LIFE HISTORY 1918

1918

I went swimming too, and a merchant marine saved me as well. This must have been 1918 by then. And almost in the same place where Voitto fell in —just on the opposite end of the dock, that is, on the seaside and not on the dockside. One day right before Christmas the merchant ships lifted their anchors and sailed off — for St. Petersburg I would guess. At that time no one knew anything much about Lenin, or about Leningrad. A couple of ships were at anchor on the Jätkäsaari side of the harbor — probably about 400 meters from where I was. There also lay at anchor three submarines — no one was housed in them, of course, but they were used occasionally because in the thick ice one could see a few melted areas where the escape hatches could come through the ice. The ice was otherwise very thick, but right around the holes in the ice for the escape hatches a thin skin of ice had formed, and of course I had to test it with my toe. It wasn’t necessary of course to do so, but who was there to mind the mindless. However it happened, the ice broke under my other foot and I slid through the broken ice into the water. I guess as I was sinking I somehow turned myself around, got my elbows on top of the ice and tried to climb out on my own strength. But of course it was an impossible undertaking, because my feet rose up underneath the ice and there was no way to get them up out from under, and I didn’t know even the basic elements of swimming. You can guess what screams I let out! I saw how a man started running towards me from the Jätkäsaari shore and it seemed like an eternity before that guy ran across the ice and reached me. It didn’t take but a moment before he snatched me up by my underarms and angrily babbled something at me in Russian. Well, I didn’t understand a word he said, so I didn’t have to pay much attention to him. I just started running for home. Thank goodness it was a rather mild day so my clothes didn’t freeze too badly. I may have received a whipping, I don’t recall. But who would have been there to whip me ? It was the start of the Red Uprising and the War of Independence [Civil War].

Father had taken his rifle and periodically came home every couple of weeks. They had a station somewhere around Kauniainen, and it would do during the winter when there was no resistance to speak of. The Whites had all escaped to Vaasa and were getting equipped there for war. Father’s brother, Heikki, was in the same mess — he had also taken his rifle. He was a welder at the shipyard, and was well off. His family had a two-room apartment in a brownstone on Hernesaarenkatu, and they got along very nicely.

Uncle Heikki had among other things a hair cutting razor which my Father borrowed so he could do haircuts for us boys. I had to try it out, and what could have been more fun than to see how many pages of a book it could cut at a time. One went very well, as did two and even three. I kept adding more to the number until the razor couldn’t cut any more, and two of its teeth broke off. I don’t know what book it was — it may very well have been the Bible since we didn’t own any other book, unless it was an ABC book from school. Of course I wasn’t practicing reading on this particular occasion. Well — this caper earned me a whipping, and Father asked if I remembered the whipping I got when I broke the alarm clock with a hammer when I was little. That incident had not left much of an impression.

I must have been even younger then than when I acquired the habit while we lived at Varistaipale to kneel on the window bench and spit on the windowpane. It was so entertaining to watch those spit bubbles as they hurried down the glass, sometimes faster, sometimes slower depending on the consistency of my spit. That whipping I remember very clearly. In the same house there were a couple of us families living together, and the other family had several daughters one of whom especially was very interested in me. But that is a story for another time, as Kipling used to say.

In that same place later in the fall they held a dance. Several young men started a fight and soon the knives came out. One chased the other and when he caught up with his foe he stabbed the other guy in the back. The victim of course became furious and turned around to get even, upon which the perpetrator turned tail and ran. The same thing happened — the second guy caught up to the first and stabbed him in turn. The first guy turned and started chasing the second and stabbed him again when he caught up to him. This they did three or four times and then both of them lost their strength. They were both lifted onto a hay wagon and laid there side by side as they were taken to the doctor. I don’t recall how far away the doctor lived. The steps to the house were wide and so was the porch — it was like a balcony at a theater from which it was comfortable to watch a play. The next morning it was easy to follow the blood stains in the snow, and if I had been a little more mature I would have been able to reconstruct the course of the fight. But, it isn’t necessary — especially for a four year old — to understand everything. What was so remarkable was the fact that no one told me to go inside — no one said, don’t watch this awful incident — it isn’t suitable for you to witness this because you are so young.

Well, back to Uncle Heikki’s sauna. That’s where Father led me and did I ever feel guilty by this time, but it was too late for it to be of any help. My Aunt Hilda was a very refined person. She had been a nurse in St. Petersburg and even spoke Russian [r. Heikki and Hilda Tolvanen and family]. To us children she of course taught some Russian military songs and I learned them so well that I still remember them: Dollapadas dirskuu, dollapadas dirskuu, dootri padois malajaa… I hope to learn enough Russian in the future that I can find out what these words meant. — My cousins, Kalevi and Heli, were still very small, but they were like a prince and a princess compared to us.

And so the winter passed, but before I go any further I have to relate the most important incident that happened: Mother died at the hospital after giving birth to another brother, little Pekka. We boys were with Father when he went to see Mother for the last time. It was November and there was already snow on the ground, and everything seemed so hopeless. Father shed many tears as he gazed upon his unfortunate life’s companion. We looked at Father and couldn’t quite comprehend how decisive this moment was going to be for us boys. We could feel no sorrow, because Mother had been gone from home for such a long time that we had become used to getting along without her.

Soon thereafter the war started in earnest. Father was at the front most of the time and so was Uncle Heikki. It was a big celebration when Father came home because he always brought back some kind of a treat: bread and beef jerky at least. In addition during his furloughs he had ration cards to the Koitto restaurant on Annankatu and on occasion we received an actual meal there. [r. Pekka Tolvanen with boys: Valto (9), Veikko (7), and Voitto (3); c.1918]

At home, as I had said before, there wasn’t enough food for Veikko and me so we were driven out into the street early each morning to beg for our food as best we could. Then if ever one would have thought that we both would learn how to steal, but I can’t ever recall that being part of my nature. I guess on the one hand I was too shy and timid, and on the other some trace of honesty had been planted in me which I was unable to shake off. My conscience always bothered me if I did anything which did not feel right to me. But Veikko was cut out of different cloth — he had a much tougher nature. It isn’t any use, therefore, for me or anyone else to blame Veikko that he got on the wrong path right from his earliest days. It would really have been a wonder if this had not happened. That it didn’t happen to me is truly a miracle.

So the winter passed as we suffered and shivered. The White army and the Germans came closer day by day. Father came home with the news that Uncle Heikki had been killed at Grankulla — at the fortification. This was on the last day before the attack — actually on the day of the attack, May 13^th [this was the last day of the War of Independence when Marshall Mannerheim reviewed the troops on the Esplanade]. The attack on Helsinki occurred on May 12-13 and the fighting was fierce. On the day Helsinki was captured, which had to be May 13, we had taken time to go to Koitto to eat. Just on the other side of Simonkatu — Koitto was at the corner of Simon- and Yrjönkatu — was located the so called Turku Fortification, and there was all kinds of popping and cracking coming from that direction. So much so, that there was nothing to do but to head for home as fast as possible.

The next day came the search parties and of course they came to our door. Father debated whether to go up to the attic and start shooting out the windows, but then he took a look at us and wondered what would become of us if he lost his life. So the authorities came and knocked on the door, and through the door rumbled in the White Guard led by a real beer belly — I think his belt was at least 4 feet in length. I was a short little guy and ended up right underneath his belly — and it was truly a huge one! He had a small pistol in his hand and he thrust it against Father’s stomach and demanded to know where his automatic rifle was. Father said that he had nothing else but his Russian made rifle and some bullets, of which he had several hundred wrapped up in a large handkerchief with all four corners tied in a knot. In retrospect I think there were about 2 kilos weight in bullets! “Here it is, and I’ve had great success using of it!” Father’s words come back to me as large as life — those were the exact words which he used on this occasion. And so Father was led away.

We boys followed them down the stairs and stopped at the corner of our building next to the sewer pit, left there to stand around and watch. And how we bawled and cried, because there was no telling what these guys would do to their prisoners. How could we have known — Father’s captors were enemies and oppressors — the so called “lahtarit.” I guess among the prisoners were other Reds as well who were imprisoned at the same time, but I don’t remember anything about them. I just stared at Father as he stood among his captors on the other end of the yard, right at the entrance to our apartment complex. The evening sun was still shining and Father’s face looked so yellow and drawn. His hands must have been tied because they hung in front of him —crossed over each other. The dear women from the Salvation Army had been the ones who turned everyone in, and they had also mentioned that Father had an automatic weapon in the attic. They acted like typical women, but war is war.

And so Father was led away. I can’t remember who was looking after us during this period of time, but someone dispatched us off to the South Harbor. We had two tins of Työmies cigarettes with us which we were to give to Father if we found him in the line of prisoners as he was being taken away to Suomenlinna, or rather Viapori, as it was called in those days. At the dock there was a long roof which kept the rain off supplies while at the same time it also shielded passengers from the rain. There were some handcarts or wheelbarrows at the dock and we played around with those while we waited. There must have been thousands of prisoners and they were being marched past us in four columns — I guess to the ships. I remember how the handles were turned up on the wheelbarrow, and I was in the wheelbarrow standing on the tailgate when I caught sight of Father. I ran to the column and placed the cigarettes in Father’s hand. Father looked at us long and sorrowfully — and didn’t say anything, and we boys turned and beat it for home all the while sniffling and crying. Half a year went by before we saw Father again. But that’s another story, and I will get back to it in a while.

Translated from the original Finnish: Marja-Leena Tolvanen-Rogers