Time to Remember

by Susan Firman

CHAPTER 2

  The small group assembled outside the main entrance of the Inn. There were seven of them, including the guide. Even though the sky was clear, the temperature was extremely low. A pastry-coloured winter sun squatted low on the horizon as the group climbed on board the early morning bus that would take them to the other side of town.

  “My name’s Sven and I’m your guide for today. Is everyone ready? Good. We can begin our tour.”

  Jenette wore the duffel-coat and thick gloves she had purchased in London on her way over. She had decided to pack her refreshments in the Air New Zealand bag. It was so easily carried over her left shoulder. She wrapped the warm, hand-knitted Romney-cross woollen scarf over her head. It had been spun and knitted by Kate, Jenette’s best friend, who worked at the same firm as her in Whangarei. The two girls had been at High School together and since they had left school, their friendship had grown closer. Jenette had already posted off a picture card of the old part of Sleggvik to Kate. She must remember to tell Kate about this trip the next time she wrote.

  The other tourists had also wrapped themselves up for the cold conditions. Jenette made a mental note that the others were much older than she was. There was an American woman in her early-fifties, who came dressed in slacks and a ski jacket she obviously used in the States, for it had ‘Catskill Ski Club’ emblazoned on the back in large red letters. The remainder of the group were all male: a dark-haired German man in his thirties and who Jenette thought looked rather amusing with his small goat-like beard tuft. There was also tall Swiss, maybe in his late-twenties, athletic and good-looking; a rather rotund gentleman of an indeterminate age, who said he was from the Ukraine and a short stocky Englishman with a button nose who reminded Jenette of a clown. The Englishman was the only one in the party to smoke. He tended to remain at the back as several of the others in the party kept throwing disapproving looks in his direction every time he lit up.

  As soon as the bus arrived at the foot of the largest of the surrounding mountains, everyone clambered off and stood resembling a group of penguins in the snow. Sven handed out some snow-shoes and showed them how to carry them on their backs.

  “We’ll need these later.”

  They followed a sunken pathway of semi-squashed snow which had been made by groups the previous day. It was difficult going as the trodden snow had become icy and they had to take care not to slip. After about ten minutes, they arrived at a tall wood and stone building that reminded Jenette of the many turreted sand-castles she and the boys had built when Mum and Dad had taken them for a day at the beach. The grey roof shingles covered the roof like scales on the body of a dragon. Wooden crosses reached upwards to the sky and small, miniature dragon heads peeked incongruously from beneath the eaves.

  “This stave church was built during the thirteenth century,” explained the guide as he led the group up the shingle pathway between the numerous grey gravestones. “If you look under the eaves, you will see carvings of dragon faces which are a link with an earlier time. This early Christian church was built over the site of a pagan temple site. Unfortunately, we cannot see the interior but you are free to wander around outside.”

  “Isn’t it beautiful!” The American woman was quite overawed by its beauty. She immediately took out her camera and began clicking every angle to record the church’s unusual character. “Would you like me to take a shot of you, dear?” she asked Jenette. “Give me your camera and go and stand over there by that doorway.”

  Jenette handed over the small camera she had bought at the duty free shop just before boarding in Auckland and made her way to the peaked porch that stood over the side entrance. She was amazed that such a wooden building from so long ago was still in remarkably good condition. She presumed it must be the cold temperatures that had helped to preserve the building for so long. Not like the historical places back home. They disappeared so quickly it was hard to visualise that there were structures there at all. Those sites were only several hundred years old. Here, people talk about a thousand years!

  After spending several minutes in the church grounds, the guide suggested that everyone take the narrow pathway that led further up the side of the mountain. The climb was very easy for the first fifteen minutes or so, but from now on it would become more difficult. The air was crisp, the sky a clear, pale-blue. Today, the mountain had revealed itself and its high peak glistened in the morning light.

  The small group stood looking at the ascending snow-covered face, as the pungent smoke from yet another cigarette curled whisperingly upwards in the cold, still air. The guide led his party of tourists over to a series of small rocks just poking their sharp pointed tips through the dense soft layer of snow. The outline was oblong with slightly larger rocks at either end.

  “These rocks mark some form of burial mound. The graves are of the original inhabitants of the village. They lived about fifteen hundred years ago.”

  Unfortunately, with the recent heavy falls of snow, little of the total structure could be seen so they made their way slowly further up the lower slope of the mountain.

  When they next stopped, it was in front of a relatively large rectangular stone that had, at some time, been set in a horizontal position into the ground, a strange positioning as most of the ancient stones had been set upright. A steep A-shaped roof had been constructed over it. The top flat surface of the rock stared tranquilly upwards at its covering above. On the rock surface were etchings which described the shape of three circles, two small inner ones and a larger outer one spaced some distance away. Inside the inner ring was a horseshoe shape consisting of five pairs of indented marks. In the direction away from the open end of the horseshoe was a large mark that stood alone well outside the outer ring. The entire pattern had been constructed with great precision and accuracy.

  “Like Steinkjer, we also have our rock carvings. Not as famous, nor as old but quite special, never-the-less. This is our unique slab,” the guide commented. “The marks, as you notice, form a distinct pattern. As yet we do not fully understand the full significance of all these markings, but one theory is that they are an aerial view of Stonehenge in England. See, these marks, and there are fifty-six of them, are the same in number as the Aubrey stones at Stonehenge and these thirty would represent the larger upright ones.”

  “Gosh, yes! So they are!”

  The Englishman inspected the stone marks more closely, counting each representation off on his fingers.

  “Ain’t that something!” The American woman was equally excited. “I saw those stones a few years ago when I visited the old country. Mmm, the layout certainly seems very similar.”

  Out came the camera again. She noticed the interest Jenette was taking of her activity.

  “If I take enough different shots, I can sort out the best ones, later. Why don’t you do the same, dear?”

  Jenette took two pictures and then tucked her camera back into her pocket.

  Sven continued,

  “We’ve had archaeologists and historians up here to study the design and they seem quite convinced of the similarity. Look, it even has a mark to represent the Heel Stone.” He pointed at the large mark away from the outer circle. “And it, also, points at the exact place where the mid-summer sun comes up. The question that baffles everyone at present is, just how and why did such information come here.”

  Jenette thought it rather a mystery, too. She was intending to visited Stonehenge when she left here. She had read about the monument but had been disappointed to learn that she would not be able to get up very close to the awesome stones. A fence had had to be erected to keep tourists at bay and now the stones could only be viewed just as one views rare or dangerous animals in the Zoo. But then, if people will not respect the stones or treat them with care, what else was there to do, but set up rope and wire barriers?

  Jenette fingered the circular pattern, feeling the small carved knobs that represented each stone within the design and felt a strangeness and a connection she could not e
xplain.

  “Now we put on our snow-shoes,” Sven said. He helped each one tie on their flat, pancake snow-shoes. “Come. We’ve a little more to climb. The snow further up is softer and without snow-shoes you would sink down to your knees. We’ll stop every few minutes to give you a rest.” Jenette tightened her straps and pushed herself up into a standing position. Sven helped those who found it too difficult. “Did any of you know that the snow- shoe was a Norwegian invention? So, now you are like true Norwegians. Let’s go!”

  They paddled and like South Polar penguins, waddling awkwardly behind their leader in single file over the snow surface, climbing, then resting briefly every few minutes to regain their breadth. Jenette found the entire experience amusing and found herself laughing out loud several times. Sven took each rest opportunity to recite myths and legends and to tell stories of a people who had lived around the area many centuries ago. Evidently, the village had been settled by a wandering tribe during the early part of the fourth or fifth century, but the origin of the tribe was not known. The people had settled in the valley, farming, fishing and probably plundering neighbouring settlements. Later, towards the Middle Ages, as the inhabitants became converted to Christianity they turned more to trading and away from the fighting that had been their previous way of life. Maybe it was during these trading times that the map of Stonehenge had been brought to Sleggvik.

  After half an hour of climbing, the small group arrived at another place of interest. An enormous tetrahedron shaped rock loomed like a monolith out of the snow. Each side was decorated with patterns or simple pictures of boats, men and animals surrounded by weird straight-lined symbols which the guide told them were known as runes, an early form of writing. The guide stood to the left of the face that looked down on the town.

  “We’ll stop here for lunch. There’s a shelter that’s been put here for that purpose. Sorry, but this is as far as we can go. Nobody passes this point, even today. This mountain, Jotenfjell, is referred to locally as the Mountain of Curses. It is said that a curse is placed on anyone who attempts to pass this rock. Those runic writings are a warning to that effect.”

  “A curse? Really?” The American woman looked a little like the surroundings in colour. “Why? How did such a mountain get such a dreadful name?”

  “Long ago, people used to make their ultimate sacrifices at this point. On the far side of the rock are some of the names of some of the people who may have met their fate here. About ten years ago a group of archaeologists did a dig here and found several very early skeletons together with some artifacts. Unfortunately for Sleggvik the skeletons were taken away to the main museum in the capital but the artefacts are in our local museum in town. If you look just over to your right - ,” and he pointed further along the mountain side, “there are stones which mark the burial sites of some of the inhabitants. Unfortunately, you can’t see all of them at present because of the snow.”

  “We’ve got sacred mountains in New Zealand,” Jenette commented. “We say those mountains are tapu. No-one’s allowed to walk over sacred places.”

  The others did not seem to have heard. The American lady was pointing towards the high summit of the Mountain of Curses.

  “What happens to all those people who do go up there?”

  “It is said that evil mist spirits come out from their hiding places within the rocks whenever low cloud hangs around here, and as the mist enshrouds the area, the spirits carry their victims away.”

  “But that’s only folklore. How you say? A fairy story!” retaliated the tourist from Ukraine.

  “Maybe,” replied their guide seriously. “But I have heard of instances where eight people have defied the curse, never to return again. Then, as one story goes, there were two brothers in seventeen-o-five, who openly scorned the stories and the next morning they were found stone dead. Only their bodies. No heads. Their heads were found at the foot of the mountain. It has been said that from that time, that on moonlit nights their headless ghosts wander around the mountain slopes looking for others to take their place.”

  “Does anyone really believe that?” The Swiss man seemed amused by the idea. “That is a good story for tourists.”

  “You can never tell with anything tapu,” Jenette added. “If you disregard tapu you never know what will happen.” But no-one seemed to be listening to her again.

  The Ukrainian gentleman coughed several times and then continued the conversation.

  “I think people those day believe in many thing: witches, devil, spirit and ghosts. Any mystery not to explain they blame on religious thing.”

  “Sorry.” The German was most serious and pulled slightly at his beard tuft as he spoke. “I disagree there. Not everything can be explained. There are many mysteries in the world that even today with all our understanding cannot be explained.”

  “I think many are in here!” The portly Ukrainian gentleman pointed to his head. “People want to see devil or ghost, so they see them. Science finds answer for mystery as it finds answer to . . . ”

  The stocky Englishman dropped the butt of his cigarette on the ground and squashed it deep into the snow under his heel. He butted in to the conversation.

  “That’s if science hasn’t destroyed us first!” As he spoke, he stubbed out yet another cigarette on the sole of his shoe. “Maybe we’ll all blow ourselves up before we find out. Mystery in Moscow - boom!”

  The elderly man’s eyebrows came together in an annoyed frown.

  “My country not only to blame for all atom on this planet!”

  “Russia and the States have made enough rockets and missiles! Either one could blow us all to Kingdom-come.”

  The man who said he was from Bremen pulled at his beard.

  “Then we need watch-dogs. We’ve got to work together if we want to survive. All countries - big or small, nuclear and non-nuclear. We’ve only got one world.”

  “Atomic power.” The Englishman was cynical. “We can’t even control it properly. Let’s not forget the environmental catastrophes - atomic mistakes - like Chernobyl.”

  The elderly Ukrainian frowned and glared at the Englishman as he defended his country.

  “Other nation also pollute planet. You, you western nation have blame, too. Everyone have nuclear catastrophe, only western government keep quiet. Very quiet.”

  The Swiss, now unable to remain quiet, added to the heated discussion. He coughed and his warm breath evaporated in the cold air.

  “Well your country did. It took you weeks before you’d even admit it. And as for the nuclear arms race, well, not everyone joined in. But we still had to deal with the problems your countries gave to the rest of us. We had to find our own ways to survive.”

  “How?” asked the Ukrainian.

  “We built underground refuge centres for our entire population.”

  “Yes, but then what?” asked the Englishman. “Do you really think you really could have survived for long if the world had been blown apart? How long? What about the other nuclear capable countries? It’s the fringe elements we’ve got to control. It only takes one nutter.”

  “Just listen to that United Nations,” the American woman said quietly to Jenette. “Like all men, they think they have all the answers - here, have a sandwich, dear.”

  She handed Jenette one of her thick meat-filled sandwiches.

  “Oh, thanks.”

  “I’m Doris.”

  “Jenny.”

  “Where are you from, dear?”

  “New Zealand.”

  “That’s nice. Your English is very good. A friend of mine had a holiday in Holland. ”

  Jenette didn’t quite get the connection. She concluded that Doris had no idea where New Zealand might be on the map.

  They sat themselves down on a checked square of plastic the older woman miraculously produced from her back-pack with the triumph of a performing conjurer. Behind them, the male voices were becoming raised.

  “You blame my country? Well,
who explode first atomic bomb? Who use first atomic bomb? You tell!” The elderly man waited for an answer which never came. “America! Capitalist world. Not mine!”

  “Oh come on, even you people must recognise that was done to save lives - to end a war!” The Englishman lit another cigarette. “It was only released because those in the Free World believed that countries were capable of controlling its use.” He shook the first load of ash from his cigarette tip and turned the white snow around his feet, black. He looked to the German. “In reality we can’t control anything, especially if a mad leader takes over, can we? All throughout history, people have been destructive.”

  The man from Bremen chose his words carefully and deliberately. His voice was soft. “People fight always since we first arrived. Take these people here. They lived and they fought. To fight was a way of life for them. They were raiders: a warlike people who terrorised people all through Europe. We’re no different from them. It’s human nature and have we changed our ways? There’s fighting always somewhere, even at this minute. What makes one think we can restrain ourselves?”

  “All I can say is that it’s lucky that the majority of nuclear power is being used for peaceful purposes,” said the Swiss man, “like power generation and medicine.”

  “Possibly. But it still has its dangers, doesn’t it?” The German appealed to the others. “There’s the problem with all that nuclear waste. It pollutes a long , long time and if anything goes wrong, what happens and do we need so much energy made in this way?”

  The younger Swiss hit a clenched fist into his left palm as if to make a point.

  “I agree that much of Europe’s being lit up through nuclear power today but we have little choice, economically. There are too many of us and we all want our washing machines, refrigerators and electric lighting. Where do you think it’s taking us?”

  “To destruction!” The Englishman had a fit of coughing. “We’ll all become barbarians like these people who lived around here,” he said, “- and then it’ll all begin again! Time will have made a circle. They say history repeats itself!”

  “Possibly.” The Swiss man nodded. “I hope you’re wrong. I wouldn’t like to see any of us thrown into a world like that!”

  The German gentleman agreed.

  “Exactly!” He glanced round to see where the two women had gone and saw them sitting on one of the benches inside the shelter. He stepped away from the small group of men. “I’m now hungry. I will feed myself, even if you don’t wish it. Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m going to join our two ladies over there.”

  He moved away from the others and joined Jenette and her new American friend but they could still hear the raised voices of those still in the argument.

  “Please, gentlemen!” Sven pleaded with the remaining men. “Can we leave politics to the politicians?”

  “That’s why we’re in the mess we’re in!”

  The Englishman turned his back on the group and began to search his pockets for another packet of cigarettes. The others, by now, were sitting and unwrapping their sandwiches. Sven had brought several large thermos-flasks of hot soup and he was handing it around in polystyrene cups. Jenette sipped her soup in little sips and wistfully watched the Englishman as he went, first through his outer pockets, and now had begun to search further in.

  “A penny for your thoughts, dear?” Doris had noticed the look on the girl’s face.

  “Oh, sorry,” Jenette answered coming back to reality. “I was just wondering what the people were really like who lived here so long ago. Why did they come up this mountain? Do you think horrible things were really done up here?”

  Doris nodded.

  “I think so. I read an article that said deformed babies were brought up here and left to die.”

  “How horrible. That must have been awful for the mothers. Why did it happen?”

  “They had to survive. I expect life was very hard for everyone and they didn’t have the resources or food to feed anyone who couldn’t contribute. Eskimos put old people out in the snow to die. It was just their way.”

  “I don’t think I could live like that.” Jenette thought of Koro. She could never bring herself to put him out in the snow to die like that. He had so much he could still teach her and he was all that she had between the modern western world and her Maori past. “Doris?” she asked, “why did you come here?”

  “I love to ski.” She laughed. “My jacket would have told you that. I also like to travel because I like finding out about others. I’ve plenty of friends back home who are just content to stay put. They think their way’s right and they’d be quite prepared to fight for it. That’s not me. I enjoy people and all their different cultures.” She pointed back towards the rocks with their strange, chiselled pictures. “Take those rocks. I’ve seen picture rocks in many places: Australia, Egypt, those at Steinkjer and some in the States. Look at those markings. Try to understand them. What do think they might mean? Who did them? If we knew the answers to that, we’d be closer to knowing these people and understanding their culture.”

  That made sense to Jenette. She was the product of two cultures: the one Koro had introduced her to, and the other, a European background, possibly with Norwegian connections. That was one of the reasons she had made the trip to the other side of the globe; she wanted to discover her European identity. She felt that here in this remote northern town she could bring the two sides of herself together. There were links, she was sure and she had to discover those links for herself. She just needed time to do it.

  She got up and wandered over to the rocks. Doris followed. They stood side by side and as Jenette studied the strange linear marks that had been etched into the rock surface, she thought of the different races and cultures that contributed to her own identity. Do the different people back home really understand each other? There still seemed to be many misunderstandings. If people within her own country could not work out long-standing grievances for the good of all and work towards a stronger, more understanding nation, then what hope is there for the rest of the world?

  Will we ever become one people and learn to live side by side without hostility? she thought.

  “What do you think those people were like?” she asked Doris.

  “Probably not really much different from us. They just had different problems to solve.”

  “I think these writings have a something to do with this mountain,” Jenette replied. “Was their life all fighting and war? Do you think what was said about them was true?”

  “Quite possibly. Most of it. It’s likely it had to be. Life would have been very harsh in those days. If you didn’t fight or plunder your neighbour, you may have been the one to die. But in the same way, they were great explorers and wonderfully skilled sailors. We know now that they even reached the shores of America long before Columbus did. Even though their voyage was dangerous and they had no idea of the new world ahead of them, they made a journey into the unknown. I guess they were seeking out new opportunities for their families. Isn’t that the way of human nature?”

  “The Pacific Islanders thought so. They migrated to my homeland,” Jenette remarked. “And to Hawaii,” she added smiling at Doris.

  They returned to the shelter as the men began to gather up their things. Doris took Jenette’s empty cup and threw it into the plastic rubbish bag with her own. They checked around to make sure nothing had been left behind.

  “Come on, Jenny,” urged Doris “or we’ll be left behind. The others are ready to move.”

  As the party moved away and began their descent, Jenette kept glancing back at the mountain face they were leaving behind. She was still fascinated by it. She spoke to the guide.

  “You know you said that this was called the Mountain of Curses by the villagers because people disappeared. Is that when it’s misty? But if it was really fine, like today, you’d be safe enough, wouldn’t you?”

  “Possibly,” answered Sven. “But you have to remember that the weather
around these mountains is very variable and can change very quickly. Mountains have their own moods. They can turn out to be very dangerous. Never forget that.”

  Sven studied the young woman for a few minutes before joining the rest of his party. He pointed to some of the older buildings snuggled on the valley floor.

  “Over to the far right is the fjord harbour that’s used today. You can see the fishing boats. That is the modern area and is still being developed today. One of the things Sleggvik does is build small trawlers for Trondheim’s fishing fleet. Now over to the left of those buildings is the original part and its harbour where the original boats were pulled up onto the shore. See that large spire down there?” He pointed to the old town centre where the original settlement had begun. “Under that building, we found the foundations of a large hall. Today, a timber and stone church built in the sixteenth century stands over that very spot. Because the people by then were good Christians, the new church became the focal point for village life.”

  The tourists scanned the landscape below, taking snaps of the different things that caught their interest. They began to descend more rapidly now that they had removed their clumsy snow-shoes and were able to follow the path. Jenette, who had been bringing up the rear, suddenly realised their guide was offering more information. She ran to catch up.

  “. . . as fragments of timber artifacts were discovered, the scientists began to suspect that many of the lower areas were once heavily forested and that, as demand for more land grew, the farms on the flatter land became smaller. It seems likely that the village people, especially those who had farmland, began to fight among themselves . . .”

  “What’s that dome-like thing down there?”

  Doris pointed in the direction of the old harbour.

  The guide turned to face her.

  “What?”

  She pointed again.

  “That!”

  “That dome’s the building that contains a longboat. It’s well worth a visit. It’s remains were found by the fjord when some men went digging around in the mud. That longboat is one of the more unusual finds, as on one side, there are a few letters of our alphabet, the Roman one - and we know that those early people did not use such a script, although they did travel quite a distance. Maybe, they came into contact with early monks, or something. Who knows?”

  “What does it say?” asked Jenette. She was fascinated and perplexed at the same time.

  “Not much. It doesn’t seem to make much sense. We can make out an ‘A’ - and n ‘N’ - er, possibly a ‘B,’ or an ‘R,’ - or it could be a ‘P.’ Something like that. It’s so old, there’s not much left. Nobody’s come up with a satisfactory explanation, as yet. There are two theories: one, is that this longboat went to France or Italy and that one of their captives was a monk or a scribe, and that he inscribed his name or a message on the boat when it invaded his homeland; and the other theory is that the water came further up the valley than it does today, and that someone later on robbed the sunken vessel of its treasures and carved his name on the side . . .”

  “Ancient graffiti!” exclaimed the Englishman in a manner of someone who disapproved of such things.

  “So even they had their graffiti writers!”

  One of the men made the remark but Jenette did not see who it was. Everyone laughed. Sven was very patient and waited for the laughter to die down.

  “If any of you are lucky enough to visit Kristansand, you can see a large prow carving. It’s a huge dragon head, standing almost two meters high. Unfortunately, the one on our longboat was damaged when the boat was found, but if you have the time, it’s still worth a visit.”

  Jenette was fascinated. She became quite excited by his description.

  By this time, the group had reached the Stonehenge rock again. Suddenly, a mysterious emotion, one she had never experienced before, overwhelmed her. Cold goose-bumps began to creep up her body. She clenched her teeth as a spirit awakened inside her, making her fingertips tingle. She began to shake as though chilled; yet inside she burned. Her skin felt wet and cold. Doris noticed the colour drain from the girl’s face and instantly wanted to protect her as if she were a child of her own. The older woman put a protective arm around the girl and hugged her towards her own body.

  “Are you feeling all right, dear? You don’t look well.”

  Doris’ voice came through to Jenette like a far away echo. It was as though a veil had come down between them.

  “I - I feel dizzy.”

  Jenette put up a hand to shield her face. Her head began to throb. She had never had a headache like this before.

  “Maybe it’s the rare air up here - we’re still quite high up, you know. Or it’s the cold’s got to you. I do believe your shivering, poor thing. Keep close to me, dear. I’ll look after you.”

  The older woman felt quite protective for the girl whose teeth couldn’t stop chattering. Doris made sure she walked close to Jenette and kept checking her to make sure she was not going to collapse.

  As the party neared the place where the bus had remained, the sky was slowly beginning to change to a deep orange-red as the winter sun began to settle down behind the smooth topped mountains. The town buildings, their roofs glistening in the evening light, cast long shadows of purple, blue-grey onto the snow-scape around. Curls of silent, wispy smoke curled skywards from a hundred cylindrical chimney-pots. Twilight began to fade and darkness descend. The bus hummed its way back down the road, winding its way through the outlying farmlets and into the narrow streets of the old town. It was just after five.