Marius and Alvin tried to hide their restlessness from Jan, but he understood. After about an hour, two forms heading in their direction took shape. Uneasy, Marius knew something was seriously wrong.
As Olaf and Amandus returned and told their story, the other men were filled with misgivings. The mood turned gloomy. All of the men were exhausted. The struggle up the mountain had been difficult, but not without hope. Total bewilderment and disappointment swept over them as they considered this snag in the plan.
The men had an enormous emergency on their hands and they were miles away from shelter and help. A decision had to be made. But what solution could they find? Most choices were eliminated before they were even thought through.
To continue on to Sweden without enough supplies was suicide. Fully expecting to meet the Manndalen men, they had only brought two pairs of skis along for an emergency. Two men could not pull an ill man over the difficult terrain. None had an abundance of strength left after the strenuous climb, and spring snowstorms still raged up here in the mountains.
Jan was too ill to be moved down the mountain. The thought of imprisoning him in the hut again with the appalling memories he had of the place was unbearable. That also would be suicide. Jan was unable to take the stress of the descent in any case. Also, the men themselves were near spent. They shared their thoughts and tried to figure out how best to handle the situation. There was no solution, at least not an easy one.
After much discussion, the four came to the agreement that they had to leave Jan behind in the mountains. Heavy-hearted, they presented the plan to him.
“We have no choice.”
“Of course we don’t.” answered Jan, without a moment’s hesitation. “I already came to that conclusion when Olaf and Alfon scouted after the Manndalen men.”
“Jan we are so very, very sorry.” Marius spoke for all.
“Don’t be. You have done everything humanly possible for me. There is no other way. It’ll all work out. You’ll see.” Jan sounded brave.
When they had stopped to rest they were a short distance north of the black mountain wall. They noticed a nine-foot high boulder, which stood out from all the rest midways between them and the wall. It was flat on the south side, and measured roughly 15 feet by 18 feet. It was the only rock of this size and shape in the immediate area. It stood as a sentinel over the landscape. They agreed that this would be a good hiding place for Jan and pulled the sled up the slope towards the rock.
The Gentleman Stone
The Gentleman Stone seen toward the east with the river delta on the left.
Snowdrifts surrounded the boulder. Toward the east the wind had forged a large gaping hole in the snow, a natural cauldron that almost reached the moss below. A thick snowdrift had formed an overhang from the top of the boulder pointing east, a lid for the cauldron.
The men examined the hole and, using the back ends of their skis, cut large square blocks out of the snow. They cut out a shelf in the snowdrift and into the snowfield southward so that Jan and the sleigh could be pushed sideways onto the shelf, placing his feet toward the rock with his head away from it. They used the snow blocks they had removed to wall up the opening to the shelf, making Jan invisible inside his cave. A small round hole was drilled through the layers of snow so that Jan would have air to breathe.
The remaining food that had not been eaten was gathered. There was a little leftover drink and it was all placed close by him. The snow cave muffled his voice and they could hardly understand him without straining, but they were able to make out Jan’s upbeat courage.
“All is well in here,” the enthusiastic voice said. “Be careful on that mountain. Get down it safely.”
Helpless, the four of them stood there, wanting to encourage him. But they had lost their own courage. Were they signing Jan’s death warrant leaving him up here in his condition? They faked optimism for him.
“The Manndalen men are bound to come shortly. If not right away, at least by tomorrow, Jan.”
“Good-bye and take care.”
“We wish you the best.” Empty words meant to be pleasant.
They said their goodbyes through the little opening in the snow, then crawled out of the cauldron. The four young men turned around and looked down on the place where they had left their friend. No one was able to say a word. No one could give an explanation for this turn of events.
The men were bitterly disappointed. They did not cry – they were men of steel, but tonight their eyes were moist, their hearts torn apart. They had concentrated on cheering Jan up as much as possible. Considering the circumstances, they felt this amazing man was in surprisingly good spirits. In the midst of this unthinkable situation, he did his best not to show them he was concerned. This was Jan; he made the impossible seem achievable. They took courage from his resilience.
The Furuflaten men struggled to keep their emotions in check. They stood there on the edge and looked down at the miniscule opening where they were leaving a helplessly ill man; none of them really believed he could survive. They hated themselves.
Near the riverbed, about thirty feet away, they placed a ski pole in the snow. Surely if the Manndalen men showed up they would have an easy time finding Jan with the pole sticking out of the snow. One by one they headed for the abrupt cliffs.
In one big sweep, reality had changed and existence became emptiness and a heavy loss. Marius agonized. He could not be blamed for this mishap; still, a helpless man had been left behind, and he felt responsible. Marius had but one desire, to turn back. He did not want to climb down the mountain. He wanted to go back to be with Jan to let him know how much he cared. How could he leave? It all seemed so meaningless, so futile. What kind of a friend had he become?
Revdal, April 25, 1943: It was past 6 a.m. when the exhausted and dispirited men rowed back home to Furuflaten. They had given all that was in them, but it had not been enough. They had failed the courageous man who had put his trust in them. The loss hurt them deeply. Would another door open for them? They would give up all to be able to rescue Jan. They had to find a way.
They rowed on until Hotel Savoy faded on the horizon, until all that was left was a small speck in the snowdrifts across the fjord. Daylight bathed the surroundings. It was the Sabbath and their intent had been to sneak home and get to bed before their families arose, but they knew that plan had also failed. Their strength had dissipated during the ordeal and the rowing was harder and took longer than usual. At this hour all their families would be up. As they neared the shore, they noticed a crowd of people gathered by the dock. A “welcoming committee.” The fearless resistance workers cringed at the thought of confronting their friends and families.
The four of them had left the village many times before, and had returned unnoticed. None of their family members knew that they were entangled in illegal and dangerous work. The families were close friends, yet neither parents nor sweethearts had ever been told. During the past evening however, they had begun to wonder.
When they had been unable to find the men the night before, they had become quite concerned. They had spent the early morning hours together and had decided to walk down by the water and there spotted a boat far out in the fjord.
How they had all prayed that it would be their missing men. After a long time, when the boat came close enough, they recognized both the boat and the men. They did not realize how quickly their humble, sincere prayers had been answered. Instead their concern turned to anger.
The men in the boat realized their homecoming would be less than pleasant.
“We have to outsmart the welcoming committee waiting on the shore,” Amandus whispered.
The three older men knew they would be held accountable for allowing 17-year-old Olaf to participate in such a rousing party. Once again they were left without a choice. They had to take the responsibility.
The top secret assignment could not be shared. Not an iota of the drama surrounding Jan and his transport up the mountainside could ev
er be whispered. Their whole trip had been disastrous.
This was just another set of problems to overcome, though far different than anything they could have anticipated.
They rowed to the headway that stuck out into the Lyngenfjord, north of Furuflaten. As courageous as these men were, they were totally unnerved at the thought of telling Olaf’s parents that they were responsible for him staying out all night. They did not have the courage to bring him with them toward the welcoming committee. As a result, they put him ashore at the tip of the headland and out of sight of the committee. Olaf walked the long way home. He crept into the village from the north, away from the main road, and stayed a good distance away from the neighboring houses and the people he knew.
The three others sprinkled their clothes with nakkeskudd; some ran down their chest. They also gulped down a couple of swallows for courage and let some run down their chins.
Their families had to be convinced that they had partied all night and had enjoyed lots of goodies. Would they believe they could have had fun fishing all night?
When they reached shore, though sober, they enjoyed acting as if drunk with the smell of liquor burning in their noses. Alvin’s mother was enraged. She walked down to her son and in a shrill voice, gave him the verbal lesson of his life.
“Son, how could you have left without letting anyone know where you were? I have taught you better than that!”
“Have I not endowed you with any sense? Are you able to understand the grief you have caused everyone? And furthermore, what kind of a man are you? Leaving your sweetheart on a Saturday night to go fishing and partying with other men?” His mother had worked up a full head of steam and quivered with indignation. Not too far off, Alvin’s sweetheart stood feeling both humbled and sorrowful.
Alvin straightened up. He went close up to his mother’s face and stared right into her eyes. He stood erect, and was deliberately calm - his look unyielding, but friendly. Not for a second did he take his eyes off her and he did not say a word.
His mother quieted down. And in that moment she realized her son was not drunk. But rather, extremely sober! She realized he had tried to act as if he had been carousing, but she knew him too well. His eyes told her. She knew he had been involved in something dangerous, something important and highly secretive. She also knew the war had now invaded their family life. She was silenced without a word being spoken. She did not ask questions. Slowly she turned away and started walking home. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Like Alvin, she knew that secret operations against the Germans were extremely perilous. If something was revealed, the threads could unravel and the whole village could be wiped out. Alvin’s mother became part of the small army of people who helped Jan, without being directly involved.
At once she was involved in a secret she knew nothing about, but she had to carry it in silence, a heavy burden for a mother. Women have for centuries been called upon to carry such burdens in wartime. Alvin’s mother died before the war ended, and she never knew the story of her son’s involvement nor how very courageous he was.
All four men reached their homes without further incident. Each walked off to cope with his anguish. Sadness and weariness were in themselves a heavy load. The men’s thoughts dashed back to the plateau and the soldier in the snow cave high up in the Revdal Mountains.
The exact spot where he was could not be picked out from across the fjord, but they could approximate. They worried about every little detail. Was he distraught? Frozen? Scared? Depressed? Or had he succumbed?
Marius in particular had a difficult time. He took full blame for what had happened. Had his instructions not been complete and clear enough? He had never known teacher Nordnes and Aslak Fossvoll not to follow through.
He rushed to the telephone on his return. Resolutely he lifted the receiver and placed each call. Within seconds the lady at the telephone central answered.
“Aslak Fossvoll in Manndalen, please.” Marius was in a hurry.
Aslak picked up the phone, and got a clear and firm message. “The fish yarn you ordered is ready to be picked up immediately. It is waiting at the appointed place, dug down in the snow behind a rock.”
“We will get it as soon as possible. Thank you.” The phone clicked.
Marius looked out from his house in upper Furuflaten. From there he was sure he could see exactly where Jan was. He felt powerless again; his own worthlessness flooded over him. It would make it so much easier if he could only talk with Jan.
Sundays were always peaceful on the Grønvoll farm, a special day. This was not such a Sunday. Thoughts of Jan rolled over Marius and weighed him down with anxiety.
It was amazing how the surroundings had not changed. The mountains and Lyngenfjord lay there untouchable and silent, an overpowering presence.
From left to right: Amandus Lillevold, Olaf Lanes, Alvin Larsen, and Marius Grønvoll, the team that carried Jan up the Revdal Mountain on a sled, 1960.
THE MANNDALEN MEN
MANNDALEN, A level and narrow valley one and a quarter miles wide and 18 miles long, cuts deeply through the massive surrounding granite mountains. Some of the mountains reach heights of 3500 feet above sea level. The spirited Manndalen River rushes down its hilly center and spills over into Kåfjord Sound. On the northern tip, the valley meets up with the hamlet Samuelsberg, bordering Kåfjord Sound; the innermost valley to the south gradually joins the mountain slopes stretching upwards into mountain walls and ends up on the undulating plateaus.
In 1943, there were no roads connecting the communities with each other in this area, only narrow country roads within the valley itself. Traveling by sea, hiking or skiing over the mountains from a neighboring village was the only way to reach this remote area of the Troms District. The people who lived here were hard working farmers, fishermen and hunters. Tradition passed on through their families taught them to care for one another and any strangers who might enter their village.
Unspoiled by worldly sophistication, the people of Manndalen were fiercely patriotic and fully understood those things that enriched life: family, friendship and the importance of education. For the most part, the war had not intruded much on life in Manndalen, except that necessities and food were more scarce – and ten German soldiers, rather passive men or lazy perhaps, had confiscated the valley’s youth center and moved in. The soldiers did not bother with the villagers much, and they frightened no one. However, from time to time, the German soldiers from Lyngseidet came over by boat and performed a house-to-house search. The Manndalen people were much more respectful of them and concerned when they were in the valley.
Manndalen Valley
The Arctic growing season being short, mainly potatoes and root vegetables were cultivated in Manndalen. Many families also had a few domestic animals, enough for their own needs. Often, many children were born to families in those days, and it was not unusual for siblings to be divided up and taken in by other family members. Peder Isaksen was one of those children, the third of a flock of ten siblings, taken in by his grandparents. Though there were no luxuries, they lived a good life on the little farm they owned. During the summer their cows grazed in the isolated fields around their modest home, or in the wilderness; at close of day the tiny herd was gathered in the barn.
In the late winter of 1941, at the age of twenty, Peder was fishing in the Lofoten fishing grounds some one hundred and twenty miles from Manndalen. He was there when the Svolvær raid took place on March 4.
Aslak Fossvoll
Following such raids the Germans heaped reprisals on the Norwegians and many chose to escape to England to avoid them. Peder considered escaping, not so much from fear of the Germans, as from wanderlust, and also to possibly help Norway on other fronts. In the end he decided to stay.
Manndalen, Sunday, April 25, 1943: Life in Manndalen continued its traditional rounds. Many of the men were anxious to play a larger part in the war effort. On Sunday afternoon Peder Isaksen left his grandparents’ home for a leisurely walk.
He passed his good friend Nigo’s home and continued down into the valley. A couple of miles from his home he ran into Aslak Fosvoll, who also was the uncle of Peder’s betrothed, the pretty, soft-spoken Eliva Hansen. Except for his experience in Lofoten in March of 1941, Peder Isaksen had little feeling for the war raging around them, and no involvement. In the span of a few minutes he became an active player in the game of war. The peaceful days he’d enjoyed became a life of intrigue and fear.
Aslak worked furiously to finish the work he and Peder Bergmo hadn’t completed the previous evening. Marius Grønvoll had telephoned early in the morning from Furuflaten, saying urgently, “The fish net is ready to be picked up immediately.”
Aslak understood the implications. The soldier the Manndalen men were supposed to have rescued was left out by himself on the frozen, snow covered tundra, waiting. Aslak worked desperately to find someone to go with Nigo, who had readied himself the night before. He had just dropped off his skis for Nigo, who did not own any. They had packed a knapsack full of provisions necessary for the trip into the treacherous mountains and food and drink for the soldier in the snow cave. Aslak had also given Nigo an exact description of the rock where Jan lay. He warned Nigo that the soldier was armed, and that he had to use the agreed upon password, “Hello Gentleman,” which they were to shout loud and clear.
Aslak and Peder Isaksen greeted one another and stopped for a chat. Aslak’s mind revolved around the soldier in the mountain, and knowing Peder Isaksen to be a trustworthy fellow, he suddenly became thoughtful. He looked straight ahead into the valley while rubbing his chin.
The 12th Man Page 22