Norway              

Those were the days, my friend,

We thought they’d never end.

We’d sing and dance forever and a day.

We’d live the life we’d choose,

We’d fight and never lose.

For we were young and sure to have our way.

—from a popular song of the ‘60s

Many significant things happened to me in Norway, where my husband, Christian Bay and I had our first home.

We came to Norway on the “Christmas ship” in 1948, the Stavangerfjord, a big, white ocean liner with a Christmas tree attached to the mast.  There were many festivities on board; Christmas foods, dancing and entertainments.  Several of our Norwegian and American friends were there with us.  We had lots of fun.  I was so intent upon making a good adjustment to Norway that I learned to sing three verses of the national anthem, in Norwegian.  I stood up, with all the other passengers and sang it as we slowly entered the Oslo harbor.

The Christmas celebration was also memorable.  In spite of the strict rationing, housing shortage, and still painful memories of the Nazi occupation, Christian’s family had a big, joyful celebration.  It was held in the house of his mother’s sister, Judith, whose husband was a well-known executive.  It was a big, beautifully furnished house, full of people.  They all welcomed me with open arms.  “Batti’s little black-haired bride from America.”  (They all called him “Batti,” his childhood name.)  Most of them were six foot tall “Vikings” with blond hair and blue eyes.  It was a very warm welcome, which I appreciated.  The Christmas festivities lasted for three days!  But I missed my family, and thought the Christmas carols were not as joyful as the ones I loved.

We were living with Christian’s parents, Jens and Ruth Bay, because of the housing shortage.  We lived with them for six months waiting for an apartment to be built.  My father-in-law had his own business, exporting wood to various countries.  He was tall, slim and bald.  He smoked cigarillos.  He loved to tease me playfully.  We developed a warm, father-daughter relationship, replacing my long-lost father, though he once told me, “If Batti hadn’t married you, I would have.”

My relationship with Ruth was more difficult since she was very attached to her “Batti.”  She was a beautiful, statuesque woman with a mass of slightly graying strawberry blonde curls piled up on top of her head.  She was a chain-smoker and a very nervous, unhappy woman, overqualified for the role of housewife.  She eventually came to respect and love me, as I loved her.

After the Christmas festivities, the most significant thing that happened was Easter vacation.  Christian said he wanted to take me, “beyond those hills,” i.e., beyond Oslo. He took me by train and bus to the famous Rondane Mountains where a friend had rented a crude log cabin for several of us. The sole source of heat was the wood-burning fireplace.  We slept in narrow bunk-beds.  There was grass on the roof, for goats to feed on.  This cabin was high above the tree-line, surrounded by vast, snowy expanses. From the cabin we could see the Rondablikk Hotel, and the Rondane Mountains, white snowy pyramids against a pure blue, cloudless sky.  I loved that spectacular landscape.  I wrote to my mother and Granny in Pittsburgh, PA:

“It is really wonderful up here, although we haven’t had as much sunshine as we’d like…we went skiing yesterday.  Near the top of the mountain, we sat on a cleared place, ate sandwiches and oranges, and dozed in the sun.  It was such fun!  And tonight, Easter Eve, we’re having a dress-up carnival!”

Many decades later, in 1996, I again spent time in the Rondane Mountains.  It was in the summertime.  I was with my old friend, Linny Austad, now widowed.  (She and her husband, Ragnar, had been on the Christmas ship with us in 1948.  They subsequently had three children, then Ragnar died of cancer.  He had been in a concentration camp during the war.)  I did not bring my Polish husband, Andrzej Brzeski with me, as we were not on friendly terms.  But, I called him every night.

On this occasion, the Rondane Mountains looked entirely different from the snowy landscape of 1949.  Awesome, desolate, rocky, forbidding.  Like the top of the world.  We stayed at a rustic hotel by Jewel Lake, and rowed one day in a very leaky, old rowboat.  Most of the time we climbed those rugged mountains.  Linny loved it so much, she went hiking mornings and afternoons.  But, I always lay down in my little room, to read and rest after a good lunch. When I returned to Davis I painted a picture which I called, “You Can’t Go Home Again.”  A dark, desolate landscape, in spite of a bright sun in the sky.  The Jewel Lake lies between the mountains, bright blue.

Another significant thing that happened after our arrival in Oslo was the establishment of the Institute for Social Research.  Christian and I worked there for several years, on separate projects.  There had been no modern social science in Norway ‘til then.  With my M.A. in sociology from the University of Chicago, I was better trained than any Norwegians for such a job, though I had no practical experience.  Three young men established the Institute, which was affiliated with The University of Oslo.  One was Christian’s old friend, Vilhelm Aubert, who had just returned from a visit to the U.S.  Another, Eric Rinde, came from a wealthy family and financed the project.  The third, a political scientist, Stein Rokkan was teaching in Bergen.  (I once discovered our friend, Vilhelm reading a book about how to establish and run such an institute.)

I worked as part of a group led by the economist, Harriet Bog, whom I had met in Berkeley.  Our project dealt with “production committees,” organized by labor unions and management, working together to rebuild the economy after the ravages of war.  We were to be guided by an American professor funded by The Ford Foundation. Unfortunately he spent most of his time helping a different team, headed by my husband, Christian Bay.  For lack of supervision, our project dragged on for three years.  The results were finally published in Norwegian.  I was told that labor and management found the report very helpful.  The directors of the Institute thanked me for the good work I had done, and offered to help me get funding for any project I wanted to investigate.  By that time however, I was about to leave Norway to return home.  The Institute continued to flourish.  It may still be flourishing.

One of the most memorable side effects of having the Institute in Oslo was the weekends we spent in Roa.  Christian’s mother owned a cottage in Gudbrandsdal, not too far from Oslo by car.  The view from that cottage was spectacular: rolling hills, pine forests, mountains in the distance.  We often invited our Institute friends and their wives to come for a weekend, occasionally for a week. In the winter we went cross-country skiing; the rest of the year we went hiking.

This cabin was not so crude as the one at Rondane, more spacious and cozy.  Both cabins had outdoor toilets.  Very cold in winter!  As the hostess, I provided food for everyone.  We ate very well.  We danced to music on the radio.  We had lively conversations.  Christian and I also spent time at Roa with his family.  I had already learned to love his sister, Marie, in Berkeley. I got acquainted with her children, Britt and Jens Eric, when they were very young.  I remember those trips to Roa as some of my happiest memories from Norway.

In spite of the fact that we eventually divorced, I still regarded the Bays and my Norwegian friends as my Norwegian family.  I returned to Norway, “my second home” on many occasions, and I was always warmly welcomed.  I flew from Madrid to Oslo to celebrate my mother-in-law’s  90th birthday.  My nephew, Jens Eric invited me twice to stay with him and his wife in the house which he built with his own hands. They were very hospitable, as was my niece, Britt Bay.  She called recently to reassure herself that I was well, in spite of the pandemic.  I feel very grateful that my divorce did not sever the loving relationships with my Norwegian family and friends.