My father's father's father (farfarfar) was Thor Thorsen Grøden/Heimark (which he changed to Heimarck). His father, also named Thor, worked on merchant marine ships and lived in the area around Stavanger. When his father died suddenly, my GGF Thor came to America, where he became a Lutheran preacher in Story City, Iowa. He married Brita Rasmusdatter Opheim (with a long family history from the Opheim/Oppheim/Oppim farm near Innvik/Indvig).
When I was a child, my grandfather Theodore (also a Lutheran minister, who ended up at Good Shepherd Church in Edina, MN) had three sisters -- Alma, Thelma, and Esther -- and one brother, Rueben. They grew up in Iowa. Here's a Christmas story by my Great Aunt Alma. She married Otto Hesla, who for some time was a Lutheran missionary in China. Otto was one of the nicest guys I ever met. Here's Alma's story about their Norwegian-American Christmas in Iowa almost 100 years ago. —
I wrote this story about two years ago. It is a reminiscence about Christmas Eve in the old Emmanuel Lutheran Church parsonage in Story City, Iowa. It dates far back to the early ‘20s when my father, Reverend Thor T. Heimarck, was the pastor. I actually wrote it for my children, but I thought it might be interesting to readers of the Story City Herald – a true story of Christmas long ago.
Telling you about our Christmas is a little bit like explaining a really nice dream, but I intend to take you back with me to share a beautiful and precious memory. To make it real, you must be little children again.
Shopping for presents was all done, and the packages hidden away in a secret place.
A man from Roland with white whiskers had brought us a tree, and we decorated it with tinsel and candles and small paper baskets we had woven with strips of paper. Christmas Eve had come!
First we had dinner. Mama had set the table with our best linen tablecloth and napkins, cut glass and sliver. In the center of the table, two candles glowed on their base of a large, round mirrored plate. It was lovely and festive, and so was the dinner that Mama made.
We didn’t hurry, but when we were all finished, Papa took his Bible and opened it to the Gospel of Luke, Chapter 2. Then he glanced carefully at his family, as if to tell them that this was very important. Then he read slowly and with profound reverence. In those few moments, we were in Bethlehem at the manger with shepherds and wise men and the angels, sharing their worship of the Christ child, and we surely did hear angels sing.
Papa closed the book, and we sang the hymn. Then he arose and went first to Mama to say “Gladelig Jule, Brita” – then we all hugged each other and said the same. You understand that this was no precise ritual of some sort. It was simply an expression of love and joy for one another – and it still lives on.
And so to the dishwashing. Aprons over our best dresses – remembering to stand on our tiptoes to help.
When we were done, we straightened our hair and fixed ourselves up nice to go around the Christmas tree.
The candles were lit and there was a white sheet folded around the bottom upon which lay our presents. Our first song was invariably “Glade Yule, Hellige Yule,” (“Silent Night, Holy Night.”)
We didn’t need hymn books. We just had to reverse our direction often, circling one direction around the tree, and then the other. Surprisingly, we weren’t in a hurry to open our presents. We were having so much fun just going around the tree. Some of the carols were solemn, and we sang them solemnly, but we knew a number of rollicking, funny songs as well…
Vi klapper handerne (We clap our hands)
Vi synger og Vilor (We sing and we laugh)
Saa glad er vi, Saa glad er vi (So glad are we, so glad are we)
Vi svinger os I kresden og neier! (We swing around and curtsy to each other!)
And this one spoken, not sung…
Jeg kommer ifra Smileland, fra Smileland (Smeelelan – smile land!)
Og alle de som smile kand sde kommer ifra Smileland
vs. Grineland (an ugly pouting)
vs. Hinkeland (limping)
vs. Krabbeland (down on all fours and crawl about like a crab)
Oh, we were in such high spirits, and Mama and Papa loved it!
Our last song was subdued and we stood still and sang.
Her Staar vi nu I flok o grad (Thy Little Ones Dear Lord Are We)
For Dig, Vort Sjonne Hjerteblad, Gud giv at vi og alle smaa I Himmlen for Din Throne Staa (To stand in heaven before thy throne).
I remember being anxious about the last line because I was afraid if I sinned, I might never see that heavenly throne! Finally, we stopped. Mama sat down in a chair. She said nothing about being tired, but I’m sure she was. Then we opened the presents.
There were always three long boxes under the tree. We always got new, beautiful dolls from the Tokheims. (Mrs. Tokheim was Tim’s Godmother as well as mine. Timothy is my youngest son.) They were our next door neighbors. Clara taught piano, and we Heimarck children too lessons from her for many years. We always exchanged Christmas gifts, and one year, I carried ours to them. To my complete dismay, I saw no Christmas tree in their house. I looked sideways into the parlor and saw nothing there. “Surely, they couldn’t be keeping it in the bedroom!” Christmas Eve and no Christmas tree? How sad that was.
But the dolls they gave us were more beautiful than any I have seen since. They had kidskin bodies, feet with toes, silk stockings and patent leather shoes. Their hair, blonde or brunette, had a bow, and we could comb or braid those fine threads. I wish now that I would lave saved just one.
We gathered our presents and found our own corner for them. When Rueben (my youngest brother,) was just beginning to talk, I remember seeing him standing over his collection and pronouncing to all and sundry, “All this is mine!” Now, as we admired each other’s presents, Mama comes in carrying a tray with our best cups, with hot chocolate and a spoon of whipped cream on top, along with a variety of her happy baking.
But we knew we were not yet through. Papa knew some games to play. He had no Christmas Eve service, so there was no hurry. A short candle was set on the floor. Papa sat in a chair with a stick, and we sat on the floor with our own sticks. Papa’s job was to put out the eye of the lighted candle and our job was to defend it. We banged away and we laughed and it was really jolly.
He knew another game too. It was called “Stealing Pigs.” We had maybe six corn cobs on the floor and whoever sat in the chair tried to steal the pigs (cobs) fast, while the kids on the floor were busy watching the others. (You’d be surprised how slick you can get!)
You may be sure that Papa had his Christmas sermon well-fixed in his mind before he and Mama gave us children so precious an evening to remember all our lives. We always got a book from them, and I still have three of the series: Five little Peppers and How They Grew.
Finally, though, leaving our treasures, we traipsed upstairs to bed. We would sing again in church tomorrow, Christmas Day, where inside the altar was a huge tree that filled the entire space.
Twice we had interruptions on Christmas Eve.
One year, Papa had made doll houses for us, and we had put a small candle inside. When he lit them, they were enchanting. Mama was sitting down that eventful evening, holding baby Theodore, when Esther put her arm into the tiny house, and (of course), her sleeve caught fire. Mama almost threw the baby down, grabbed Esther’s arm and quickly put out the flames. It was scary all right, but Esther wasn’t burned at all.
The other interruption came when we all had the measles. Papa carried Esther around the tree and she covered her sore little eyes with her hands. None of us could go to Sunday School Program, so we knelt by the dining room window so we could see a little of the church and to hear the singing.
The mystery and the magic of those times has lingered with me.
Many years later, when I was a nurse at Fairview Hospital in Minneapolis, I was given Christmas leave, only to have it cancelled. Miss Fjelstad called me to her office and said, “Miss Heimarck, I can’t let you go home for Christmas. You will have to go on night duty in the nursery.”
I was stricken. I could only stammer, “But you promised…” She knew I was hurting, and she said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I have no one else. You will have to stay.”
I did that duty -- most surely I did -- from 7 PM to 7 AM.
I remember very distinctly, how I went from crib to crib, just at midnight, picked up each baby in its turn and carried it to the nursery window to show it the bright Christmas stars, and I whispered to each one, “I will tell your mother how you spent Christmas Eve.” Morning came. I gave my report to the Day Nurse as I went to my room, I had a peaceful thought: “It was Christmas Eve just the same.”
This was, this is, my Christmas Story.
And now, my own memories of Christmas Eve. My mother would make dinner, but before we could eat, we’d have to listen to my father read from the Bible (shepherds and angels and no room at the inn, blah blah blah). Then we usually had Norwegian meatballs and potatoes (and sometimes lutefisk). My mother always insisted that her Norwegian meatballs were superior to Swedish meatballs. Then before we could go to the Christmas tree, we had to wash dishes.
We kids washed the dishes in record time.
Then we had to sing songs around the tree. There was some song about apples and pears that grow on the tree then they get ripe and fall on the ground. And there was the limping song. Plus some songs we knew (like Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer). Then we could open presents. But we only opened one at a time and then we had to say thank you to the giver.