Luck (#52 Ancestors, Week 11)

Good luck, back luck, sometimes it’s hard to tell.

In the summer of 1985, after we graduated from college, my friend Trish and I traveled around Europe for six weeks. It was a dream come true. We traveled with our Eurail passes and so sometimes we slept on the trains but most of the time we spent the night in a hotel or pensione. (The exchange rate was fantastic that summer!) Our itinerary included France, Italy, Greece, Germany, Austria, the Netherlands and Belgium but the details of the trip were flexible.

Unfortunately, terrorism reared it ugly head that summer. Bombs went off around Europe, and TWA flight 847 was hijacked in Athens. Greece had been on our itinerary but we prudently decided to cancel that part of the trip. This opened up some extra days to fill so after talking it over we decided to travel north to Sweden. We also decided we should let our parents know about our change in plans.

Remember, this is 1985. There were no cell phones then. In order to make a phone call home we had to go to a phone station and wait our turn. When I got through to my parents, they suggested that we try to meet up with my Swedish relatives. They gave me Aunt Helen’s phone number, because she had been to visit the Swedish relatives and would know how to contact them.

Marie

As luck would have it, I was able to connect with a “cousin” named Marie Larsson. She met us in Malmo and took us around to where my great-grandfather Herman Peterson had lived.

The back of the photo reads,
"Where Dad P was born."

Trish and I in front of the home
in 1985

Marie shared some lunch with us and we did our best to communicate—she in broken English and we in no Swedish at all.

A Swedish lunch

I feel regret when I look back now, knowing that I had this fabulous experience in 1985 but have not kept up with my relatives in Sweden at all. If I had it to do over again…. Nevertheless, I’m so grateful that we were able to connect and that I was able to walk “the old sod.” Maybe one day luck will be with me again and I can reconnect with my family in Sweden...but without the benefit of an international crisis.

Happy Birthday, Herman

Herman Peterson in 1942

My great-grandfather Herman Peterson was born on December 24, 1875 in Äspö, Skåne, Sweden. He was the first child of Hans Persson and Karna Andersdotter, who had been married just a year earlier. The church book in Äspö records his birth like this:

You can see his birthday listed, December 24, and that he was baptized on December 30. His given name was Per, probably after his paternal grandfather. Because of Swedish naming traditions, young Per would not take a last name (which would be patterned after his father's first name) until he left his parents' house many years later. When he did, he would be known as Per Hansson. (How he came to be called Herman Peterson is a topic for a future blog post.)

Imagine having a baby on Christmas Eve, which is such a big holiday in Sweden. Were Hans and Karna already celebrating, with family or by themselves? What must young Hans and Karna's house have been like when baby Per came into their lives? Did they have a Christmas tree with lit candles? Were there presents under the tree, maybe even for the expected little one? Did they think about another young couple whose baby was born in Bethlehem so long ago?

The back of this photo says "House where Dad P was born."

Hans Persson, his wife Karna and now his son Per lived at Espö No. 14, a farm that had been owned by Hans' father before him and where Hans grew up with his younger brother Carl and his sisters Kersti (the oldest) and Boel (third in the family).

Five days after Per's birth, Hans and Karna took their son to the church to be baptized. Below is a picture of the church at Äspö, which is centuries old; the baptismal font dates from 1200-1300 AD. Just imagine the young family going to the church in the dark and cold of a Swedish winter. They probably would have met the baby's sponsors, listed as Marna Helgesdotter, Anders Persson, and Boet Persdotter, who was Hans' younger sister.

I think about my own children's baptisms and wonder about Per's. Did baby Per cry when the cold water washed his brow? Did he have a special christening gown? Did people give him and his parents presents? Surely the family celebrated afterwards. Bringing a child into the world and into the community of saints is an event to be cherished and remembered. Herman, Per, Grandpa and Great-Grandpa Pete, today we remember you.