Growing up in the 70s and 80s, my Dad’s dad – my grandpa Vaari loomed as a large figure in my life. He had steely gray hair, always a ramrod straight back and blue-gray eyes that could pierce your soul.
He was born in 1910, when Finland was still under Russian rule, and he had become an officer in the Finnish army in the 1930s. When Finland was attacked by Russia in 1939, he was sent to the front. He was promoted to Major during the war – leading a signaling battalion, and eventually after the war to a Colonel.
When he met me he’d try out how strong I had become. He would squeeze my little hand, and see if I could make his hand hurt or see if I could stand him pinching my wrist.. I don’t ever remember seeing any reflection, any pain in his demeanor – but it was all done in a joking manner, and I have a sense that this was as much tenderness that he could muster, as much that he could allow himself to show.
In the mid-80s we’d spend summers together at country places on some island outside of Helsinki, and my grandpa, my cousin Jonni and I were the permanent inhabitants of these country houses. We’d arrive in June, when the Finnish seawater could still be around 12C and there’d be a chilly wind, spend long glorious summer days there, and we’d leave in early August when the weather would start to cool again.
Jonni and I would spend the days roaming in the forests, shooting bows and arrows, stealing some cigarettes when we could and have a bunch of fun. Our main duties consisted of helping Vaari with his fishing, which he took with utmost seriousness. We’d also cook together, but that was clearly less important to Vaari.
During the day Vaari would prepare the nets or the traps, and in the evening Jonni or I would row out together with Vaari to place the traps. Vaari would be very concentrated on getting the traps in the right positions, and would bark quiet orders to us if we didn’t row the boat to his high standards.
Early in the morning – around 6AM – we’d row out and pick up the traps to see what we’d gotten. Most mornings it was so still and quiet that you could hear the seabirds, hear the fishes splashing, and it felt like nothing else existed in the world.
In the evenings we would always heat up the sauna to a good 80C-90C, and jump in the sea between rounds of sauna. The smell of the wood-burning stove and the vihta (ask me if you don’t know..) are still imprinted in my mind.
As we got older – around 14, 15 we started to get curious about how things had been in the war – after all he’d spent four years at the front, as a commanding officer, so he must have seen some gory stuff? However whenever we’d ask, he’d deflect the question, and eventually go back to his tasks and his fishing gear.
I don’t really have an answer for why he didn’t want to talk about the war, only to say that perhaps he felt it was best to not dig into painful things that happened a long time ago. The thing that concerns me is seeing world events these days – knowing that the generation of my Grandpa has largely left this world, we could be careening towards bigger confrontations as the world is splitting into the blocks of the West (US, EU etc..) and the East (China, Russia, Iran etc..).
Today I remember my Vaari, and wish that he was here – so we could go fishing, and like him focus on taking care our families and this Earth.
And to remind this generation’s leaders of what happened 80 years ago, when nationalistic fervor gripped the moods, and too few people stood up for peace.
Peace,
Oskar
