More Faults of heritage

I am interested in finding stories, that are told about my ancestors and other relatives. Luckily especially my dad’s side of family has a tradition of telling little anecdotes about family members. Sometimes I have been able to verify the facts about or around those little stories, sometimes not. But all of them I have been able to place in time more or less, and they tell a lot about people who lived before. It is beyond fascinating, but I am sure I wouldn’t have continued digging around for more, if my eldest wasn’t so enthusiastic about them. She read the first little story I wrote last spring, and has been clamouring for more ever since. 

Some stories are funny, others not so much, especially knowing the circumstances they took place in.

The stories of Civil War are among the ones I want to know more about. I know quite a bit about the reasons and consequences of the war, and through the stories of people who lived through it I can see what did it really mean.

My great grandma's father and uncles all took part in the Civil war on the Red side. Reini brothers, the sons of Hermanni and Anna Reini from Ruovesi were adults or young men when the war broke out in January 1918.

Edvard, the eldest, was a married father of four in his late thirties. He was taken prisoner after the capitulation of Red Tampere in April 1918 and died in the Tampere War prisoner camp in late June. Family story was, that he was shot, but the Finnish open database of war deaths 1914-1922 tells that he died of hunger. Gravesite not known, but he could be buried in the mass grave in Kalevankangas graveyard.

Then was Sakari, who had four kids as well (my great grandma, then 13, one of them) and was a non-combatant in Punakaarti of Ruovesi. He only took arms in the very last days of war, when he was among the few dozen reds that were cornered in Raatihuone in Tampere. They held out for a time, and there was even some talk of fighting til death, because there would be no mercy for them anyway. In the end the starved, thirsty, wounded men and women ran out of bullets and surrendered. So Sakari was taken prisoner, wounded to a leg. Due to some weird misunderstanding, Sakari ended up in a hospital train to Oulu. The Red Cross nurse in train knew he was from the losing side of the war, but did not tell anyone. He was found out when the train arrived in Oulu many days later. This little side trip may have well saved his life, as there wouldn’t have been any medical care, food or even water in Keskustori, where the capitulated Reds were gathered for many days before marching them to hastily built prison camps. Badly wounded man would have had very little chance there. Thanks to a nurse with some pity, four kids got their father back alive.

Meanwhile, my father’s mother’s father, Jaakko, participated in the civil war too, on the white side, and was among the troops attacking to Tampere, where Reini brothers were taken prisoners.

Grandson of Sakari and daughter of Jaakko ended up married. I kinda appreciate the irony of history and the dual nature of my heritage.

Here's Jaakko, age 17, when he fought in Finnish Civil War.

I have no photos of the Reini brothers taken at this time, unfortunately.

Running in the family way

 Today I've been thinking a lot about grandparents. Mainly my own.

Here are my both grandmothers as young women. The first photo is my mother's mother Hilma Aune Emilia and the second my paternal grandmother Terttu Eeva Inkeri (the dark haired smiling nurse on the left).

What have I inherited from each? Socially as well as genetically. I think in Hilma-mummus case I've gotten the ability to first and foremost try to see the good in people. What I most admire about her, was her incredible resilience and that she never seemed bitter about anything. She lost her father quite young, lived through war, toiled hard as a farmer's wife and buried five of her nine children - one as a little baby, four as adults, and still she remained positive. She never judged people, or talked nastily of anyone.

I am a little disappointed that she never talked about her childhood or youth so that I was present. I would have liked to know her better, to form a more multidimensional picture of her. 

My own mother has started to look so much like Hilma-mummu in her later years, that it is borderline scary. 

Terttu-mummu, or Tummu, as we called her, wasn't always the sweet granny. She could bloody well hold her own, and then some, in an argument. Soooo anyway, that's where that certain stubborness partly comes from. Although I can't give all the credit to Tummu here. 3/4 of my grandparents were stubborn to the point of hardheadedness. 

She also taught me to appreciate poetry, arts and crafts. She was an avid knitter and embroiderer. She made me my first very own kansallispuku, and always supported my childhood attempts at a craft project. Everyone in the family laughed at us, when I got some grand idea, like making a First Nations -style costume from scratch or making an audio book of my favourite novel, and Tummu got just as excited as I was and helped me plan and execute.

Tummu was very active on all kinds of associations, like Maatalousnaiset, who had a lot of themed gatherings. Usually they gathered in some members' house and learned and tried out new handicrafting techniques. And I was always welcome to participate. 

So when I started my deep dive in handicrafts some decades later, I had some kind of passing familiarity with many different techniques. I had carded wool and tried spinning, felting, weaving, bead embroidery, sewing, crocheting, candlemaking... I had an excellent mesenate and coach as a kid.

Tummu would have been beyond herself with pride to see me study traditional costume making. I am certain my first real job would have been to make her a costume, were she alive. 

This is my both grandmothers around the time I knew them. Hilma-mummu's portrait with her darling Muru was taken some years before I was born. By the time I came along, cattle was no more, but it is an exceptionally good portrait of Hilma-mummu. 

Tummu's pic has me and my childhood bestie, Bordercollie girl Grisse as a bonus. Yayyy, we're cute!

Here are my grandfathers. Kalervo Johannes and Viljo Antto. Handsome devils both. 

Kalervo, my mother's father, was a farmer who believed in manual hard work. He didn't much admire education or authorities. Kassu-vaari had a devilish sense of humor, and sure didn't turn down a dram or six of vodka or cognac. He smoked and took snuff for over sixty years but kept his own teeth and lived to be ninety. He was very skilled carpenter and could do basically anything of wood. Basketmaking was the craft I remember him doing when I was a kid. My mom still has one or two big wooden shingle baskets of Vaari's making. 

Traditional shinglemaking and basket weaving is very intriguing and I'd very much like to learn it. And I think I might have a little bit of Vaari's healthy criticism of authority...

Viljo Antto, my Äijä was the eldest son of a factory working family,  became his single mother's right hand at age ten and worked to help educate his siblings before studying to be construction foreman himself. He was a factory town boy, but bought a farm around the time everyone else was moving out of the countryside. It was his dream and he enjoyed country life immensely. Running the farm was never his main occupation, but a passionate hobby. He was natural with practically any animal, and I think that is the greatest thing I learned from Äijä. To appreciate and approach animals, see them as living breathing creatures that definitely had personalities and were always to be treated well. 

I was taught to respect animals, but never fear them.

And here's the granddads as granddads. Kassu-vaari cracking a saucy joke and Äijä taking a nap after lunch. Again, photobombed by yours truly, and my fave fairytale of a wolf and seven little kids (the goat kind).

Both Vaari and Äijä served in the IIWW, but from a very different perspectives: Vaari hadn't been in the army because of a childhood illness that had bowed his back and during the Winter war he was a non-combatant in the front lines, at night digging open the trenches that artillery fire had crumbled. During the intermittent peace he was supposed to go to army to make him an infantryman, and he went, in a way... He had seen 3,5 months of furious war up close and personal, had a farm to tend to, was newly wed and his wife was pregnant. He damn sure wasn't going to waste his time learning to walk in step, he had hay to make. Thanks to an understanding higher officer he got away with it. In war he did his job well, but again didn't think very highly of higher-ups.

Äijä was over ten years younger. He was 12 when the war began, and volunteered as soon as it was possible, after turning 17. He became a non commissioned officer and was active in matters of defense all his life. He was proud to be "an officer and a gentleman".