat with a feather to get rid of the boils, and I survived."

I remember you had sisters too, I encouraged.

Yes, my sister Elsebeth Malene was the firstborn. She married Mikkel Simonsen, and they had eight sons and one daughter. Elsebeth Fredrikke was the second girl born. She never married. She became like a second mother to me—and I was a handful. When I would act up in a fit of temper, Elsebeth would say, ‘If you don’t get up and behave, I’ll give you something to cry about.’ So there was no use to behave that way. It didn’t get me anywhere.

I reminded Dad, When I was still in school, you mentioned that school was very different for you.

That’s for sure. There was a teacher who came through our community a few times a year. She divided her time between several communities. She would stay in our town for three months and then move on. Elsebeth would make sure I studied my lessons each day even without the teacher there.

Dad was a bright and curious child and was, by his own admission, a rascal. He told me, When my brother Elias was leaving on one of his trips to sea, he told me that if I would be good for the next year, he would bring back a suit for me.

Did you ever earn that suit, Dad?

Dad chuckled. I don’t remember if I ever got that suit. I do remember that it was a big deal to get one egg a year at Easter. It was hard-cooked, so we rolled it around and played with it before eating it.

Since I had this conversation with Dad, I have had the joy of making contact with our family in Færoe Islands. I learned that our Bestefar (Grandfather) Johannes worked as a cook on the fishing schooner Grace. The vessel was on its way back from Iceland in 1903 when Bestefar had an accident. He was hit in the head with a part that fell off the mast and sail, and he died the next day. Grace sailed into Vestmanna, a township on the Færoe Islands, and Bestefar was buried there. Some of the workmen from the schooner went to Gåsedalen to visit with my Bestemor (Grandmother) Maren to tell her what had happened to her husband and inform her that he was buried on Vestmanna. Life was very tough for Bestemor, and poverty became a way of life for her. Sadly, we never had the opportunity to get to know her, but Dad mentioned often that she had a strong constitution. He said she would walk over the mountain to the next town even in her old age.

In 1916, when Dad was twelve years old, Elsebeth received permission from her mom to take her brother to Norway with