Something from Aunt Irene

Here's Aunt Irene at her typewriter, a caricature she had done at Disneyland some time or other.  I have copies and/or drafts of some of the speeches she gave to Chatterlings, a women's speaking group sponsored by Bank of America.  I thought I would give Grandma a little rest and instead put together two versions Aunt Irene typed out about this event, taking what I thought was the best from each.  It's a bit long, but I found it quite charming to read. 

Madam Chairman, Madam President, Fellow Chatterlings and guests,

I am going to ask you to let your imaginations run rampant and come with me as I take you to Denmark to be present at a golden wedding celebration. This was one of the most memorable incidents on my trip to Europe a few years ago. It appealed to me so much, I believe because of the "down-to-earthness", if I may coin a phrase, the sincerity and the genuine joy and enthusiasm that predominated the entire round of festivities.

The honored couple were Nels and Nelsigne Christensen, brother and wife of my eldest brother-in-law who with my sister had gone to Denmark for this auspicious occasion. Peter, Margaret, my cousin who lives in Copenhagen and I drove up to the little village of Skjorring where the event took place. We drove out through some of the most beautiful countryside and scenery that one could imagine. There were the farms, many of the buildings with thatched roofs, storks’ nests on the chimneys, the well-ordered fields and all the things I had read and heard about but really couldn’t imagine existed. We had to cross a rather large body of water, the Stort Balt, which translated means "the large body of water", it was on a ferry-type thing but actually looked like an ocean liner to me. It seemed that everyone on board was in a gay and festive mood and the people so friendly that I became even more elated at the thought of attending this wedding anniversary. Our arrival was quite exciting as there are very few cars in that area; people either walked, rode bicycles or buses to reach their destinations. The daring modern young folk had bikes with putt-putts. Imagine this little village, houses with thatched roofs, everything immaculate and the friendly inhabitants all of whom were looking forward to this big event. We parked the car at the barn which had housed the cattle and walked up to the house. The walkway was lined with the brightest and largest calendulas I had ever seen. I took time to notice the lawn which appeared to have been cut and trimmed with a precision tool, here and there were other bright and colorful flowers. Our greeting was most enthusiastic and of course, tearful. Nels and Nelsigne had planned more than two years for this, they had even raised the hogs and beef that were slaughtered, had budgeted their pension so that he could have a new black suit and she a new black dress.

They lived in a duplex, the son with his family in one part. We arrived late afternoon and were asked to come in to the house, made comfortable and first thing were offered a drink. The preliminaries took place in the tiny living room of the honored couple. We were then invited to go over to the side where the son lived. There was a table laden with more food than I thought could be concocted. We had to partake of everything as that is the way to show your appreciation to your host and hostess. After that we went back to the small living room for more talk, about all I could do was listen as I hadn’t become very proficient in speaking the language. Sensing that I was looking rather drowsy, someone suggested that my cousin and I might like to go to bed. We slept at the prest’s home, that is the minister. The bedroom was upstairs, a large room devoid of any furniture other than two beds stacked to the ceiling with feather mattresses and pillows. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room and I have never disrobed so quickly as I did that night so I would not have to be the one to turn it out and crawl in to the stack of feather beds. I had with me the pair of red flannel pajamas that had been give me by one of my bosses and with them on, I scrambled to bed. I beat that undressing race, incidentally. I heard my cousin giggling as she crawled in to her bed, she spoke Danish to me and I tried to answer but whether it was right or not, I’ll never know; she laughed harder than ever. It seemed I had just gone to sleep when I heard a voice, "Irena, Irena". I came out from under the feathers and realized that it was time to get up and join the festivities. I fell out of bed, washed my face with water that I do believe had a thin coating of ice on it. There was a silver pitcher with water and a bowl standing on the washstand and the most beautiful hand-loomed and hand-embroidered towels to use. We dressed, ran down the hill and joined the villagers who were at the back of the house waiting to sing. And sing we did. I sang as lustily as the rest as the man who had a radio shop in the village led the singers after giving us the pitch. The shuttered windows opened and there were Nels and Nelsigne. They bade us come in and have coffee and rolls. That is one of the customs, they do not leave the bedroom until these songs are sung. There must have been about thirty of the townspeople there. It was about six in the morning. Then the gifts began to arrive. I had purchased what I thought was a lovely bit of ceramic art and carried it all the way with me from Alhambra and if you know what the Danish ceramics are like, you can appreciate how I felt. They were very gracious about it and let it have a place of honor since it was from America.

At noon the relatives were entertained at a sumptuous luncheon at the town hall. This meal was prepared and served by the ladies of the village. This was the time for toasts and each toast was followed by a straight shot of Akavit. Since I was from America I was given a place of honor among the family and unfortunately I was seated between their son and son-in-law. My sister Margaret had cautioned me before we got to the dining hall, "Irene do be careful, they think it is great sport to get a foreigner slightly inebriated." I toasted merrily along. I was asked to make a toast and in my faltering Danish I really don’t know what I said, but it brought a big round of applause and I noticed some of the hardy ones took about three Akavits to polish that one off. Following that repast we went back to the home again and there we met the press. They had come out from Randers, a town about 25 miles away where the largest paper of that area was published. My brother-in-law gave them a detailed resume of industry in the States and agriculture in general and then he thought I should tell them something about the Bank of America. But in my Akavit stage I begged off with a few facts, frankly I didn’t trust myself as I thought I might divulge some secrets that would give some enterprising young man or woman in the crowd an idea of founding a bank.

The evening was the gala affair. I believe everyone in the village was there along with all the relatives who had come quite a distance. Everyone was dressed in his best. The ladies wore formals, formals which had seen many other parties and no doubt would see many more. One of the women of the family had married well, a Swedish industrialist. She was most striking in her formal and he a giant of a man in his tails, but most gracious. I could hardly manage Danish and completely flopped when I tried to understand what he was saying in Swedish. There were lovely flower arrangements and the china and silver were beautiful. The cooks had outdone themselves, I finally lost count of the courses that were served. This was again a time for toasts and more Akavit, I was beginning to wish I had acquired a taste for something other than a good dry martini, but I stuck with them. By that time I didn’t mind that I didn’t have a formal, but just a polished cotton, cut rather low and daring.

Following the speeches and the poems that the family had written in honor of their parents, the room was cleared for dancing. There was a three-piece orchestra with a real beat and as is customary the honorees dance the first dance with no one else on the floor. Nelsigne had a heart condition so they took one slow turn around the floor for the opening waltz and drew a big hand. She was escorted to a chair where she sat the rest of the night and watched. She fairly beamed and I wish you could have seen that round face, lined with wrinkles but just beaming and her eyes twinkled through the little gold-rimmed glasses. Nels however, had the time of this life, he hardly missed a dance. His blood pressure was getting out of line, his face was flushed and his daughter said he should stop, but he said he had not danced with "den lille Amerikaner", imagine me being called little, so she consented and he took me whirling around the room. I don’t know whose blood pressure was higher, I do know his hearing aid flew out of his ear, but he traolled merrily on.

The party ended about two in the morning, 20 hours of celebrating. The next day the Danish flag was not flying from every residence as it had on their day, but I am sure Nels and Nelsigne were left with many wonderful memories and certainly it left me with some of the pleasantest memories that I still enjoy. It proved to me that it is not always necessary to have big and costly things to entertain us, the simple appreciated things such as this golden wedding celebration, are really worthwhile in this hectic world of ours.