LETTERS FROM ICELAND 1936

BY

Jean Young

University of Birmingham
School of English
1992© Marion Agnes Harvey 1992

ISBN: 0 7044 1247 0

Printed in the University of Birmingham

FOREWORD
Jean Young became interested in Scandinavian languages andliterature while studying for the English tripos at Girton College,
Cambridge, beginning in the autumn of 1921. Her post-graduate
work in Dublin was concerned with literary relations between Icelandic and Irish literature. A few years later she became a lecturer inEnglish at Reading University where she worked until her retirement.
She made a number of translations, on her own or in collaboration
with others, from Scandinavian languages and some of her research
was concerned with Old Icelandic literature. In 1936 she realised herlong-held desire to visit Iceland. These letters were written to herfamily while she was on that visit, and form a fascinating record ofher first impressions and developing understanding of a country theliterature of which remained to the end of her life one of her greatest
interests, as well as acounts of the many people she met there, suchas the Icelandic-Swedish Astrid, related to the Blöndals, whom she
had got to know, together with her sister Hildur, when working in
Sweden in the 1920s.
The letters were transcribed by Eleanor Haworth, one of Jean's
life-long friends, typed into a word-processor by Ian Wyatt, formerly
a student of Old Icelandic at Birmingham University, and edited by
Anthony Faulkes. They have been reproduced in a form as close as
possible to the originals, and the quirks of spelling and punctuationof the originals have been retained; nor has any attempt been madeto correct the spellings of Icelandic words and names or the identifications of birds, plants and rocks. Abbreviations have also been left
as they are, and are mostly self-explanatory (mg = morning, mts =mountains, sg = something, sts = sometimes, cy = company, jy =journey, ... = because, c. = circa (i.e. about), etc.). A few shortpassages of purely personal matters have been omitted and are marked
by . . . The occasional sketches have been reproduced electronically,as have a few of the prints of snapshots that Jean took on her travels;the photographs reproduced as plates on pp. 76–80 are reproduced
from a set of glass slides that she had made.

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Letters from Iceland 1936
I

Dettifoss.
10 hours or so from Westman Isles.
Friday about 1. 30. P.M.
Oh—oh—oh! What a “riotous trip” as the little American who strayed
into our 2d class midst, because there was no other room for her on
the boat says! What fun we’ve got out of it. She & I are the only two
women going 2d. Our companions are:—four Icelanders home forholidays after living in Germany mostly in Hamburg; one nice blueeyed German from Berlin who can speak French (he & I converse in
that—I used Danish for Gu›brandur the steward at first & Mrs Loeb
the American uses German!); two Britishers one Macdonald a redfaced, blue-eyed, square-jawed, but humorous ex-engineer from“Bookston”, he’s been to Australia & this is his 2d trip to Iceland.
His hobby is wild birds & he’s going to lake M‡vatn in the north tosee some. And Mr Moffat about whom more anon. Then Mrs Loeb
the American—divorced, who’s a dear. She’s little & dark & vivacious. Jewish to her somewhere—accustomed to everything it’s possible
for a wealthy young American to have—(her father built the 2dbiggest suspension bridge in the States) but splendid in her way of
accepting everything here—smells (oil and a slight fishiness andpaint & turpentine just next door to our eating-place, and otherthings. We rocked over our bunks to-day. She’d been complaining
about hers and I got her to feel my mattress—and she said I ought
to send in a bill to the company charging so much per bruise! But
I explained I’d discovered how to arrange myself round the worst
lump in the straw. Do you remember the worse of the two beds in
Mrs Joyner’s? Well, it’s like that only much more so! And Wednesday was awful—the Dettifoss is 2000 tons, but she doth pitch and she
do particularly [love] to perform ye figure of eight. But one gets used
to it. And then came fog, thick fog—and it got calmer, hurrah. I lostall I’d eaten all Wednesday but kept stuffing myself with white bread& potatoes & that helped. Then Wednesday night I slept eight hours
lumps and all and Thursday was glorious. Almost everyone got up
and we walked about enjoying the waves and I almost ate two eggs!
And what do you think. Into our eating-room, a rectangular box
about 20 feet sq off which four 2 bunk cabins open—(the door has
a way of bursting open at akkerd moments whiles)—came two Icelandic girls and one was—Lea Eggertsdóttir whom I met at a tea-

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party in St Andrews Hall, Reading over two years ago! I remembered
her name at once and then off we went to the 1st class smoking saloon
and talked and talked. And I’d talked Icelandic with the steward andwith a painter doing the side of the ship so we got on famously. I
think I’ll be able to understand it O.K. up there and it’s been grandpractice. But at table it’s always English. Old Moffat of Lancashire,
who’s taking his 1st sea-trip ever (never been on a boat before tho’he’s helped build hundreds. He’s a joiner now. Haddon Hall estatein Derbyshire) is the patriarch of his company. And I call little Elinor
Loeb Mother Superior and Chairman etc: etc: she distributes candies
after dinner, and keeps us in fits of laughter. She had a special teaparty thrown for her in the House of Commons meeting Sir Philip
Sassoon etc: and is about to get engaged to—but I musn’t say whom... it hasn’t quite come off yet. Her comments are priceless, oh and
I was almost forgetting No 11—Mr Ross who is courier to a Mrs B.
who’s sg to do with the Curtis Publishing Cy. He’s from Scotland
originally tho’ quite Americanised and is a rare hand at tellingstories. And I’ve heard more about the private affairs of the present
Majesty of England than ever in me life before—My wig! Though
I suspect we can take it with a pinch or two of salt. Also about
various other folks whose names mean still less to a body like meself.
Old Moffat goes about in a state of dreamy beatitude murmuring how
much he’s enjoying every minute and wondering why he’s nevertaken a holiday before. He reminds me a bit of Mr Langley if he’dbeen born “a working man” as Moffat labels himself. And what
discussions we’ve had—about politics, war, religion, birth-control—
all taking an active, intelligent part. Little Loeb is a fine chairman—
how true it is that folk, who’re used to living in what is known as
the highest circles of society, if they are intelligent and interested intheir kind, can move in every circle with perfect ease & set theirfellows at ease. We feel one community and I’m certain our talk ismore interesting than the 1st class. As far as I could make out they
were comparing cocktails up there! And how that old Lancashire
fellow can tell stories. He’s tallish and a bit bent with whitish hair,a big nose and humorous shrewd face. And this morning I was up
again in the 1st smoking-room with Lea & her friend & the captainjoined in and 1st mate. Little Gu›brandur our 2d cl. steward is adear—twenty years old and inclined to be stoutish, he’d be a grandwee butler and he’s looked after his two women passengers well. Heeven came in and washed our cabin floor before we got up thisLetters from Iceland 1936

3

morning! Good soft soap they use on board! Now the Icelandic lads
are playing quoits & I have “namore to seye” at the moment so—
They say we’re in for a storm to-night, but that won’t matter so muchnow, since we’re almost there—only 30 hours more or so! I am glad
tho’ that we didn’t have to lie flat all the 5 days! We don’t get in till
Saturday evening! I still feel this is all very dream-like especiallyafter meeting Lea but it is being a gorgeous one. And the sea-air isthat restoring. I think I’d have been alright on Wednesday if I’d notbeen so tired before coming on board. And I did stagger up in
between times so it’s been simply splendid. Now the drizzle will
make what I’ve written run so I’ll walk round a bit. I feel in my bones
I’m going to love Iceland just as much as I thought I should! It’s
getting gey grey now spex we will have it worser again to-night but
it’s been amazingly calm—no whales as yet.
The G.P.O. Reykjavík. Saturday. 1. 30 P.M.
Just scribbling this while waiting for the car to come & take us out
to Thingvellir the Assembly place—it’s hot, hot, gorgeous weather—clear mountains & I’ve had a lunch of salmon & gooseberry porridgewith a delightful chimney-sweep & his family Astrid got to know!
Oh, my wig how I love Iceland. And old Moffat & young Macdonald& Mrs Loeb & Astrid & I are all going out together. I’ll tell you
about yesterday when we had a swell storm—swells later—it was sorough they cdn’t get in to the harbour & a thick fog & cold as theNorth Pole the boat rocking so that we almost—just then we decided
not to go till 2. 30. P.M. so here are Astrid & I sitting on a hillside
overlooking the harbour & Eskja a great flat Table Mountain. There
are now five of us—oh but I told you that. I found Old Man Moffat
in a Soda Fountain Café enjoying smoked salmon & tea—he’d asked
for tea bread-&-butter & cakes & asked me what he’d got! And when
he heard the trip to Thingvellir would cost just about 10/- each heleaped at it—he’d thought it’d be £2.15 each when he refused before!
Well, about last night, since there is time. We certainly did run intorough weather. First it rained, & then Dettifoss began to plunge androll but it was glorious and I just revelled in being able to watch it
all happening without turning a hair nay rather eating cake & sweet
biscuits & drinking tea. The best thing about Dettifoss is that there
is so little vibration—I’ve never been on a quieter boat. I can see herlying quietly in harbour now. And later—fog & a terrific Atlanticswell—my wig how she rolled but some of us stood right up in front

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looking out for the Westman Isles. And suddenly—a long line offoam about thirty feet high & a sharp edge through grey mist & theship wheeled almost swerved right round—and we got as near to theharbour entrance as we could. The motor boat—big ’un that came out
to meet us looked like a cork on that swell—I don’t know how they
got to us at all. Then a barge with two blue overalled men who took
12 tons of flour & potatoes into it. And long after—another tug
bigger trailing a punt with about thirty passengers plus baggage in
it—men, women & children & tossing like a bigger cork. How sicksome were & when they did get alongside it was too rough to get em
on board any other way than by lowering a great round basket about
3 ft across 5 ft high with a door in the side down to their boat &hauling ’em up like baggage—three & four at a time! They swung
in a parlous fashion often & my heart was in my mouth for thechildren. And the poor things were some of ’em just sick on deck assoon as they got there. Old Man Moffat said it was seeing “life in
the raw” & it was. Some passed the night in our dining-room lying
on stores & the one bit of couch that there is there. But we crawled
into our bunks frozen through—we’d had nowt since 6. p.M. and it
was 12. 30 before we turned in, and I felt holler as I’d not had a big
supper because 6 is so soon after 4. Well—about 6. am. I was up tofind the fog had lifted & a strong wind blowing & Iceland’s mountains showing clear (like Norway). We even saw Snæfellsnessjökul
about 60 miles I think it is north a fine round cone snow-covered.
And how delicious an egg & bread & marmalade tasted. Old Man
Moffat ate half a loaf almost! And in next to no time it seemed wewere in—I had a few mins. talk with some women who’d got on thenight before. Then customs officials and then Astrid standing there
waving. And much talk about how we’d spend this afternoon on thequay & then a dash for lunch at Astrid’s chimney-sweep’s, a delightful man with two wee bairns—and such salmon! Just plain boiled theway we had it in Norway with butter & boiled potatoes. Followed bygooseberry porridge & milk. And fresh milk not tinned was good totaste. But the food & especially the accommodation on Dettifoss is
I think simply excellent. They let you sleep on board too, but I’m
coming ashore with baggage to be with Astrid in the nice house she’sborrowed from her Swedish friend who’s married to an Icelander.
We’ll fetch luggage after coming back from Thingvellir. They’re
cutting the grass here with scythes to get the hay & taking it awayin little wooden carts like thisLetters from Iceland 1936

5

The basket they used for passengers last night was like this:–& they swung it up forty feet & more! Now it’s getting all misty
again & cooler but I do hope it’ll be clear out at Thingvellir. I foreseethat the oilskins’l be useful. I used the coat on the way here. This is
glorious. Here till Wednesday & then to Akureyri. Muchest love to
you all.
Jean
Astrid sends her love.

Johanna & Ingi at ﬁorsmörk

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Letters from Iceland 1936
II
Reykjavik. 7. 7. 36.

Where does the time go to? Here it’s the end of the fourth day in
Reykjavik and I don’t seem to have done anything—except of course
seen Thingvellir and Gullfoss & Geysir on Sunday and people yesterday & to-day & walked much about uneven streets strewn withashes and sand & grit all grey and with pot-holes larger even thanthe Athenian ones! Well, after Saturday came Sunday—rather cooler
but little rain only and the scenery on the 160 mile odd drive wasmagnificent—Hekla and other snow capped giants in the distanceand peak after peak, mile after mile, and terrific swoops down and
up in the car. How they ever drive along these “roads” beats me—
they’re just roughish cart-tracks with tremendous ruts in them overthe lava and whiles the bumps even in a luxuriously sprung saloon
like the one we were in (we went bust over these two days) were“some” bumps. Mrs Loeb & Mr Moffat & Astrid & the guide Jón
Gizurarson and the driver Helgi and I that day. There’s iron in thehills—they’re light red in places and a queer yellow in others—thedolorite forms itself into octagonal columns here—and here only inthe world apparently. Gullfoss simply took our breath away. It’s acolossal creature that roars downwards in four distinct falls one
broad t’other you can’t quite see almost at right angles, then a little
drop and then a Niagara like sheer fall into a narrow gorge. The sprayis like smoke—you can see it miles away and you hear the roar too.
Mrs Loeb said it was better than Niagara because unspoiled—noone
there but ourselves! And also no railing to prevent folk from throwing themselves in. It was a pity there was no sun because the rainbows are rather glorious but I liked its white thunder better than any
floating colours. What a country. And a beautiful, brilliant tiny
heather grows over the lava in little clumps, and there are Swiss
flowers one like a white rose too. I wish I knew ’em. And the Icelandgull is such a beautiful creature too—he hovers over the lake downin the town—with delicate long pointed wings and an odd way offluttering. And we passed old farms—built in the old way of turf &stone and corrugated iron:–It’s the space andsilence that are so marvellous here. On theway back from Gullfoss wevisited Geysir, Stóra
Geysir (the Big Geysir). We’d had a pastry-cake and cup of tea forbreakfast since the start was to have been early 8. 30—actually weLetters from Iceland 1936

7

waited half an hour for Mrs L. (who’d been plied too much with good
drink the night before by the ex-Premier!) and when we got to Geysir
it was after 2. But we didn’t dare have our meal—at the hotel—incase he spouted. They threw in about 100 lbs or so of soap to
encourage him—yellow & pink & the queerest looking white stuff.
But he just quietly absorbed it “lay low & said nuffin”. But hegradually grew hotter—80˚—81˚—82˚—83˚ (Celsius) right up to
90—nothing happened. He’d done it on Sunday and he didn’t do it
for the King of Denmark the other week so—we waited. And thestone (?) round about grew too hot to sit on with comfort—& thesteam blew hotter but nothing happened. It rained a little and the
distant mountains turned blue-er and nothing happened. And the“crowd” (about fifty or sixty all told) sat or lay or stood chattering.
Some had been there from 10. a.m.! At 5. p.m. our insides could holdout no longer—even the Icelandic driver said he was “svangur”(hungry) so we went down to the hotel about five minutes further
down the way to eat. My wig how good that tasted—we had two
helps of soup, the meat (excellent mutton) and coffee I even got two
apricots (tinned) as dessert! And—just as we had finished Helgi saw
folk stirring up at the crater I want to call it—it was just like one inminiature—& we tore up in the car wild with excitement. There was
Geysir tossing himself about now one way and now another so thatboiling soapy water poured down for hundreds of yards from thesides of the “crater”. And just as Astrid said “Now it’s all over” shot
up a column—they said afterwards it was almost 200 feet high (65metres)—one of the best spouts that’s ever been. It was astounding—everyone just yelled with pure thrill—the noise was deafening andit was too exciting for anyone to feel afraid. Imagine it—white &scalding agin a grey sky. And after that steam—steam—steam—steam drifting away up the hillside—red—brown. We lay back in the
car a trifle exhausted after both those things. And it had rained
heavily nearer Reykjavik so that the colour of the grass and contrasting lava and mountains was a joy—a queer yellow-green and greybrown and indigo—it’s impossible to describe. Iceland is very like
Greece except that it’s warmer in Greece and the air there is stillclearer—at least round about here there’s so much dampness that you
don’t get that crystal clarity of atmosphere. Then, Monday—wewalked about the place, meeting Mrs Loeb & Mr Moffat, & wehelped him buy a collar & shirt-front & tie to grace the dinner at thehotel with Mrs Loeb. And so to the Museum where a charming little

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old lady in the national dress simply because I spoke a little Icelandic
asked me to come & see her when I returned to Reykjavik! And I
learned today that she’s a character and a great friend of Professor
Sigurd Nordal. She’s an assistant curator in the Museum. Then—dinner with Mrs L. It was a pity we had to have it upstairs because
Mr Moffat would have so much enjoyed being in the great hall but
there was a feast on at 9. 30. for the Swedish Choir that has been overhere for the Swedish week. We went to the grounds of a big elementary school (one of the two they have) to hear ’em afterwards & thatwas good. They do sing superbly. And it was all grey in the distance
mist over mountains beyond the sea just over the school-wall and theugly waste place beyond. They’re always building here & much of
the town is just hideous—all corrugated iron and stress-concrete—& dusty streets with no pavements strewn with building material,
poles, stones which are left lying about even in the main ones. But
the shops contain the most up to-date articles & the smart folk here
are smarter than I’ve seen ’em anywhere else. To-day—losh but I
was tired—& slept like a stone as they say here from 1. till 9. a.m.
It’s tiring to hear all the talk & to switch off & on from threelanguages all day!—we got up late & then I called on Ragnhei›ur
Kjartansdóttir and invited her to coffee with me at the Hotel Borg
(the rendez-vous of Reykjavik). Then a lunch of raw carrot (I mustget some vegetable I thought!) and lemon-juice & white bread so
hard that it was as good as a rusk! Then out to see Sigurd Nordal &a talk with him in English, and then to H.B. for coffee & sublime
cream cakes like the Oslo ones tell Madge. By the way Benedikt ourhost here (whose wife & child are in Sweden) is so like Egil but
better-looking & more charming even! And younger! I’m sure he has
Irish blood in him—Then a walk round & so home to supper—milk& raisins & a pastry-thing. But we’re going to have eggs & tea at
midnight. It’s never dark now—you can read all through the night.
Still feel I’m in a dream—we go to Akureyri to-morrow evening &I want to catch Brúarfoss with this to-night—she sails for Leith at 10.
P . M. so I’ve just time to rush down with it. We’re in Akureyri until
the end of the month probably. I’ll send an address from there. Heapsof love. Jean.

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III

S.S. Dettifoss Friday 10th July.
In Ísafjör›ur, about 1. p.m.
Well—when did I last say aught. My wig I wish you could see thisboat—There are G.O.K. how over 500 of us on board—in the holds,
on the deck amongst the paraffin casks, timber, sacks of potatoes,
furniture, (a whopping big cupboard almost blocks the way in to our
2d cl. eating-room (note how Icelandic that English translation is!),bad fish etc: Yes, there is a big cask of bad fish on board—it’s to go
back to the man who palmed it off on folk in Reykjavik! But the fishrotting in the harbour at Patreksfjör›ur stank so that this solitary cask
is as nothing. It’s very like Norway at this moment—the west fiords
are—but mist on the top of the mountains and snow spattered overthe sides down to the water’s edge whiles. We’re two days latealready and don’t get to Akureyri till some time on Sunday—we were
due there to-day! What happened was that we ran into thick sea-fog
on Wednesday night or early Thursday morning & just lay or moved
an inch at a time till we got to the first harbour, Patreksfiord. Wednesday
was a good day in Reykjavik. I saw professor Gu›mundur Finnbogason
after we’d been to Einar Jónsson’s Museum—he’s Iceland’s most
famous sculptor. I’d only seen photographs of his work before—
some of it is very fine tho’ not up to Vigeland’s, the Norwegian I
feel. It was good to see the American’s statue of Leif Ericsson
standing out agin’ the blue mountain over the sea when we came outof the Museum. And then Ásgrim Sveinson’s—his studio is in his
house. I liked his “Viking” much, also “Boy and Girl” (title takenfrom the first Icelandic novel written the middle of last century).
Then we drank coffee with the nice chimney-sweep Thorkel again—
we’d had dinner there before. And then to Gu›mund F. where we got
more coffee! He has a garden with pansies in it and lupins & it waspleasant to sit in the sun there a few minutes. The weather was thebest we’ve yet had that day. To-day it was warm ashore but I’ve got
on everything I can put on at the moment. We’re sitting right up in
the bows—the beak comes up high & it’s out of the wind we’resitting on the trap-door over the anchor. Well, after leaving Gu›mund
we went to a friend of Sigfus’s (as I can now call Dr Blöndal in
Icelandic!) who gave us a goodly supper! “Kvæfi” a sort of potted
sheep-sausage—meat v. good, and eggs & smoked salmon slices, andmarmalade & biscuits & tea. After which Astrid and I decided we’d
only need one meal a day on the ship! Here, after Reykjavik you pay

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2kr per meal & don’t have to pay whether you eat or not as before.
So we laid in a store of standard bread, dried fish (cod) (you just tearbits off & eat it, dried apricots & prunes & chocolate. And the sunset
over the hills opposite the harbour was a joy. It was glorious. We
didn’t leave till midnight and retired before we sailed. The next
day—fog, thick, cold drifting about shutting out everything. And forhours & hours & hours we just lay or moved inch-wise. We watched
great jelly-fish with ribbon-like streamers floating by, lilac andorange and green looming curiously through the pale grey water. Everything
was pale & grey and a wintry sun tried to struggle through. One of
the Reykjavik girls produced an accordion like the one Eileen Whitwellbrought back from Germany & they danced two or three. What a
crowd came on at Reykjavik to travel III. They’re most of ’em downin the hold with the cargo—And what a shindy the first night. Poor
Mr Moffat couldn’t sleep because 4 raided his cabin (they have nokeys) with a bottle of whisky 2 men & 2 girls & they drank themselves blind drunk until 2. a.m. We heard ’em but they didn’t comein to us. Anyway there was so much noise elsewhere it didn’t makemuch odds. How I wish Mrs Loeb could have seen life on this boat.
I think I’m the only English body on board. Most are Icelanders. The
girls from Reykjavik and indeed everywhere wear long grey flannels& ’d look very nice—they’re far more becoming than shorts—if only
they didn’t wear the highest of high heels and town hats and bags
(hand-bags) and town coats with them! Patent high-heeled shoes!
And they use too much make-up. The country lasses on the other
hand are extraordinarily beautiful some of them—lovely eyes andglorious clear skins and glowing. It was very funny—oh but I told
you about the remark the American tourist made about Astrid &myself who are a fine brown and red at the moment, didn’t I? She
thought we were Icelanders. Well—we drifted all Thursday & about
5. got in to Patreksfjör›ur—an excellent little fishing-village stretching along a bay. And then they took ashore the little Icelandic pony
who’d been on deck all that time. He was good—only couldn’t eat
or drink at all. And Léa Eggertsdóttir was on board too & we & hersister & a friend walked a mile or two along the shore & I had dried
cod and dry bread & apricots & prunes for supper by a runningstream where the silver trout were lying half under stones. It was awild desolate looking place with mist over the heights & nowt but
stones, stones, stones over the grass. But it has character that placeand I don’t wonder that an Irishman called Örlyg elected to settle
there his first winter in this country. He went south later. There wasLetters from Iceland 1936

11

a shed where they clean the fish there and another like a factory witha chimney that smoked vilely as we drew in and great tarpaulincovered stacks of fish everywhere along the shore. And another kind,
halibut I think hanging up to dry. The Icelanders bought some &walked along chewing it, but I liked my cod from Reykjavik better!
Then away again slowly through the fog, and we were invited to
Lea’s sister’s cabin (1st) and we chatted & I played ’em a tune or two
on the pipe. So to bed—I couldn’t catch a lot of what they said, but
enough to understand the subject they were discussing. This morning
up early—before 8. that is to find we were in Ísafiord. And ashorewith Léa (she’s the girl who came to Reading two & a bit years ago)to her sister’s home where we got gorgeous hot coffee & cakes &biscuits. Then a walk through the town to the house of an old woodcarver called Gu›mundur from Mosdal who showed us his work—horns and boxes & metalwork and other things). Now—we’re rocking, pitching slightly so I think I’ll stop writing—we’re right aft &it’s not easy to write straight. Have I my sea-legs I wonder! Solong—out in the open sea we are now.
Saturday. 4. 30. p.m.
Ingolfsfiord. Friday. 10. p.m.
And they said we’d be here a short time! The boat came in at 7. 30
or so, and we walked up a mountain & sat by a pleasant little
waterfall (I’d call it big in England!) in three bits that came slithering& sliding down. And there was the scent of thyme all round & a mist
over the hill higher up. It’s blotting out everything but the little
fishing station here. There are only three houses here and almost 200
got off here to help with the herring I think. (There must have beenover 500 on board that last 2 days) They had tents & bedding with’em—and great solid boxes with gear. I expect they sleep on the floor
in the longest house in rows. Most of the lads have tents—they’re
putting ’em up now. But it’s chiefly girls & women. Besides the threehouses of which Ingolfsfiord consists there are:– (1) colossal stacks
of barrels as high as a three-storied house they appear to make ’emon the spot I ’spose the timber comes from Reykjavik & there’s a lotof drift-wood about too. (2) sheds not yet roofed where they’ll washthe fish and the long rectangular wooden sinks they use—they’re juststanding on the jetty with planks & barrels & timber. (3) clothes lines
with fishing garments drying (in the fog.!) (4) one of the three houses
isn’t yet finished—they’re turning in at it now. I think the herring
catch was bigger than anticipated also that it was made earlier. I saw

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summat about it in the papers in Reykjavik. This house underneathhas timber, barrels of salt, a huge saw, sacks of stuff, two spinningwheels, a Napoleonic (time I mean) Empire sofa & a couple of deadsea-gulls that nobody seems to bother about turfing out. I thought thesmell came from the fish at first! This is life in the raw but muchbetter-paid & easier than earlier on I ’spose. The lasses have goodstout bibs & braces & smoke & sing—some were sea-sick before weturned in here—Astrid & I found Dettifoss pitching a bit much soretired for four hours & really slept. That was glorious and how
luxurious did I not feel my straw mattress was—and the good cabinfor only two after what I’d seen of the hold where the folk were
packed like sardines. And the little dining & smoking-room is reallypalatial! Old Man Moffat is only delighted that we shan’t get to
Akureyri until Sunday praps even Monday now. It’s all along of theherring we’re calling now at so many harbours. But it is cold. The
fog is drifting about everywhere & I’ve on not only a woolly (what,
thanks be, I stuck in at the last minute!) but my green suède coat andlinen overcoat & it’s too chilly to sit really. But I wanted to describe
this place to you. It’s the sort of place their greatest modern author
had in mind—Halldor Kiljan Laxness, when he wrote “Salka Valka”
a book you should read but remember that it’s only the ugliest sideof life here that he describes in that book. Oh, it is fun to come thisway with the folk themselves & not as a tourist on a tourist boat—
even if it does mean spending extra time at sea instead of ashore. The
air is glorious—& the pine log I’m sitting on, on the shingle smells
good. Guess there are some happy couples amongst the folk—herecome two, a fellow in blue jersey & she’s in a tweed jacket with atartan scarf—most of the younger women are in trousers. They’re
still unloading sacks (of potatoes I expect) and tin barrels of paraffin—besides personal luggage. They were 8 hours loading the last day
in Reykjavik, so you can just imagine how much they took on board!
Astrid gave a huge sniff then so I’ll stop & we’ll go another walk.
How one eats & sleeps here—we had two helps of the hot course
some kind of stewed stuff & potatoes then cold meats & beetroot &cheese & rye-bread & white bread & hot tea. After all it was our firstmeal since 9. 30. a.m. or so—we only had a slice of bread & two
prunes in between! And the Icelandic progresses tho’ slowly. I must
read some grammar on this boat. I didn’t take anything else to readwith me—no need with so much to see. An old fellow came riding
by on a white horse called Högni (he’s a famous person in old poetry)

Letters from Iceland 193613

when Astrid & I were walking by the shore after coming down themountain. It’s never dark now—but how I’d love a spot of sun
again—it is grey, grey & desolate & fishy here!
11. 30. p.m. In our cabin
The latest was that we shouldn’t get away to-night but the fog is
lifting slightly—a queer salmon streak appeared at the opening of thefiord a few moments ago so—with luck we’ll reach Akureyri thisSunday only 3 days late! They’re dancing on the jetty here now toa gramophone, & an Icelandic girl who’s on holiday from Reykjavik& who’s invited me to come & see her there is having a gay time withthe brother of the German from Berlin, they’re dancing now. I forgot
to include in the scrappy picture of this place the river that made thefalls & the tubs for washing fleeces in ley, and the new-washed wool
hanging out on the wall to dry—the unwashed heaped up down by
the water. Now we’re warmer & after a dried apricot or so—to bed.
Life is good!
Saturday. 4.30. p.m.
Now, this is something like! We almost froze in our bunks lastnight—after all we’re in the Arctic circle & A. & I didn’t get up tillnearly 11. (& cut breakfast). Ingolfsfiord, no Djúpavík was just twohouses & a factory where they made fish-meal (cattle-food). My wig,
what smells—cod-liver oil chief but dead fish also & smoke etc: &it was cold (no breakfast inside us either). I walked about a bog withthe two nice Germans & we talked broken Icelandic to each other—
they photographed a waterfall—that came down sheer from a steep
precipice above the factory—& forked prettily. Didn’t dinner consisting of boiling hot apple-soup followed by chunks of curried
mutton rice & potatoes taste good. But how well we all look & feel—the simple life is good. And now, sun, blessed, blessed, blessed sun,warming & streaming and pouring itself and flooding the sea & themountains and the deck aft where we’re sitting—oh it is good not tofeel numb & chill any more and the fishing lasses are playing mouthorgans & concertinas and I pippled on the pipe a wee while back.
This is Steingrimsfiord—in the north—we’ve turned the N.W. corner
now so maybe good-bye to the fog. Anyhow I can’t grumble at theweather—no real rain yet & a whole week & more & 1st time A washere she had 2 days out of 6 weeks when she could see beyond hernose! It’s even more lovely than the Norwegian fiords I think because you can see so much more, tho’ of course they’re more impres-14

Letters from Iceland 1936

sive. It all reminds me much of that cruise except that it’s so much
much rougher & wilder & cruder & desolate and full of smells andgrubbier! But fish gets companionable I shall miss the smells of thisboat when ashore. Now we’re coming to Hólmavík, we’ll get to
Akureyri some time next week?
Siglufjör›ur. Sunday. 10. 15. p.m.
Hólmavik was pleasant—a breeze blowing from the land & the boats
came out to us for their telegraph poles and paraffin & potatoes &metal pipes etc: & Astrid & I had a meal of a slice of brown bread& 6 dried prunes & some dried cod up aft in the sun out of the wind.
And there was a good sunset & we sat there asking each othergrammatical questions till it got cold. Rougher during the night,
more fog & very cold again. To-day I got up about 10 and sat talking
with the Germans and Mr Moffat till it got really a bit rough & I had
to retire to my cabin for dinner—which I ate however—I’d been sohungry before! Soup & meat & rhubarb porridge & milk. I lay down
between the courses &—all was well. Even Astrid the stalwart retired after the rhubarb! At 4. p.m. about we got here—pouf!—do you
know what burning herring fat smells like? Add strong cod-liver oiland bad fish to that & you’ve got the odour of Siglufjör›ur. But I
noticed we got acclimatised after 4 hours on shore. We went to abaker’s shop & got bread & milk—and glorious, sublime, marvellous
ecstasy-giving SK†R (Icelandic sour milk—thick like ice-cream,with sugar and cream. It beats even the Greek “jaourti” which up till
now has been the best variety I’ve yet sampled. And three Salvation
Army lassies stood outside & played on guitars and sang & preachedto the folk idling about of a Sunday afternoon. The wind was bitter—so we crouched in a hollow up the mountain-side to look at those
opposite—great peaks rising sheer almost as they do in Norway, arose-brown colour (stones) yet flecked with green at the base andsnow lying in great swathes right down to the sea-level sometimes.
And mist shrouding their peaks, drifting incessantly in from the sea
and just above us—obscuring the sun so that all the little grey
corrugated iron or concrete houses looked greyer—here & there agreen or red-brown roof. And mound after mound of herring-barrels
piled up along the many piers—I counted 15 in one part alone—with
the tubs & rectangular troughs & salt-boxes all ready for the 20thwhen the great work begins. There’s only about half-a mile of habitable land here so the houses are tight-packed & the place dominatedby chimneys just like the one that emits the yellow smoke Maisie

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dislikes most in Glossop. Just that colour of smoke, also an evil
green-grey & some whiter was being belched forth by these suchhere. We wandered about four hours or so sts sitting in hollows outof the wind and decided we wouldn’t like to pass the summer at
Siglufjör›ur but it’s not as bad as I thought it’d be nor so large. And
what spirit some of the folk have—opposite these giant snow mts andin the teeth of winds that blow straight from the north was a housewith a really lovely little garden—grass & all kinds of little stunted
shrubs & trees & flowers! And one of the crew came by just after
we’d admired it & greeted us & gave us the extra bit the Icelanders
tack on if you’re related or if they specially like you “blessed”! We
felt we’d gone up one. Helgi the taxi-driver did that also—in Reykjavik. A nice young botanist on holiday (a student in Copenhagen)(Icelander) has joined our company in the 2d & as he’s going toC’hagen on Astrid’s boat in August that’s pleasant. Now, we’re
aboard again—due to leave some time before midnight we hope—thecrane is rumbling furiously just overhead (our cabin I forgot to say
is contiguous but we’re so sleepy we sleep through everything—I
even did through Dettifoss’ departing blasts one night! It’ll be goodto get ashore for a spell after this extra long trip in sea-fog! We ought
to have reached Akureyri last Friday! And yet another harbour before
we make Akureyri. The Icelanders in the hold almost all of whomcame off here—(that is over 450!) were singing “It’s a long way to
Akureyri” the other evening! It was interesting to see how it could
be done—their transportation I mean—you’d never believe it if I
wrote it down—but you can imagine what it’s meant—there’s only
accommodation for 12 2d and I think it’s 24–30 (1st class) & the“hold” men & women share what convenience there is! Astrid & I
simply had to raid the 1st whiles—& the queue outside our diningroom (off which the cabins open) was difficult to push through! Thisis a plan of our quarters
hold (No. 1).
crane(cabin 1. A. & myself).
deck.
door to dining-room.
door to deckcupboard
door to deck

cabin
cabin

2d pantry
W.C.

stern

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This is more of a cargo boat than passenger really & that’s why
we’ve been so long & why it was possible to get all the hold-classon board, amongst the paraffin & sewing-machines & flour & potatoes & beer, and timber and zinc(?) pipes, & chest-lavatories (that’s
what the huge cupboard they dumped just outside our door was!
Well, we may go “Hold” ourselves east from Húsavík to Sey›isfjör›ur—
it all DEPENDS, not with 550 herring-salters for me. I’ve seen what
it’s like and that’s enough. But goodness what luxurious lives we live
in England. We’re so far removed from so much. Hop-pickers ofcourse live in pretty much the same way. I wonder if my hard-up
women students take on such a job sometimes—I must find out. It’s
well-paid, they can make if they’re quick workers from 25–30/- a day
at it—hence the rush to the herring stations during July & August—it only lasts 2 months & what they make then has usually to carry’em through the whole year. And now—good-night. There’s a cow
on board now, we dropped the horse somewhere—& Astrid thought
it was a fog-horn but I knew it was a moo I heard! And the noisecontinued till next port!
Akureyri. Monday Noon. 13/7/36.
Yes—at last fours nights & 3 days late here we are. All last night thatcrane rumble-rumbled & casks & bins & poles dumped down at
Dalvik—we must have got there about 2. a.m. Arrived here at 6. 30.
a.m. & we leapt up hastily & dressed in case anyone should come tomeet the boat. But all was well—they’d almost given up hope,
having been on the look-out since Friday morning, early. And after
lugging our gear up the steep hill wasn’t it just good to sit quietlyin the delightful little alcove off the living-room where both our beds
are. And—there were flowers, lupins (blue) & marguerites in a jug
on the table between them! I’ve seen a garden here too all a-blowing
with Californian poppies & lupins & columbines & red daises. And
the fields aglow with buttercups. It’s grey & coldish but so quiet afterthat boat—deliciously peaceful. I think the old way of getting about
in this country was best—horse-back—Mr McDonald (the other
Englishman who came on Dettifoss from Hull) said that several
Icelanders were sick all the way in the bus going from here to theWestfirths! We’re taking it but are not going to do the whole journey
in one day as he did 9. a.m–11. 30. p.m.! He said his head’s all
bruised yet from the bumps on the frightful roads & one was all along
a sheer drop of I forget how many feet. But having travelled by bus

Letters from Iceland 193617

in Greece I think I’m hardened. Never shall I forget that nightjourney from Megalopolis to Andritseana as long as I live with nice
Mr Christ Christopolos at the end to greet us. I think we’re going tostay here till Thursday & then once more to sea (there’ll only be one
little stretch of the island I’ve not been round then!) in a Norwegianboat Nova—where we hope to get 2d berths for the night—to Sey›isfjör›ur
thence to Hallormsta› east. I’m looking forward to that much. Theysay the weather here has been glorious—almost too hot! Seems
funny to think of heat-waves in America & here it’s chilly in a suède
coat & woolly skirt & all & no wind blowing. But, this is after all
Iceland. Akureyri is rather lovely—there’s a great snow covered
mountain called Coldback lying out to sea & it’s all lit up by sunlighteven though it’s grey & misty inland. And snow-streaked others allaround, but not so high as to be overwhelming. The snow on the
Siglufiord mountains was curiously like animals’ tongues lolling
down their sides last night. And just before I turned in about midnight the sun was reflected on the topmost peak of one—the highest& all the mist between it & the next—a great white almost fluffy
cocoon was suffused a most delicate pink. What a contrast to turn tothe reeking chimneys of the little port itself—there were at least eight
I discovered after all and one was black. This gets dull but we’re botha bit drowsy after that crane-filled night. I may have a swim thisafternoon to wake me up tho’ they tell me the water’s warm from thesprings? (Didn’t know there were any here). We’re staying withanother friend of Astrid’s—also gymnasticists at least Thorhildur’shusband is—he’s in Germany now for the Olympic Games—hermother & father live too next story up & her sister’s here too & her
little girl about 8 & a baby boy of 6 months—a sturdy rogue wholooks about a year. Well—don’t know what to say about posts—I’ve
not got aught from you yet—but it’ll be in Reykjavik again 2d week
in August I spex. Meantime—muchest love to you. This is such fun.
J.
2. P . M . Glorious sunshine suddenly & we’re going swimming!

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Letters from Iceland 1936
IV

Egilsstö›um. Völlum.
July 18. 1936.
Ah-ha said the duck laughing as the sun came out once more at lastafter almost a fortnight’s total absence behind fog and cloud anddrizzle. Ain’t it hot too in this sitting-room where I’ve just written
to ask Eleanor if she’d care to spend a winter here teaching English
to three children in return for skiing skating etc: The good lady ofthe house asked me if I knew of anyone who’d care to! That’s thesecond time I’ve been asked summat sich since I came. And all in
Icelandic & I had to answer ditto! What fun it all is. Well Akureyri
was obstinately shrouded in fog, fog, fog and drizzle, only one
afternoon fine when I bathed with the little Ragnhildur Steingrimsdóttir
in the open-air bath filled with water from hot springs up in the hills
that gleamed snow covered as we swam! So we’ll just let A. go by—
we read & played (pipe!) & sewed (Astrid did) & once had a blissful
short walk over the bog—it’s very like Ireland up there only wilder.
Then came Thursday & we embarked on Nova a Norwegian boat.
Journey bad—visibility nil—comfort not much. I was very sick once—
all over the cabin floor alack as they’d not put the bottoms in thecontainers. So that was uncomfortable. But we got at last to Sey›isfjor›ur
after lying completely still & not being it again for almost 16 hours& the sea just heaving & I slid up & down & down & up (you almost
stand on your head & that’s a queer feeling but all very interesting& I dried gradually & they mopped up the floor so that was betterbut my wig the heat—with the heating on & the porthole locked (hadto be or the sea’d have flooded us). Well I got up at Sey›isfjor›ur& we walked a mile or so to ask about buses & such-like & arrange
for our gear to come. And after an hour we got blessed tea (so weakthat even I could have done with stronger) & bread & sausage brightred with white spots & very strong tasting and scented, & cheese.
And behold that was very good and the giddiness began to pass away
and I to contemplate a 24 km tramp over the mountains with joy. A
nice lad let us change stockings & re-arrange our kit in his shop andpromised to put the rucksacks etc: on the car when it came (you neverknow when it will here!) & off we set with literally only toothbrushes & some bread & chocolate in our pockets—over the mountains. And the sun came out (it grew foggy only towards evening) &there were rainbows dancing in the most glorious falls I’ve everLetters from Iceland 1936

19

seen—at least ten roaring giants all close on 80 feet high and 40 ft
broad! Some forked and some opposite each other—and roaring so
you couldn’t hear a word. That’s characteristic of this land—thesound of fiercely rushing water. And up & up & up to the snow-line& beyond, are rivers we had to wade (no bridge nor nothing & I
understand now why Icelanders never walk!) & then to a desolate“heath”—all stones & snow & water & more water & snow & stones
for mile after mile.
Next Monday. 11.15. a.m.
Well, I didn’t get much written last time—where I left off on Saturday Astrid’s friend Unnur came to tell us that coffee & horses wereready! So we drank coffee—for 3d time that day (we had our “meal”
at 8. P.M. when we arrived here, Hallormsta›—and donned various
trousers & I was at lent nailed & spiked mountain boots & off we set
at a fine canter for—almost 4 hours! Well, during the first 20 mins
I held tight on to Hákur’s mane (as told to) because we really wereriding at a good pace—I’ve never ridden so fast before—& only tried“the canter” just last lesson. And then I got such a stitch in the rightside I thought I’d burst and I felt it’d be impossible to endure anotherfive minutes let alone over three hours. But we varied the pace—the“trot” is like Chinese torture to begin with! you don’t rise in thestirrups the horse is too small you just bump! Well I bumped theybumped we bumped but Hákur was worst—even Unnur said he wasa bad ’un (“vondur”) but I got into the way of kicking him with allme legs & he cantered instead & it’s far less painful to the seat. Afteran hour we paused & I found I’d got second wind and simply loved
the rest of the journey. Now on the “road” (rough stone track) but
now through grassy bogland splish splash, now up the mountainside
over the lava, now over road again, now on the rough grass alongside
and always the huge, milky river below and in the distance snow hills
and the most glorious deep blues indigoes & purples in the evening
light. All colour comes from the hills—there’s no heather, just little
single clumps of sweet-smelling thyme. Well, we rode on & on & I
never knew it’d be as glorious as it was—Hákur tried to walk home
once or twice but in the end he just obeyed. He was really very goodwith a beginner & a “furriner” at that I think. It’s been a test of
riding—walking up a hill is easy enough—it’s this cantering along
the hard highway that tells. Then we got right down to the river—and little birch-trees began suddenly to appear on our left—it is20

Letters from Iceland 1936

refreshing to see a wee tree just higher than yourself and bluebells(Scotch) below in the grass—and buttercups & clover and red sorrel
and a good smell. And on & on & up a little & so to Hallormsta›.
And then a “meal”—cold smoked meat and sausage and egg andherring—& onion & rye bread & spinach sauce & radishes & lettuce(!) and tea & biscuits & jam. I enlarge because we were that hungry
having ridden and all on three coffees & some bits of cake & biscuit
all day. It’s like that here—now little now superabundance. I growfat here I fear. Well, we retired—we’ve a room called ﬁverá (= Cross
River) after a big river in the south—Hallormsta› is a weavingschool and domestic science place in the winter-months and a Guest
House in the summer. It’s run by relations of Dr Blöndal.—Benedikt& Sígrun. She is large and kindly and we like both of ’em much. It’sa new building and blessed with indoor sanitation—“it” was in the
cow-shed at Egilssta› but nice & clean & warm & sweet-smelling
along of the cows’ breath—tho’ draughty—the depths were so deep
down below! I must tell you about the good lady at Egilssta›. I wrote
about Elinor of course, and before we departed à cheval we asked forour bill. And she said there wasn’t any for either of us because I was
taking that trouble for her about finding someone to go there for the
winter or to be “exchanged”! So Astrid gave her a little Swedish
brass cigarette ash tray from Uppsala and we parted on excellent
terms (as they say in the Sagas). I’m going to have a busy time
thinking of presents when I come home—I’ve paid nothing for staying here at all yet and it looks rather as though I won’t all the time
I’m here! And I’m seeing North, South, East & West and have been
almost all round the island. I weeded once at Akureyri and promised
to help a girl there to come to England and here I make hay (whenthe sun shines as it has done once so far) and Astrid weaves. Well
to go back to this place. It is large & roomy & our room is nice with
two little beds & a third along t’other wall, pale green distemper &white window & brown door & board floor. And great feather eiderdowns as our only covering—feathers not down this time. And I
rejoice—it’s that cold here. At Akureyri the window wouldn’t open
and it didn’t matter so now you know how chilly it is here. There’s
a big hall downstairs where they burn birch-twigs of an evening if
guests arrive & a study lined with books where we sit sewing &darning, a dining-room and a lovely warm kitchen, blue paint &white, where we have meals unless “guests” come. Astrid & I countas part of the household which is most pleasant. We all eat together

Letters from Iceland 1936

21

’cept some of the men who seem to be out in the fields all day. And
we shake hands & thank after every meal just as we did in Norway.
Sunday was chill—mist & fog & we never put our noses outside (Idid at bed-time through the window only!) but read & chatted &darned. People come in cars occasionally—and get fed & depart.
Yesterday was better—rain in the morning a little but later sun
though the north wind was icy. Imagine me going out on 15 mile
tramp over the mountains in not only a jumper (blue, not woolly) but
green suède coat AND great heavy double-lined oilskin jacket &NOT being too hot! And I rode thus on Saturday evening & at home
I wear only a short sleeved jumper & am too hot so! But this is
Iceland. And the folk here say it’s “exceptional” weather (like ourspring was). Well, yesterday after 1. (we dine at 12.) I set off on a
grand solitary tramp & went miles—the blue snowcapped giants
lured me on and on they looked so near & I did get up high & hada magnificent view over Lagarfljot. It is lovely country here—andlonely. I met no-one—only sheep & three kinds of wild bird I didn’t
know—long-legged with long yellow bills & a curious cry, & a habitof following you “gói” they’re called here, and ravens. Two circled
above screaming when I lay down under a rock once. And only thesound of running water from the multitudinous streams. There’s a big
one here—that makes waterfalls just alongside the house—we splashedthrough on our way here on Saturday. Well—I got back over bog,
and lava and mountain & rock & through the little birch-wood time
for supper about 7. 15. and then darned some socks for Frú Sígrun
Blöndal Herr Benedikt’s & her son’s. Then to bed. Up to-day at 6.
45. as Fru. B. & a girl who was staying here were off on a 4 day tour
up to Dettifoss & back. Then I washed—down in the grand big washhouse in the cellar—birch-twigs under a huge copper & now pyjamas& vest & breeks & stockings & socks & towel & handkerchief flap
gaily in the north wind. And while I washed I had a grand chat witha little German woman Frøken Weiner who’s a great friend of Léa
Eggertsdóttir’s sister’s—the one who gave us coffee in Ísafjör›ur.
(Iceland’s like that they all seem to know each other). She’s interesting. Like many folk—women—here she didn’t want a house &home—was a wander-bird but wanted a child so just had one and is
now bringing him up here. She went back to Germany once but
couldn’t bear it after the free life here & decided to stay for ever. And
she’d rather Isleifur (who’s two, almost) grew up a farmer here thanbe clapped into uniform & sent out to be gassed or shot. Really22

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Europe seems one horrible nightmare from this distance. People arepoor here and life is hard & very primitive in many ways but they
live and don’t look forward to war as inevitable. How sane it all feels
here and natural and kindly & sensible. It’s good to be here for a bit.
The illegitimate child counts as much as one from married parents
here & there is absolutely no stigma attaching to either mother orchild and a number of, professional women, especially have a childthus. I’d heard it was so, years ago, but had never personally met
anyone who’d profited by the law here thus. She’s a cheerful little
body & says it’s simply splendid to have Isleifur and makes all thedifference to work & life. She was living with Léa Eggertsdóttir’ssister, when Isleifur was born. I liked that sister—she seemed to havemuch character. Well, well, imagine all that talk & exchange of ideas
between a German & an Englishwoman over wash-tubs in a cellar in
Iceland! And after, we had coffee—an extra “sup” up in the kitchen
and hung our washing out to blow. Then I made hay—turned overthe cocks to air & dry—but there’s little to do yet so I’m scribbling
to you instead. They say they’re going to cart the hay after dinner(it’s just on 12. now). One thing I’ve noticed about Icelanders—they
use the word “gaman” so much. It seems to mean our “fun”. Everything tends to be “fun” here—washing, and hay-making, and everyday work as well as travelling about. Enough for the time being . . .
Wednesday. 9. 30. P.M.
It must have been Tuesday yesterday. There’s the loveliest light onthat broad milky river now & Snæfell the 2d highest mt. in Icelandis blue like blue ink (or paper) & white up the dale to the south &there’s just the sound of the stream all the time and the wind. There
was a shower to-day so I read a saga (about this part of the country)
until it was dry enough to weed & turn hay. My wig! How fast theywork. I lay flat when I came in before supper—but I kept up. They
just do it without thinking & I find the left-handed up-hill right toleft difficilé. And it’s up & down & bunny-holes (or fox’es) andbumps & rocks! And how good dinner at 11. 30. a.m. tasted—chunksof salted mutton with swedes and a plate of hot lentil soup. Followedby coffee. Then real coffee (= tea) at 3. P .M . More work and supper—raw herring & onion & potatoes and again cold porridge mixed withsour milk! And cheese & rye-bread & thin slices of sausage. Sorry
to enlarge on food thus but it is interesting these days in more ways
than one. It’s excellent here and plenty of it and coffee going all dayLetters from Iceland 1936

23

almost. I’m sorry Astrid doesn’t like it. Eleanor wd enjoy being here.
Have I described the place? Snæfell far in the distance up the dale
to the south (house faces west) beyond “heath” (i.e. grass and rocks& lava & mountainy pasture) and “the wood” to the north climbing
up the hills behind the house. And the stream rushing down on theSnæfell side & the tún (grass meadow) stretching down towards thehuge river (a good few hundred yards away and down & heath-hills
like a great down stretching away opposite. Now Astrid & I hop out
for 5 mins (she weaves all day) before bed. How sleepy I be.
Sunday. 11. a.m.
Well, since Wednesday—hay-making—phew! Thursday was goodsome hot sun as well as cool southerly wind blowing & we were atit until 11. 30. P.M. almost! Because rain had been forecast! And as
well as the sour milk-&-porridge meal we got “hlummur” little
pancakes & jam with coffee at nearly midnight before retiring—and
all in the dim twilight, that comes these evenings at that hour, in the
big warm kitchen. It was a glorious evening too. Up the dale roseSnæfell blue and white but with rose-flushed swathes of cloud halfway up, and then deep indigo hills nearer and opposite the afterglow
of sunset—it goes down behind the hills so you don’t get the sunitself at the end. And above us t’other side the mountain all gold in
the reflected light. Then twilight & nowt but the scrape—scrape—
scrape of the steel rakes in the stubble. It’s gloriously rhythmical
once you get into it. But how I ached that night—all over! We did
31/2 hours on end between 7. 45 and 11. 15! Then Friday was cold—
the wind changed to north betokening alack rain so we lammed in at
getting the last field (now mown—more to come) finished. When I
say “field” I mean bit of moorland by a rushing stream & as up &down & bumpy & stony whiles as may be! And lateish that night too.
And before the evening meal this time hot coffee drunk in the lea ofa stack—the north wind was icy! It’s so comic to make hay with yournose running as fast as it does ski-ing! And I’m learning the technique (Icelandic) of blowing it without a handkerchief! Then Saturday (yesterday) binding into “baggar” great bundles it takes two
stout fellows (men or women) to heave onto a low long hay-cart(grind). You gather huge armfuls & fling it onto a rope consisting of
two hand-woven wool strands (Shetland wool colour & most beautiful
to behold) ending in two tent-peg affairs with holes. The loose ends
are put through the holes round the hay & then tugged as hard as may

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be—usually a man does that while a girl hangs on to t’other side of
the hay-bundle which is often pulled right over (with her on top) on
to the man. They have huge fun—I “bound” thus with each of thegirls who were out that day. But mostly I just lugged armfuls and put
the ropes through the pegs. e.g.

tent peg affairsholestrands of rope

hay

The finished article “baggi”

That was yesterday—also I dried up much—took 11/2 hours after
supper alone! There came many guests—about twelve or fourteen ina “bill” (car). How I admire the girls who work here. There are
four—Ingunn she’s a great hefty strong one who helps the heftiest
man to bind the “baggar”. Very sun-burned (more peony than I am—
much—I’m brownish (from the wind chiefly) now & dark-haired—chestnut light in it. Wears a skirt brown & blouse which as she says
are allus parting company—she calls it “detta í sundr” = “coming tobits”. Then two sisters Gu›run and Birna (pronounced Bidd-na) little
slight lassies both unco’ pretty first fair, wears often a crimson &grey woolly jumper & blue-wool woven skirt. Birna is dark & slight
usually in her black dress & cap & apron (she’s the parlour-maid
when guests come) otherwise in a longish blue-flecked with flowers
frock that looks well against the green grass. Then last but by nomeans least Anna in the kitchen. She’s only 21, but tossed off adinner for 100 guests the other Sunday when Stauning (Premier ofDenmark) was here. We saw him in his car on our way riding here
from Egilssto›um & waved to him. She’s a rare cook—the food here

Letters from Iceland 193625

is just excellent. Only fault so good that you eat more than you need.
But how ravenous does field-work make you—worse than walking.
I eat four times what I do at Reading! Egg & cheese & jam breakfast
milk & coffee. Then a two-course dinner at midday. Afternoon
coffee with bread & cheese & little buns. The supper (cold meat,cheese, salad, herring) sts a cup of coffee before bed. Terrific. Anna
is big & fair (rather like Maisie sometimes I think—only grey-blueeyes instead of deep blue). And a very nice lass. Never put out justwalks away with sleeves rolled up, smiling, saying little but always
ready tho’ sts a bit late with the household’s meals if guests arrivein large numbers unexpectedly as they sts do. And I’ve acquired the
Icelandic technique of drying up with a wet dish-cloth! You simply
wring it out (it’s soaking after two or three great ashets) & go on
using it, and as the things come out of boiling water it answers! I wasa bit amazed when after asking her what I’d use, she (Anna) took thesoaking cloth, popped it into the boiling water & wrung it out &handed it to me. Then I darned socks (Hr Blöndal’s) last night. Today is Sunday & Astrid is darning (she’s been weaving all the time
till now) & I’m scribbling this & now going to read before “middegisver›”.
How these lassies work. After all that hay-making & cooking &washing-up & cleaning they bake bread & wash! Often get about 4–
5 hours in bed only! And the men work too. Hr. Blöndal and his 11
year old son Siggi (Sigur›r) with them. He doesn’t go to school—
there isn’t one anywhere near here—what happens is that an itineraryteacher who tries to cope with all subjects & all ages comes to aneighbouring farm (praps twenty miles off) & stays there a bit &children come & live there for some weeks to learn—But then folk
say they can teach Siggi as much as these teachers do & in better
conditions so he’s here at home. Many of Iceland’s most famous
modern writers never had a day’s “schooling” in their lives—justread at home. Siggi is red-haired & terrifically freckled & bright blueeyes smile at you from the freckles. Then there’s A.B.C! The name(pronounced “ah bay say”) that two-year-old Isleifur (the German
girl’s son) gave him. He’s burned & red-tow coloured tousled hair—a bit bowed tho’ he’s very young, from scything the grass & carting
much. Then Skúli the foster-son of the Blöndals, dark-haired, darkeyed and with a funny little giggle that many Icelandic men seem to
be born with. The women laugh but the men giggle. He’s always
chewing straws. ABC. whose real name is Hrafn (Raven) smokes alot, pipe & cigarettes but he’s the only person of this entire house-26

Letters from Iceland 1936

hold who does (pen ran out) Now lastly Odd. who comes sts—I likehim light brownish hair sun-burned & a good smile. And old Einar
Long, proud of his English ancestry. He carves, draws, (self-taught)& makes up poetry & drinks much coffee also stronger stuff. Haven’t
seen much of him but he helped Astrid with a tool she wanted forweaving & I saw one of his designs (for embroidery) & it was
remarkably good. He sits up of nights doing ’em he says. Now fora read—Independent Folk (about Iceland) by Halldor Kiljan Laxnes
the author of Salka Valka a book you ought to read (Laxnes)
Tuesday 11. 15 a.m.
Well—what a hoot. Yesterday it continued to rain a little. Sunday a
downpour but I went out with a pleasant school ma’am from Akureyri(lent her my rucksack & carried her handful of gear for her) & herfriend to see the former off over the flot (river) in a boat which theyplugged with a whiskey-cork before setting out! And well it was I
donned me oilskins! I was wading up over the knees in some “swollen” streams—quite difficult to keep one’s footing in some but nota drop came through—only a slight dampness in one stocking. Good
for what’s their name in Croydon—Millett’s. It was fun too comingback because the farmer who accompanied the man intending tomove her over had a horse with him & when he heard we’d gone justto see her off (& the water streaming everywhere & mist) he just said
“Now I am surprised” (a literal translation of his Icelandic & it was
the way he said hissa (surprised) that was so funny, &—let us ridein turns all the way back! I nipped up the hill with him first, phew
I was hot—but it’s a comfort to know that oilskins aren’t impossible
to walk in—if you’ve next to nothing underneath. Then—yesterday—mist & fog & more mist so nothing doing outside but I darned
socks & patched Thorgny’s skirt (she’s the one who teaches cookery
here during the winter & is off to Finland for a year now. I’ve asked
her to us next July! (Fru Blöndal says I can come here any time I likenow!) You’d like Thorgn‡ & she’s a first-rate cook—hurrah so
you’ll get a rest from that next July—for one month at least. She’s
got neuralgia now poor soul—like Maisie’s but is going to haveelectric treatment in Copenhagen on her way to Finland. Impossible
here of course—no electric light. Then—who should turn up (I saw
his rucksack first) but—Auden, the Oxford poet! He wrote “The Dog
beneath the Skin” “Dance of Death” & other things besides poems.
And he’s producing a book on Iceland! (After two months or so &

Letters from Iceland 193627

not knowing the language but that’s the way to do it—either at once
or—at long last. It’ll be amusing I expect and critical but I wonder
if they’ll like it. Though they’re self critical & like it when foreigners
slate ’em sometimes. Well—I made his bed for him & showed him
in after we’d had a walk up into the mist together. He has a German
emigrée wife, daughter of Thomas Mann the writer who’s now exiled
in Switzerland. I like him. He’s taught English and is to do W.E.A.
work at Manchester this coming winter but is meditating stopping at
Egilsstö›um instead. I somehow don’t think he will. He’s roamed
about a good bit—Portugal, Rumania, Greece. We played rummy till
midnight he & Astrid & Fru Blöndal & I. This morning I continued
patching—he’s writing (borrowed paper from me) & Astrid is weaving. Windy but sun out & mist clearing away to-day, hurrah. There’ll
be more raking to-morrow I expect praps even to-day. I told Auden
how I was doing Iceland. He’s going round Langjökul with a groupof four plus guides & tents in August—horseback.
Sunday. 11. 30. a.m.
And breakfast just over! Well it’s a far cry from last Tuesday indeed.
That same afternoon late-ish Auden & Astrid & I went over the“fljot” (find-river) to the doctor’s house at Brekka. We had a granddinner—grouse & patties and sk‡r—no, some kind of fruit porridge,
because relations had come—about twenty-five at table. Then wejust hung about waiting to hear if the doctor could see us. Auden had
met a colleague of his in Sey›isfjor›ur. About 4. 15. we heard hecould and set off, after cocoa & chocolate éclairs (at the house ofsome of the guests who were here to dinner). It was a glorious
afternoon—hot, really hot, and sunny and it was deliciously cool to
be rowed over the fljot—all milky-white-green. And the doctor was
rather a dear with a pleasant plump fair-haired wife and two very nicesmall children one Ragnhei›ur, whose name I guessed aged three(two?) t’other a bit older. We had coffee & pancakes (about 7.) & jam(tradit l Icelandic cakes) & then Astrid & I went out with the good
lady of the house & the kiddies, while Auden pumped the doctor
about his practice—it’s about twenty-five farms & all scattered miles
from each other, he has the fljot in between, too & that takes at least
20 mins to cross, and a horse. Sts he’s so busy he hasn’t a minuteto read, other times he’s nothing to do for days. He reads chiefly
English though some German too, but he didn’t speak neither did hiswife so Astrid & I were hard at it interpreting. They said they’d, or28

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the doctor at least did, missed us while we were out! There were threerooms downstairs fitted out as a hospital ward & he’d a radium-lamp.
Skin diseases disappeared within last 7 yrs; he performs operations
sts in the farms if urgent; doesn’t use chloroform ’cept in cases ofchildbirth (otherwise ether only) has a nurse to give the anaesthetic(like England no professional anæsthetists pure & simple here).
Cancer slightly on increase (or is it that they know what it is now?).
Curious—Iceland is being swept by an epidemic of measles at the
moment—they’re in the South, Akureyri and here—a boy of 15 in thenext farm died last week from them, but he’d got T.B. and had always
been ailing and weak. T.B. there’s a lot of, but the drinking of milk
helps against that. The children never got enough earlier on & all thesmoked, salt & sour stuff they eat during the winter was bad. Now,
at least, in the N. & E. almost every farm has its little garden withpotatoes, rhubarb, lettuce, radishes, carrots, beetroots & small very
sweet white turnips that are delicious. This place of course is unusually well-stocked—we have green stuff every day! Well, after
further talk about 9. p.m.—we set off over the fljot again—thedoctor’s boy (about the house) taking us over. His cow shed was amodel one—all turf & stone but lined with wood (roof) & spotlessly
clean, fresh earth everywhere. The passage over was glorious—in thesunset the best I’ve had yet—the colour of the water was that queer
northern shimmering you only get near the Arctic Circle, & thesnow-mountains up & down the dale south & north blue. And all thesky flushed rose as we walked home through the birches—little
stunted northerners with a strong scent in the sun. It’s called “odorata”& it is! And Auden talked—about the possibilities of the cinema as
a medium for poetry etc: all interesting. And supper late & so bed.
The next day he was going. Astrid & I spent an hour of the morning
up in the woods sun-bathing! And it was really hot & the scent of
the thyme was blissful. And hot, hot, that afternoon. I went in the“rutebil” (bumping lorry-bus that goes between here & the fiords
twice a week) with him & we talked hard. The scenery was grand,
but if it hadn’t been for the talk I think I’d have been sick! It’s sobumpy—I’ve got a cut & bruise on my head yet from one specially
bad lurch. I’m not looking forward to the drive north again—but iffine you see the country. The ideal way of getting about is horse-backbut alack that is dying out ’cept for tourists what makes it expensive.
And it takes long of course. One time it’d be fun to buy a horse &use it here & sell it again at the end of the time! Well I talked

Letters from Iceland 1936

29

Icelandic to the chauffeur who comes from Rey›arfiör›ur and whowants to come to England some time. His brother was on a boat forsome time & speaks English & is teaching him now. Then I went out
into the far fields & raked—not so fast and there was much laughing
between the lads & lasses already there. Supper—tasted their bloodsausage steeped in sour milk for first time & found it much better
than I’d thought it’d be. Thursday—hurrah—was as glorious & Fru
Sigrún Blöndal planned an expedition—on horse-back to Hengjifoss.
Off we set about 10. 30. am in brilliant sunshine with clouds piled
up & Siggi the 11-year old boy (her son) who looks after hens &cows (he began doing that last summer) came too. It was rapturous.
That’s the only possible word. To ride all up yon rocks & down past
the little waterfalls & over the streams and along the strand &through the bogs and up to Hrafnkel’s farm (a Saga farmer) & so to
the ferry. We had one halt about half-way when we let the horses
loose & lay looking at the sky & the beginning of the far-distantwaterfall across the “fljót”. Then—the first thrill of the day—crossing in a horse-ferry! And the horses swimming behind us & us
holding on to their reins. We went two & two because the stream was
too strong to take all four animals at one & same time. It was justa shallow, low boat with water & hay at the bottom & the horses had
to be kept from coming too near. One shivered—it’s glacial water—even on a hot day & one was frightened but they’re very good. Wish
I’d had my camera—but as I can’t take snaps it doesn’t so muchmatter. I wish I could. And the second time—(Siggi & I waited by
the “bagga” the man had brought over from t’other side of the river—great bundles of hay all trussed neatly) we took his dinner with us—
his & t’others who were out there hay-making—a great blue can ofcoffee & food in a bowl of enormous dimensions tied up in a blue
& white handkerchief, we’d had the grouse remains from Wednesday
for breakfast—(grouse for breakfast!) so didn’t feel hungry. (It’stinned or frozen of course as it’s too early for the real bird). And soon & up over the mountain, slow progress picking our way overboulders & down over streams & through boggy patches. And so toa grass-grown patch high-up with an old toft-depression (grass-walled
house) in a convenient spot & sheltered from the wind which wasgetting up. Dried fish & a smoked mutton & cheese sandwich (ryebread) & then Siggi & Astrid & I descended & then began a scramble
over great boulders & through rushing water up to the fall. It took
an hour! Sts along slippery ledges sts wading knee-deep sts giving

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Siggi a back—he hadn’t high boots on. It was worth it too when we
got there—it’s the 2d highest in Iceland & falls absolutely sheer forc. 360 feet! (at anyrate c. 120 metres) first just one slender sheet—
slender because of height & then as it nears bottom it seems to branch
underneath like candlesticks & the spray rises like smoke from thedeep pool at the very bottom. We got quite up to it & the spray was
like rain in the air. On way back I slipped across a specially tricky
bit from a sloping wet ledge to a stone half under water & a long sidestep but only got the water into one boot & had a wet knee which
didn’t matter a bit as the rain came on in a steady down-pour not longafter we got back up to Fru Sigrún. It’s rather fun riding in rain too& the dale spread out below looked like the pictures you get of river
basins in atlases—only much vaster. And the wind was at our backs& the mist drove up over the hills opposite & shut out Snæfell who’dbeen glorious in the morning. So, about 6. 30. we came to Kloster
farm where we had coffee & pancakes & jam & cream & waffles &kleinur (little twisted doughnut like things) & biscuits & cheese &sponge-cake! All most acceptable to wet-through folk—at least my
nether part was—Astrid’s cloak is more practicable than my souwester jacket if I haven’t the trews as well & I didn’t take ’em they
were so heavy but I shall in future. I was afraid I’d make her sofa
damp! Then about three hours later when we’d seen the house & I’dread a poem about a man buried in the churchyard of the monasteryof which only grass-mounds remain, written by the great CanadianIcelander poet Stéfan Stéfansson, we set out. Every Icelandic farm
has a harmonium & oleograph & pictures like the ones you sts see
in seaside boarding-houses belonging to mid-Victorian days. It’s
queer that the pictures are so bad when their taste in literature is so
critical. There was a waterfall worked in silk, framed. I like the handwoven upholstery of chairs & sofas & bedspreads best. And there are
innumerable photographs always. But too, always books. I noticed
that the parson (we visited his widow yesterday) of this district had
several English books—Bertrand Russell, chiefly, but also Ogden’s
A.B.C. of Psychology (he’s a Behaviourist) & Streeter on the Scolia,
and a translation of Giovanni Papini’s Life of Christ, and also of“Anne of Green Gables” (curious mixture). And Oliver Lodge (there’smuch spiritualism in a mild way here), besides Scandinavian books.
And a desk, rocking chair, then other ordinary ones, cupboard, bookcase & photographs and harmonium (specially big one—it belonged
to the church). Well, about 10. p.m. we set off, and this time—rodeLetters from Iceland 193631

the river. That was fun. First we splashed through a long stretch of
bog-land with white bog-cotton glimmering in the twilight that set
in early after the wet afternoon. But no rain just mist & an unearthly
stillness no wind & quiet as quiet. Then the river—all white and astrong current. And the man who knew where to cross took us two& two on each side of him & we waded—my horse was a bit
frightened at first but it was better the 2d & 3d patch—it’s very broad& we were a long time getting over to the other side. But they never
had to swim actually—that’s a bit difficult as sts they roll over & off
you go! They were only up to their nostrils & the water only cameup to our knees while sitting on horse-back! But it’s a queer sensation—the green-white cloudy stream rushes past & neither horses nor
you can see anything & there may be deep patches & quicksands &it’s twilight & no sound but that of the animals pushing their way
through & the desolate flood glimmering all the time. There weresand-patches & little beaches here & there—three strips of fiord orriver or lake to cross. It’s more like a great wide lake than anythingelse—the fljot. And then—gallop a gallop to get the horses dry &warm—great fun & Sproti, mine, was a fine feller & simply legged
it after Siggi who had a real spirited beast. I can’t imagine anything
more satisfying than cantering thus along a lake-side or the hill—they’re so sure-footed you don’t bother about holes or stones oranything! And the twilight & the silence deepened and ahead, farahead at the other end of the dale rose cold blue mountains streakedwith snow & the water glimmered & glimmered. It was midnight (butlike 9–10. p.m. at home now I s’pose & it stays like that no change
for an hour or so). Then the steep toilsome ascent of rocks & stones& the crossing of streams & suddenly—the rush of scent from steaming birch-woods up to meet us as we climbed the crest that dips down
to Hallormsta›ur. It just went to my head & I felt quite giddy for a
few moments with it. Then it passed over & we got down into thelittle birch-wood itself—couldn’t see the bluebells (harebells) shining amongst the clover in the grass at that hour!) At 1. 30. am. wereached home. Siggi & I took off the saddles & led the horses acrossthe stream & out onto the moor. Then cheese & smoked mutton &rye-bread & milk & coffee in the kitchen. At 2. am—it was light!
And almost broad daylight when Astrid and I had finished washing—
we were that muddy after the rain. Friday—a quiet day. We stayedin all the time—mist hung about & it was inclined to rain—I read &darned socks & read part of Prometheus Unbound with Fru Sigrún—32

Letters from Iceland 1936

she’s interested in poetry. And we talked. And then—out a walk inthe stillness of the evening. Queer light—mauve-primrose-buff overthe distant mountains & wet freshness everywhere else. And thatbrings me to yesterday. Glorious, windy-fresh though little sun till
midday for one brief moment. (I luxuriated in hearing on Wednesdaythat play at Wimbledon was postponed owing to rain & it was our
first really hot summer’s day here!). And all of us even Hr Blöndal
set off and we picked up a man on the way who saw Fru Sigrún fall
into the bog off her horse. It was exciting for one moment. The others
had ridden on & were up over the rocky hill rising out of it. Suddenly, with no warning, her horse just in front of me, sank up to hisshoulders, struggled in the brown slime, sideways, & flung her off—
she was (fortunately perhaps) riding “saddle” i.e. “side-saddle” &fell where it wasn’t so deep so all was well. The man, a pleasantfellow with a squint but astounding nice eyes & yellow wind-jacket
took me round to a safe place. We’d attempted a too short, short-cut!
And so up on the windy highlands—across moor-tracks—with blue
snow hills far behind to the north & we riding towards great darkblue peaks with snow thick in the hollows. On & on up the dale toa grass pasture—thyme & berries & thick rich grass & a burn gurgling deep below—we’d come round what was almost a precipice.
And then on into a dead man’s valley. Just gigantic sand-hills if you
can imagine ’em thousands of feet high sloping down at 60˚ & 45˚
on each side to a wide valley of stones & sand & grit all sand, brownbuff, grey-brown & no sign of life & cotton-wool fog rolled up at theend over the river you could just glimpse under the thinner mist
below. But sunshine when we stood at the north end—& green grass,brilliant & waterfalls frolicking down, and one particularly beautiful
one, dropping sheer like Hengjifoss, only not quite so high only
about 150 feet or so. And so back again—nine of us now. We’d
stopped for coffee at a farm with a real old eld-hús (kitchen) of turf
& stone—you went in through a long dark passage constructed thus
& passed it with its hole in the roof & great mouldering bits of meat
& sausage & fish hanging up & a huge copper over the hearth forboiling the mutton in, in September. Also the bur (larder) all turf &stone & earth with long wooden tub & pestle for making butter &tubs & boxes & vats. But the living-room was all wooden—just plainboard walls & floor & nothing on ’em but photographs (only a few)
& chairs, and the usual cupboard & sofa. On our way back we were
there again (the man & wife came with us up the (“dead man’s”

Letters from Iceland 1936

33

valley) for sk‡r & milk. And so on past the little church standing out
grey with its scarlet tower
against a deep blue-violet mountain with the snow roseflushed in the sunset & towards
the ever glimmering, primrose water. Coffee & pancakes
it was about 9. p.m. then.
And then—on & on & on along
the lake-side in that same twilight. And over the moor by the lakewith the great dark snow mountains looking only a few minutes rideaway, to the left & pale ones through mist behind & Snaefell ahead& the water just to the right below. It’s glorious to ride & ride & ride(even if you get a bit stiff on your seat whiles & your horse is lazy
& needs much persuasion with a birch-switch!) I’m pleased I can ridewith the others—it’s the quick riding that tells of course & being on
horse-back so many hours at a stretch! 10. 30 a.m.–1. 30. a.m. & 11.
30–12. 30. with a day in between isn’t so bad! Tho’ of course wehave many rests & are greatly refreshed by coffee etc: It’s thejogging the Icelandic equivalent of a trot that’s worst—because you
can’t rise as you do in England—they’re not big enough! Now I’ve
scribbled myself out & this is up-to-date—what a budget . . .Whata screed! Oh—another amusing meal—last—no night before last—whole cods heads & liver! Most satisfactory and terribly good especially the liver! And filling to a degree!
Bank Holiday. (Also here).
And two or three people have come with a couple o’ tents—that’s all.
And this is as it were a show place “beauty spot” (what a word).
Isleif, the almost two yr old’s name for me is Aletta from “Hva› er
ﬂetta” which means “What’s that”? So Hrafn is A.B.C. & I am
“What’s that”—good names both. Alack, today we depart—a fortnight and two days more & gone like smoke. It’s been exceeding
good here. Yesterday we just stayed in—I wrote of course—andAstrid read. Then an hour or so’s gentle saunter à cheval up themountain—it’s over 1000 feet but everything looks so much smaller& nearer than it really is in the air here. I fell off first time on way
home through the dwarf birch wood—branch caught first Sproti(horse) & then me—over the nose but he just waited. Sts it was likecoming down a slag-heap. It’s fun riding here—they’re so surefooted.

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Letters from Iceland 1936
Monday.
{Egilssta›ir.
August 3rd c. 8. . .
P M

Yet another experience entirely new—a ride—about two & a half
hours on a lorry (held coal last) outside—with the rucksacks & a tubof butter & sack of salt & bundle of rhubarb & saddle! Bumptity—
bumptity—hop-là—down the hills & over the streams and up roundthe bends—once I was almost “thrown”—the bolt-hook I was clinging to with me right hand jerked out of place—it kept one of the“sides” of t’lorry in place! The sides were only a little over a foothigh & I sat on a box back to lorry-driver & his two companions“inside” passengers, to wit, Astrid & an Icelandic girl. But thescenery was glorious—impressive in the still weather—mist over themountains but cocoons of cloud too—swathed round ’em spiral-like& curious to behold & they deep blue. Wild, wild, & desolate &inspiring, & spacious and good to be alive in. I put on me oilskin
trews before half-way—it got so cold exposed to a’ the airts. “Inside”
was so hot from engine I’d ha bin sick I’m sure. Then—here—
invited to hot coffee by Astrid’s friends & Kristl‡n’s the nice teacher
in a beautiful wine-coloured Icelandic (what dye call that velvet thathas deeper fluffier velvet on it?) dress. To-morrow for Ásbirgi—westop once on the way to Akureyri praise be—I like not Icelandic“buses”! The Blöndals were nice. Now I must proceed with myIcelandic epistle to Hildur.
Thursday. Ásbyrgi.
The home-fielda little sunshine but very overcast.
Oh lordy lordy! How am I to convey something of it to you? First
that night at Egilsstö›um. It was hot—& they had heating on or somesuch and our beds were literally broken down—at least Astrid’s
was—the straw was just like waves and a foot high in some places& a violent slope! And there was not only the usual featherbed on
top—that is the only covering you ever have—but ditto, bigger &heavier underneath. Well I didn’t actually sweat but it grew so hot—and only a tiny square of window that pushed open outwards two
inches! I got up at 1. 30. a.m. & ransacked both beds—hurled thefeatherbed underneath into a corner of the room—only one available—t’was very small & only involved heaving it & then Astrid’s
over the end of my bed, lay down on the straw covered with sacking

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& felt better. But at 6. the sun was so hot that not long after I lepped
up & enquired me way to the tarn I knew existed over the hill. It took
about twenty minutes walking & running to reach—in glorious freshmorning air & hot sun—over bog, through stunted birch undergrowthover little hills—Snaefell away over moor & mountain white &shining with snow & other dark blue hills striped like zebras. I
plashed through bog to the tarn—gloriously deep at edge but reedy
so I didn’t swim just lowered myself in up to the ears & luxuriated& revelled in the cold brown water—second bath since I came here
only! And better than the one Auden had I bet. I don’t want warm
water in a proper bathroom—out on the moor is so glorious—only
sheep & wild birds & mountains & stillness—no wind. And after
drying partly in sun but t’was cool by the tarn, I knelt down &washed me hair & that was refreshing. It was dry by the time I got
back for breakfast at 8. 4.5. The bus came about 9. 30 & so we packed& off we sailed, at least it was sailing at first especially after thelorry-bumping the evening before. Away away & up over heath andwith queer-shaped snow hills in the distance only two or three rising
up like animals’ heads from the flat. Then across Jökulsá a glorious
river but water the colour of dirty washing water after muddy stockings—grey-black & froth like soap-scum. Very ugly but interesting& racing along a narrow gorge. Up & up & then a pleasant grassy
tún with biggish f-house for dinner—fish & rhubarb-porridge. Then—across the desert. It is a desert. Nothing whatever but stones, stones,
stones mile after mile. Then stone—sand mountains—greyish-black& brown—no colour—then black & black ash-grit everywhere—
grey-black sand. And no-one spoke—down into valleys & always thesame & up over stone-heaths. It’s worse than a sand desert in thesouth I think because it’s deader & further north & colder. No
oasis—no sign of life & dead still only the bus bumped & jolted &jerked & rocked & swayed & bumped and yet we weren’t going morethan thirty miles at the most. On & on & on. Then a change up higher& a sprinkling of grávi› the grey leaved shrub that grows everywhere
here on the moors. And up over sand-grit mountains with only tiny
buttons of thyme thrusting straight up from the stones to—the mostimpressive spectacle I’ve yet beheld. Imagine the land just dropping
almost sheer away on all sides—narrow streaks of water cutting
across the flat, and enormous Her›ubrei› (Broad Shoulder) blue &slightly snow-streaked rising up broad and massive—this shape →36

Letters from Iceland 1936
& beyond lone peak after peak.
And still beyond—smooth like
ice-cream brilliant white and theshape of a tiny segment of a gigantic circle—Vatna-jökul the biggest glacierin Iceland. And all blue—deepnavy to pale sky—and the flat ground brown—mahogany to buff—
no other colour from that height but the white strip in the far distance. And then from the flat—sinister dead black cones—in queer
semi circular rows! extinct volcanoes. It was extraordinary. Beautiful, but at the same time these things were evil. Some mighty &absolutely ruthless & meaningless force had heaved & struggled andburst itself there. And then down into that flat and across—& downin it was bog-land &—one of the men has just come out & is mowing
the short grass in great wide strong sweeps—it’s heavy & wet fromthe rain last night & falls in thick rich heaps—he’s quick. I’m sittingout in the homefield on some planks & poles piled up agin one of theheaps of dried dung that they use for fuel here—thin square toughcakes. And it is still 40˚ no sun now. Well—down in the flat bog—with brilliant yellow green grass & a sheet of bog-cotton—never
have I seen such bog-cotton fluffy & glistening and dancing. And all
browns & blues & no other colour in the distance. Then—a drearydale stones & grey-shrub & no shape to the hills above. And thenanother worse stone-desert, mile after mile. Then sand-dunes but all
black and wild corn waving on ’em everywhere. And the sand hadcome & eaten up the river it was choked as we splashed across it—
there are of course few bridges & cars & buses just plough their way
across rivers, sometimes well over two foot deep. And some of thesand clumps looked like giant hedge-hogs nose down and nose up
chewing or sniffing. Then—more stones—utter desolation & a weariness to the spirit—what that place is like in bad weather I canscarcely imagine. And so by slow degrees to Grimssta›ir for coffee
at 7. p.m. And then on & on—stones & heath & up & on & down
& on & it grew twilight & a great heath of stones with here & there
hideous clumps of lava like maimed & twisted hands & feet flung
about. It was sinister & horrible. So down to Dettifoss roaring &raging & foaming & thundering its way down in an utter waste land.
I’d not imagined it like that. And coming on it suddenly after atwenty minutes scramble down the stones & boulders of that waste

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37

land from the stone-lava heath above was amazing. The water is thecolour of water after muddy clothes have been washed—black-grey& the foam scum-like in the dimness. It was 10. 30 pm. when wewere there. The fall is colossal & you’re just stunned. It may havebeen partly that we’d had 13 hours of bus bumping before & throughthat terrifying scenery, but there is something frightful as well as
beautiful about that fall. It’s so gigantic & the scenery so absolutely
naked & desolate that you forget even to be afraid—you simply
marvel in a dazed, stupid fashion that such a thing can be! The waterroared through the gorge—naked perpendicular columns of stone—& it’s wide so that you can see the water twisting & turning for a bit.
Then back up to the lava-heath & the stones & the last three hoursof that bus were just a kind of nightmare—I should have said that you
get hard blisters on your hands from gripping the rail in front of yourseat—otherwise your head’d be cut open every few minutes from thebumps that send you up to the roof. And we swung & bumped &rocked—a bus does a terrific figure of eight then a bump & I understand how some folk are sick all the time. We had windows open so
it was bearable. And at last down over another Jökulsá over a bridge& roaring mud-water rushing & swirling past below—& on over a
black & grey beach of desolation to Lindabrekka—1. 30. a.m. We
crawled out of that bus—bent double (you can only sit hunched up& crouched because of the vibration & the roof bumping! & slowly
unbent & stretched & sorted out our luggage & decided what to doabout the next day—we were 7 miles from place we wanted to be at
but t’was too late to get off & enquire on the way & so—decided
we’d have to get up at 6. next day to go in with a car that was picking
folk up from this farm! That was a little grim & we sat down at 2. 15.
a.m. to some thick stewed meat and blackest potatoes & sour bread& black blood-sausage rather silent. Then—as there were 15—we
waited till they’d cleared away & put featherbeds on the two sofas in
the eating-room for Astrid & me. It was, as you can imagine, hot—andbroad daylight of course by then. At 3. we’d decided what to takewith us in rucksacks here & crawled onto the sofas half-dead. And
after 2 1 / 2 –3 hours sleep—up again! Coffee & cakes helped thenmore bumping & so here, 8. 30. a.m. more coffee & cakes & thenwe felt revived, walked to Ásbirgi itself. It’s an amazing thing. You
can judge of its size when told it takes fully an hour to walk up
to the end of it & it’s 360 feet high some places. It’s a gigantic
split in the earth nothing more or less & horse-shoe shaped

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360 ft high& a central ridgeThus& it just rises from the flat—the sea isn’t far off here—we saw thesun out over the black beach last night. To enter it is like walking
into a place enclosed by this colossal horse-shoe shaped cliff—a cliffthat runs for a two hours walk! and a central ridge. We walked roundthe edge the top—little dwarf birches & bilberries growing. Home todinner at 11. 30–12. Then a nap. We’ve 2 rooms here! The bed we
decided wasn’t quite big eno’ for us both just then & the 1st night
here—Astrid’s back which isn’t ever very good was pretty bad afterthat bus-ride. I had one even! You feel you’ve been first bruised bybeing beaten all over & then cut in two. And—from the join in myordinary knickers or the bus-seat? I had two huge red weals likewhip-lashes on me end! I only noticed when I was washing & Astrid
remarked! Well—I lay on some boxes covered with goat skins &sacking—rather narrow but I dozed. Up again at 2. p.m. & out a little.
Coffee at 3. and then out into the great horse shoe. Heather—for firsttime in the moorland inside. Then—rain & it rained & rained—wesplashed on to the end & saw the 60 feet deep pool or lake with thestrange deep deep green water, & then through the shoe back—to thegrey-black beach. Soaked—I had to change everything spite of me
oilskin jacket—it’s not fool-proof alack. Delicious to put on dry
things & have a meal of rye-bread & flat rye unleavened cakes baked
tough & flat as oatcakes on the naked stove, & eggs & cold cod &salt mutton & then hot porridge & sugar & milk. Last, after talk withthe bóndi (farmer) coffee & cakes. And he spoke about the Sagas &Icelandic history & William Morris, whose daughter comes sometimes—she did 2 yrs ago. And we exchanged ideas about wine &tobacco & their uses he & I siding v. Astrid & so—to bed. I put on
two coats & riding-breeks & me oilskin breeks & took the top coverfrom the bed & lay down on the boxes & goat-skins & sacking &slept the sleep of the just! It was even cold towards morning but I
slept, now on one side now on t’other & now on back, now ontummy. And at 8. 15 went in beside Astrid so as not to let the nicewoman of the house think that we weren’t pleased with the bed. It
is big eno’ as a matter of fact & I think I’ll sleep there tonight—

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Astrid’s back is better. And the sun came out a wee bit & coffee &cakes brought up to us in bed. There were even flowers—wee wildones that grow here in a jar in the window & it opened! A tiny room
just with bed & washing-stand one of those portable iron ones—& sloping wooden roof over the bed. It was delicious to
cuddle down after! And blissful to sit out here. The sanitaryarrangements are good—as so often—just the cow-shed but
here it’s goats! It’s very simple, as it’s all built of stones & turf, thatgrows roots dangling from the ceiling like sea-weed, & the floors& all are just hard-stamped earth. Doctors might advocate thisIcelandic practice methinks as it’s so auto-suggestive! That idea
came to me as I mused there a few moments this morning—& it’s
spacious & roomy! You reach it via the hen-house, which is also thestable. All in order. You live much more in contact with the earth
here—turf & stone just grow up out of it & one room leads to another& animals & human-beings are all animals together after all. Now
this pole is hard so I intend a stroll. This is fun! To-morrow up at
7. again maybe 6 & bumped to Akureyri but in the meantime delicious here. Desolate heath to the north—mountains snow-striped
west, stone table-land mountains east & moorland south—covered withtiny birch too. Now she’s coming to say “Geri› svo vel” (dinner ready).
Húsavik 11. 45. a.m.
En route for Akureyri—glorious weather just now—up since 7. a.m.
about to have dinner. . . Address from 14th.
Poste Restante
Reykjavik.
So long. J.

Go›afoss

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V

Stafholtsey,
Borgarfir›um,
August 11. 1936.
And goodness only knows where the time goes! Rain—after threeglorious days of sunshine—counting half-to-day as one. But I mustgo back to last week. Húsavík was where we stopped for lunch on
the way from Ásbyrgi to Akureyri—a little fishing-village full of
herring tubs & gleaming new casks in the sun, with snow hills acrossthe water and queer lava wigwams decking the highway—one would
make a perfect summer dwelling if the roof-hole were blocked or
covered. It grew mistier later but was fair for Go›afoss which is avery graceful fall—I think actually more lovely though less sublime
than Gullfoss or Dettifoss. It tumbles gaily—the others thunder straight
down in uncompromising frightfulness. And the scenery was moreblithe—rounded mountains not splintered peaks, and the colours softand quiet. Then up & up & rain & fog but a rainbow too over a wilddale with a grey river winding & rushing. A gale of wind & thendown towards Akureyri—the Eyjafiord stretching away out to sea tothe right & the long dale to left—& Akureyri down on the opposite
shore. We made good time—got there at 5. P.M. and were given
coffee by the mother of Thorhild Astrid’s friend with whom westayed last—her husband teaches gymnastics in the big school there.
Then—it rained! But we had a pleasant evening—two girls were also
guests there (we had Thorhild’s room this time) & one sang well, so
does Thorhild’s sister Inga who wants to come to England. It really
was joyous. And ten or eleven of us there! just the family & us. Next
mg lateish up and then shopping & visit to Bank & so off at 1. P.M.
up through mist but improving weather on to glorious high mts. It
should have been the most exciting scenery yet but alack the raincame on this time in torrents so we saw nowt, after Svartardalur &the strip of glacier at the head of the dale. Then just rain & a longdale—well-named Langadalur! And a halt, most welcome, for coffee& slice after slice of rye & wheat bread & cheese & small cakes. That
was late about 6. We just made our evening meal & when we reached
Blönduós & the weather cleared hopped out for a walk by the sea
instead of having dinner. The sheep were fine looking kritters &browsing hard on sea-weed—standing fearlessly up to their knees in
sea-water & the tide coming in. I watched some eider-duck too. No-

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41

one there by the little pier—Astrid had packing to do so I just stayedout a bit. Then—up (Next day 10. a.m.) At that moment full stopbecause Pálfrey came to say that she was ready to set out to Langholt
her brother-in-law’s farm so off we went through rain & all—& I had
the best horse I’ve yet had & he just went—“valgallop” over themoor tufts & all! And the brother-in-law & his wife, being great
sportsmen were out salmon-fishing in Hvítá the best river in Iceland
possibly. So over another stretch of wet moor the rain increasing,
down to milky Hvítá (White River—so-called because the glacial
water is quite white). And didn’t the woman Jórunn land a trout offair size just after we arrived & then—he a nice little 16 lb salmon—
and then—all within half-an hour—she an 18 lber! It was thrilling towatch. Paddywag & Scott would have rejoiced. But imagine—threefish & of such dimensions in half-an hour! And Björn got a 20 lberan hour or two later—she came back home with us & gave us
glorious hot thick cream & cakes & we talked. An Englishman called
Wenner (a “captain”) (M.B.O.V. whatever that may mean) goes there
every summer—he has a big place in Shropshire sg Hall. After—back to Björn with more worms & some grub for himself too & wegalloped home with the salmon she took in a sack. And it was dark—
11. 30. before we got back (by their clock. It’s a bit confusing whiles
here. There’s no Summer Time but each farm does that which is rightin its owner’s eyes as regards time in the summer. So that, thewireless clock, as they call it may be two hours or more behind theirs.
Thus on our way here we had dinner at 12. 30. & then coffee(equivalent of tea) at 2. p.m. (it was 4. p.m. by the clock on thatparticular farm!) To revert to Saturday—no Sunday morning, start at
7. and perfect weather—hot sun & glorious colour—past old turf &stone farms & fields of bog-cotton fairly blowing in the wind.
Friday 13th. 11. 30. am.
Brrr–r–r. Snow now—covering the hills Hafnarfjöll near by & a
blizzard of rain & wind. And we were out riding till midnight again
yesterday afternoon! It was cold—horses couldn’t go fast because of
mud—about 2 foot of it some places. But it was fun. But to revert
to the journey on Sunday last. At about 12. 30 we reached a place
by a lake with a queer extinct volcano & little birch shrubs &glorious view—Baula over 3000 feet rising in a perfect round fat
cone thus
above t’other mts. And fed there. Then on to
Hvítárvellir in glorious sun—blazing and fresh breeze. And Eiriksjökul

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(glacier) rose semi circularly blue and snow capped and then Langjökul
and then yet another all shining white in the distance. And Hafnarfjöll
jagged & peaked & dark blue running out to sea. And to the west
(they are S.W. from here yet more mountains curving mostly. Anda huge plain of brilliant bog—green, green with tarns & pools &reeds & bog-cotton all shining in the sun. And we waited four hours
or so happily at Hvítarvellir for Páll to come from here—Stefanesey(in middle of the bog) with the horses. And the folk here werecharming, gave us coffee & then fruit salad (tinned of course—tho’
they do grow red currants there) and before we set off milk! And thenwe drank coffee on the way & had supper when we arrived! As it
were four meals within six to seven hours. Well, the first morning
Monday was blissful—hot, hot & we made hay with vigour & continued late so as to have it all safe in because Páll was afraid it’d rain.
It was blissful—smell of hay and glaciers far off under a blue clear
sky and all the hidden colour shifting with the time o’ day. The two
girls who’re here for the hay-season are nice—one with red-gold
hair, blue dungarees over a white blouse with short sleeves andbrilliant light purple woolly gloves. T’other dark in a brown shortsleeved blouse, blue bib & brace. And both so sun-tanned. And theman is the son of a doctor in Reykjavik—he’s only 18 or so I should
say & it’s his first summer out “in the country”. Students often takejobs like this in the summer. When it’s weather like to-day it’s
hard—Páll & the boy Snæbjorn Jónsson were out mowing in thatblizzard and all! But the girls were in. Well—Monday just melted
away under sun. Tuesday morning was good too but not cloudlessand I raked for first time in bog, barefoot & with heavy reed-grass—
it was fun—refreshing & cool & the brown water squelched, squelched—
it’s up to one’s knees almost! Then after dinner—they’ve many
here—Páll the farmer & his wife Pálfrey, then her mother, and adelightful woman of 70! red-cheeked dark-haired & looking about 45
she works like a man & has been here summer after summer—has
pains in feet & legs often but only wants to be able to go on working
thus—Gu›laugr. Then their children—two boys & a girl, the boy’s
just out of bed after measles (there are measles all over the island—
every farm’s had one case or another). Then a girl who helps in
kitchen & another who is out with the kiddies but who makes hay sts
too. Then the hired folk—the lad from Reykjavik & the two girls. So
Astrid & I are treated like guests & have meals in the parlour. Afterdinner Tuesday Pálfrey & Astrid & I rode over to Langholt theLetters from Iceland 1936

43

neighbouring farm across a bog, a river & over a little hill—where
Páll’s brother lives. But I’ve told you about that afternoon. We heard
last night when we called in from our way from Reykholt that theycaught 6 salmon in all Tuesday & 8 yesterday & one was 22 lbs! We
had salmon-trout & new potatoes & sk‡r for dinner yesterday. Thenout to Reykholt on horse-back. (I mowed or tried to a little between
11. 30 & 1. We get up almost 10 here!) That’s where Snorri Sturlason,
the greatest medieval historian, lived. There’s a High School therenow (Danish H.S. type) where boys & girls from 16 up (no age limit)
spend the winter & read Icelandic literature & history & Danish, alittle English and learn some hand-work. It’s all heated by steam
from the hot springs. This dale is called Reykjadalur because it’s fullof springs—the steam blows up all the time—it’s funny to cross aswirling deep cold glacier river and yet pass by a spring gushing up
from the bottom! And the water in some of the streams is quite hot.
We had coffee at a farm which was so heated & saw the big boiler
in the kitchen. You can’t bake with the steam so they usually havestoves as well. Snorri’s bath is outside in the garden (there is agarden there) and the water’s too hot to get into—circular & about
10 feet across. The colours on the way there were glorious—deep,
deep blues & purples & brilliant greens on the homefields & pale
blue glacier mountains. Then came the rain—swirling & soaking. We
just got to the school in time to be mildly wet—(it takes time tounsaddle the horses & let em out to pasture & fix up the wire fence
after). Hot coffee & cakes again & talk & we saw over the school.
They sleep bunk-wise 6 in a room. Then a cold ride home—snow
falling on the hills. A halt at Langholt—Astrid’s horse bolted before
we got there—over a huge stretch of grey stone-and-sand (the workof the river Hvítá). It was a grand sight tho’ a bit alarming at first—
I don’t know how Astrid sat on but she did—he startled my beastie
so that he swerved violently but didn’t follow he was too good“ﬂ‡›ur”. But she flew off like an arrow from the bow & they musthave galloped a mile or two before he stopped—her black cloak
streamed in the wind & that frightened him & the faster he went themore it flapped. We went after and then she turned. So she wasn’t
cold—when we got to Langholt. There, they gave us milk & cakes& Björn “the hunter” showed me his boxes of salmon-flies—beauties—I only remember the names Golden Eagle, Dusty Miller, Shock
Scot, Yellow Grub, but he had dozens & one “Dr Blöndal” (after his
brother who died) which he thinks best. He’s caught salmon weigh-44

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ing nearly 40 lbs in Hvítá! Daddy & Scott’d have been thrilled that
Tuesday—I was—& then yesterday passing by didn’t we see him
land a 22 lber! Of course it’s not always as good as this—this wild
wet weather after a spell of sun & heat is good but I call a catch of
14 salmon in a day & a half pretty good going don’t you? And such
beauties, fat, fat & their skin pearly-blue-green-rose & silver. Well—
after milk etc: once more up—(I’m never stiff now hooray spite ofriding on soaking saddles & getting wet on the knees—but I woreme oilskins yesterday a–ha!) & a slow jy through dark bog in wind
& rain. And it was good to tumble into bed under a featherbed &all—I have the sofa here—it’s a nice wide one. Astrid the bed as I
can’t sleep between featherbeds. “Enough is as good”—Well—that’s
up-to-date. To-morrow to Reykjavik. Then Saturday afternoon out
to Fljotshlí› in the south to another Páll at Ákvörn. I must send thisfrom R. & ask about post. Now N.B. could you send to Poste
Restante, Reykjavik.
(1) A recipe for mint jelly. The nice folk at Hvítárvellir had theirgarden a blowing with mint, mint almost three feet high aromatic& green, & they didn’t know what it was nor how you could use
it! So I told ’em & promised ’em a recipe for mint jelly (they canuse it in the winter then). Hasn’t Mrs Morley one? If you haven’t?
(2) One £1 note. I forgot to save 2 for my return ticket from Hull& have only £1 in English currency & an English £1 note is not
to be had here for love or money. They can’t obtain any foreign
currency.
. . . It’s been snowing here! Brr–r—autumn’s come a bit early.
14th Reykjavík.
Well—well got your budgets all three at last only to-day the middleof August and it was good to get ’em. And I’ve answered the one wot
needed dealing with. Well since yesterday what? Up at 5. 30. am. andafter a meal of hard boiled-eggs, cheese, cold pancakes & cocoa!
gallop-a-pace over bog & moor & through river & stream & puddle
the mud just feet deep after the rain—to catch a milk-lorry to takeus to Borgarnes to catch the boat for Reykjavík! Well—one river was
too much for us—we’d have been soaked to middles & more & as
we had a jy before us we decided to turn back in mid-stream &dashed along the banks to find a ford. That was glorious just splashing along towards hills blue-green under mist-clouds with new fallensnow on ’em, & rainbows gleaming about and the strong smell ofrank wet hay smoking in barns. And we saw the milk coming 2 canstied on to each horse pannier-wise & that was duly dumped with us

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at the roadside. And along bumped the lorry already half-filled withgreat cans & a bicycle & a lorry-tyre & fishing-rods & sacks andparcels & one wee man. We were 8 by the time we reached Borgarnes,& I was lying on some cans in front & rejoicing in me oilskins wot
kept aht the wind. It was like January! But the sun came out at
Borgarnes at 10. am. & the voyage though roughish was only 3 hrs—
I slept part of it. And now, correspondence, seeing people, going out
to meals & washing—then to Fljótshlí› in the south to-morrow
afternoon. It is such fun. But alack good-bye to Astríd on Monday
there—she sails for Sweden Tuesday—term begins early. She washere all June almost—She sends much love, I do too to everyone.
Jean.
Do hope Madge & Maisie & R enjoy their holiday & that you did.
Love to Stella when she comes please. Astrid sends hers too.

Páll

Halla and Thórir

Lunch in the meadow

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VIÁrkvörn.
Fljótshlí›.
10. 30. A.M. August 17. 1936.
This—is the real thing—Astrid graded it well—and now thoroughly
acclimatised, food-ised—attitudinised as it were I enter on a stimulating phase of experience as a fully-fledged “matvinningur” (literally—“food-winner”). And I think I’ve passed the test [N.B. Censor
here for male readers if this epistle happens to be read aloud—they
being the more susceptible sex (but all the same I don’t mind two
sensible specimens like the Paddywag & Wagskall perusing this in
private!) The test I take it is to walk quite openly first, through theroom the door of this opens into—a wee narrow slit of a room
between doors, but boasting of a window which the two lads who
sleep there don’t open, through the kitchen, through the passage atright angles to that leading past two guest-rooms—or “parlours” outat the porch, down two steps, along past various cow-houses, to theerection very narrow & door all swinging in the wind & has to be tied
up with string every time you enter & one hinge the bottom one
missing, and so to the dung-heap adjacent (Icelanders do believe in
Suggestion!) and sling there the contents of the pot-de-chambre! And
you may meet any or all the inmates of this farm en route, within,or without. Astrid met Páll the farmer himself her first morning here
in June. The window only opens two inches outwards a sloping
casement like the top one in my room at home so it’s not possible
to water the plants in the garden (Astrid says it’s good for them!)Well, this morning I was fortunate only one lad lying on a sofa
reading—of course they think nowt of it so that’s O.K. Then here I’mon proper Icelandic country rations—damp rye-bread & butter (it’sterribly good I think, flat hard baked rye-“oatcake”, bits of saltsmoked beef—very strong & good to chew and—11. 30. P.M.
At that moment (10. 40. am.) Halla, Páll’s wife sent Gísli
one of the men-workers here, a lad, to say I was to go out to “themeadows”. They were half-an-hour from the farm right up the mountain—all precipitous & thrilling—you heard the scythes being sharpened over your head as it were. Well Gísli and I raked in silence
about two hours or so—only the sound of the river rushing over theLetters from Iceland 193647

huge expanse of black grit below. He knew I was a “furriner”. Thencame coffee—rather cold after being taken so far in a can but stilla break with sugar—we just lay on the wet grass & talked, Páll &Thori and Hrei›ar and Gísli & I—I was the only woman. That would
be about 1. P .M. Then we raked again till 2. 15 or so—but the rain
which had been falling all the time before came on real heavy & wewere soaked & then my rake bust (it was a bad ’un anyway) so off
we went home G. & I. The others had been out since 7. & had theirbreakfast out. At home there was first changing—I was wet every
stitch—then a heap to wash up while Halla baked. About 3. 30. ameal of very salt salt-fish-chunks, potatoes &—hurrah lettuce, followed by the inevitable cold porridge & some milk mixture. Then
more washing-up of very fishy fishy utensils etc: Then ironing—apile o’ shirts, boys’ coarse linen bibs & braces etc etc: etc: “roughiron” Halla said & rough-iron it was. But life ain’t monotonous.
No—scarcely embarked on 5th shirt when Halla called would I chasethe cows from the home-field where they’d strayed by mistake. Now
thinks I, I’ll keep me boots on this time—you never know when
you’ll be out in the mud. Half-a mile’s chase enlivened by the anticsof the dog Spori who had an animus for, violently reciprocated by,a particular angry-eyed cow. More ironing & meditations on life ingeneral & on that on an Icelandic farm in particular. Halla calls—
would Jóhanna (that’s my name here & I’m “thou”-ed by ’em all &“thou” them which I like) go & find Bói (the 8-year old) who was“out somewhere” to tell him to take coffee to the mowers & rakers.
It wasn’t raining so much. Chase & shouting after Bói—tracked tofarm on other side the stream & found in a hay-loft near a waterfall
which accounted for his peculiar dulness of hearing! Incidentally, enroute for Bói I plunged inadvertently into their dung morass which
necessitated a second change of stockings at least (now only 1 pairleft!). Resumed ironing—by this time 6. 30 P.M. (Up at 7. & saw
Astrid off—walked 2 1/2 miles there & back & back to breakfast at
9. 50. am.) Halla calls the cows are in the homefield again. This time
one of ’em busy eating hay from a new-made cock. Wild dash overthe homefield followed by Spori who again makes dead set at speckled cow with angry red eyes (no wonder), and a wilder chase down
the bank to the river-bed shore all black grit and sand & stone &water (miles of it stretching away in front and the glacier rising to
the left very near). Return after 1/4 hour or so to farm—Resume &this time complete ironing. By now 8. 30 P.M. Halla still baking—48

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suggests first I might spread the bread for the evening meal which
consists of spread bread (a kind of sweet dripping = goat’s cheese
really I find) on rye “oatcakes” & chunks of salt meat on damp
“potbrau›” (rye-bread) & cold porridge & sour milk. Changes her
mind & asks me to bake the rye oatcakes instead. This very thrilling—they’re spread out on the bare stove pricked hard, turned, brushed
over with water, piled up—about 18" across so thrilling to “turn”. 9.
30. the men return washing of socks, changing of trews etc:—11 of
us in the kitchen I sit turning oatcakes—they eat & talk. (I had“coffee” & some of Halla’s “bake” at about 6. P.M.). Halla says will
I go out & help Anna (the other woman-worker here) with the milkcans—she milks. I’m going to learn if possible. We take big candown to stream & deposit it just under the waterfall to keep cool &fresh & standing knee-deep wash out wooden buckets etc: All thewhile cold—like winter at home & much mud etc: everywhere—also
water & dark. Return to baking. At 10. 30. P.M. quite finished & sit
down to evening meal—spread bread but for me an egg as well &lettuce. Then—washing-up—finished everything at last by 11. 30.
And now Halla says I needn’t be up by 7. like the others but lie aslong as I like & I think I will! Well, well, well verra verra interesting.
I wish you could have seen the kitchen—with the men swallowing
their huge filled plates of sour milk & cold porridge, four of ’em &one who just called in attendant taking snuff (they all do in Icelandoften)—Halla busy spreading bread, Anna washing her 4-year old
boy in a corner by the cellar-door, two other lads somewhere else &me sitting by the stove turning cakes & exchanging remarks with themen. It’s another existence altogether this, & yet, this is the queer
thing about it, not strange, as if it had been before. Rain still descending alack—if it’s bad I’m not allowed out & I’d rather be out on themountain side really, even in rain than in the kitchen tho’ the kitchen
is interesting. Even washing up is exciting because you have to keep
an eye on Thorir—the poor little 5-year old son, the only child of Páll
& Halla—He’s a complete idiot & has the mischievousness that theysometimes have—& at meal-times he just throws all his food about—milk & all, which makes things difficult sometimes. Astrid told me
about him before I came. I didn’t know before. It’s grim for his
parents. I can’t help wondering what they’ll do later on. Páll ischarming—like Mr Geoffrey Phillpotts of Dublin only with blueeyes, a husky voice & he picks his teeth with his fork. It’s odd how
little things like that matter when the people themselves are soLetters from Iceland 1936

49

thoroughly good & thoughtful. For instance he brought me the 2dvolume of a book I’d begun reading at Hallormssta›ir before he went
to bed & said to-day I was to go home & read & not rake any more.
And Thorir just heard that I wanted the brush for the rye-cakes &handed it to me—that kind of courtesy what we’d call good manners
is rare on the whole in Iceland, but underneath the primitivenessthey’re such fine folk. Halla is pretty—rather like Maisie & hardworking & cheerful—I like her. She told me to-day how relieved she
was to find I was as I was! i.e. I could really eat their food and wash
up & do odd jobs and not be bored. She asked me to-night if I’d beenbored. Help! No too busy I might have replied—I honestly said no
it had all been so interesting & it was such fun to see how everything
was done on an Icelandic farm. She’s short of a woman to help in
the kitchen at the moment so is especially glad to have me. Now—
12. 20 am. to bed, to bed, to bed. Thórsmark a dale all glacier &mountain surrounded is exceedingly beautiful even when descried
only through rain & mist—this evening it went deep blue. Goodnight.
Tuesday Morning 11. a.m.
And I’m to be “free” for 1/2 hour says Halla so I snatched me pad &pen as these odd moments are literally the only ones I have to gossip
to you about it all. Well—I did sleep and sleep this morning, till 8.
45 at least & since—have made me bed “done” me room i.e. thewashstand with Astrid’s discarded stockings—there’s allus only one“clout” in Icelandic farms & I prefer Astrid’s stockings just as they
are! This pen wobbles as me hands ain’t used to being first a longtime in cold water then in boiling—also raking makes ’em stiff at
first. Well—then I took several pairs of heavy socks down to thestream to wash under the waterfall medieval fashion on a flat stone
with a wooden clapper (like the ones you see in Norwegian museums).
That was rare fun—the sun tried to come out—& did for a bit. But—
Thorir the 5-year old came too & it wasn’t till both boots & socks
had floated far that I realised he was taking off his clothes & flinging’em into the water! Lord, lord, how does Halla manage at all. There’s
aye milk on the kitchen floor that he’s spilt & the two dogs don’tallus lap it all up, & butter on door handles & so forth. I think she’sa marvel. Well after banging & rinsing & wringing the socks home
to breakfast—of cold porridge & sour milk & rye bread & smokedsausage-fat, very good—also milk to drink. I’ve put on at least a

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stone alack—but must try to restrict my ravenousness here—but I’mterribly fit & well, what you might call “blooming” (that word allus
suggests rotundity to me as well as red cheeks!). Then the chicks
fed—with scrapings from the porridge-pot (that’s the worst thing towash up—it’s just all stuck, & takes a good while to scrape clean.
Then Halla said I might be free—ten minutes read now of a book I
understand from within as well as from outside you might say—“Independent People” by Laxnes author of “Salka Valka”—which,if you read, take with much salt. No Icelander I’ve met is in the least
like S. the man there—& many are like Salka Valka the heroine.
Another mild “test” to-day was to eat breakfast next to the nice Gísli
who’d just cleaned out the “fjós” (stable) Hooray, I’ve discovered
my top-window does open just far enough if one stands on the bed& leans far out. Great comfort & joy to one who like Swedish Astrid
still has certain inhibitions (They’ve quite gone after a week here!).
Now for a read. Then I take coffee to the field-workers, who’re still
further off to-day & rake up the mountain-side hooray. It’s so good
to be out in that air with just the sound of the river rushing away
down far below & the glacier glistening opposite & then that huge
stretch of black sand & water fading into sea—westwards. This farmis just at the foot of a hill almost as high as Beachy Head, you see
the sheep wandering about from the kitchen window & hear thewaterfall. The name Fljótshlí› means Fljot- (water) side (Hlí›) andthere are waterfalls every few yards almost some big. All the farms
snuggle close under & have that gorgeous view.
9. P.M. Tuesday.
Back a wee while since from “the meadows” this time literally all
along precipices & waterfalls spouting by & in bog-patches. It wasso hot (!) at first only that I pulled off boots & stockings & wasbarefoot lovely when we came to patches of bog. Later it rained“showers” (Icelandic showers). I was soaked from slipping on somevery steep places but dried later. Dinner at 3. 30 P.M. or 4. was divine
great hunks of salt fish, potatoes swedes all from a tin pail—I had
Hrei›ar’s plate (just “wiped” he was away getting turf to-day. Followed by rice pudding also good. We sat on the wet grass & talked—
How alert & interested little Páll is—I watched him while I was
resting a moment before coming home this evening—against Thórsmork
what was beautiful to-day—giant mountains—tableland like say all
blue dark & green & rose in sunshine & snow on the glacier oppo-

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51

site—We were I dunno how many feet up & whiles the slope wasalmost perpendicular—Icelanders have heads & feet like cats forslippery heights I find. And Páll little, slight but tough & strong wasmoving steadily & with quiet relish—agin that colossal background.
And from time to time he shot questions at me—about ancient Irish
literature—I’ll have told him all I know soon goodness the insatiability of him—& tried to discuss religion & racial intermarriage—all
rather difficult as he doesn’t read English at all. Then more raking& just as it grew rather heavy—it is hard work raking lashings ofsoaking wet long bog-grass down & up perpendicular slopes!—came
Bói the 8-year old with coffee & cakes—ah! And then the sun cameout again—6. 15. P.M. c. It is good. Now there’ll only be washing up
at 10. P.M. this evening I think. What a good day. And I do like Anna
the other woman who’s here raking—Gisli is her son & there’s a 4
year old Sigur›ur here too. She’s a dear. Says it’s such fun to be here
away from her home & responsibilities—in Reykjavik & just raking—she milks cows too—otherwise we share the odd jobs between
us. What strikes a body so forcibly about these people is that they
enjoy their work so—it’s all such fun—especially in the summer.
Wednesday. 11. P.M.
Just finished—right hand stiff from raking. Dry weather came blazing sun & north-east wind, the perfect combination & glorious towork in—it’d have been cold to sit out but in the homefield—
heavenly. We were there to-day spreading out the stuff from cocks—
then turning it inrows the way they do it here—then hauling it
together, “saxing” it (dunno English equivalent as we don’t do it)—& binding it in “baggar” (big roundish-squarish bundles to put pannierwise on horse-back or on a little low cart. Next-door they weresledging it to the barn! And—before going out—I first washed meself
in the pool under the second waterfall—brrrr—but good & awakening. Then a vest & breeks—then banged the men’s socks per usual.
Then breakfast at 10. Then washed up—lots & lots—& the thingsfrom the early breakfast they’d had out up the hills too. Then they
all trooped back & out we flocked. Lord—it was beautiful—Astrid
said it could be here. The mountains & glacier were a joy & the way
waterfalls seemed to sing the way they streamed foaming down after
the rain. And birds came from the sea & circled overhead calling—
black & white with long red bills—and wee Thori (the 5-year old
who’s not there at all) enjoyed himself so, that one almost imagined52

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he was normal. He has fair, fair hair & the bluest of blue eyes. Andof course later—he sent a rake flying down the west-stream (the farmland is bounded by two deep wide streams fed by big falls lepping
straight down the mountainside what is almost perpendicular above—& likewise both his boots which sank & were only spotted withdifficulty. At 8. 30. P.M. it was time for him to come home so I carried
him—the homefield is about 10 mins away from the farm—(where
we fetched up yesterday on the mountain was a good hard 45 mins
walk!!) And I felt rather a beast for being somewhat repelled at
first—it was at the table it was difficilé—when he wanted to spit his
food all over the place! It’s queer that doctors can’t do aught aboutthat yet—it’s probably only a cord nerve-end somewhere that isn’t
joined right. He tried to help out in the field—dragging the hay with
us. And Anne’s 4-year old was there too & Bói the funny little 8–
9 year old who’s been fostered here—one of a large family. He
comes to watch me banging the socks & gives me advice—likewise
when I bake the rye cakes. And he told me an old woman who
became so ill she had to go to hospital & there she died of her
illness—knitted his socks what I’d admired. She was Thorunn, Páll’s
mother. Astrid thought more of her than of any other Icelander she’s
met. She must have been a fine woman. Well—all day out in sun &wind rake—rake—raking & thinking & saying all of us at least
once—what fun to be alive. It’s so utterly incredible that in Spainthings should be as they are. I hear fragments from the wireless &Páll comments on what is happening but I don’t know at all and can’t
always understand his comments. They talk very fast & take it for
granted I do understand as much as Astrid did! The river & waterfalls—we are walking under two big ones to-day, were like the sea.
When I came in—(up at 8. 30) at 8. 30. P.M. I baked rye-cakes till
10:30 eating bread & porridge & milk while turning ’em & so to bed.
Páll & the others came in while I was at it—& then we washed up.
The men are still out some of ’em & it 11. 30 PM! And dark but forclear stars. What a glorious day!
Thursday. 20th.
Well my hand isn’t too stiff to wield the pen—tho’ it almost was after
this 13 hour day. But I did have an hour off at 3. P .M. up themountain-side when I snatched a sun-bath & lazed in the hay looking
at the glacier. Lord—how good it is when the sun blazes as it did thismorning. I’m completely burned & again went barefoot this timeLetters from Iceland 1936

53

because it was so hot! Anyway it’s the only thing to do (whatever
the soles feel like when you get back) because you’re always in bog
or on the edge of precipices or sliding down right-angle slopes ofseveral hundred yards long. How the men mow on these I dunno.
Well first I again washed socks & trousers (that seems to begin the
day always) no time for self (it involves going up stream a little)
because I read in bed half-an hour instead. Then—we raked like madin the homefield so that all was in by 12. 30. Then off up themountain-side & at it till almost 10. P.M ! And the fish & turnips wereeven better than last time, & we had pancakes with coffee. And when
I got back Halla had done me a delectable chop (pork (back) withnew potatoes & there was lettuce—the first English food I’ve had.
But I felt ashamed to be eating that when the others, who’d been out
since 6 am (! a 16 hour day) were just having porridge & rye-bread& butter. But it was because I’d worked all day—Páll said several
times wouldn’t I go home but I wanted to be in at the death—and had
my reward—the most gorgeous really gorgeous sunset reflected on
the glacier & the mountains up the dale that I’ve ever seen here—rose & purple, blue & the grey-black sand below with all the silver
winding waters & the colour of the mts reflected in ’em. There wasgreat satisfaction in being up there this day. Not that there’s muchtime to look at the surrounding loveliness but you just know & feel& hear it’s there. And during the hour “off” I almost heard the clouds
that from time to time crept over the sun—it was so quiet. Gosh how
I love Iceland. Good-night.
Saturday 22d.
1. a.m. Sunday morning & I’ve just finished the day’s work! Began
by raining hard—so just baked & washed up. The telephone fromfarm what has phone 21/2 miles off—boy brought the message. Donned
oilskins & set off full pelt through terrific wind & rain (west wind
though) to find out. T’was from Prof. Basset of Reading who’s here
too—coming s-east at end of next week. What fun! Then morewashing-up, swept various floors, washed windows, mopped up pools
on ledges (basin on one of the beds to catch the drips as in Ireland).
Then the 8-year old who takes coffee to the men mowing on themountain failed to make his appearance so I donned riding-breeks &set off with coffee & cakes in rooky about 6. P.M. Wild weather—
but a broken arch of rainbow over the dale and the white tablelands& dark peaks beyond were worth going out for. Tremendous wind up

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the mountain & the horse-path all slippery-mud—found the mowers
after a good hour’s ascent—they lay down on the soaking grass inpouring rain with oilskin coats over ’em like blankets & drank andate—losh—do they never have rheumatics? (apparently it’s not as
prevalent here as at home all the same!). The rain lashed down inearnest—no rainbow or sight of blue on the way back. Changed &set to to iron. Porridge at 10. P.M. Then washing-up—then guests
came four—more odds & ends & just finished last washing-up—Páll
talking the while of Strindberg, Dante & Shakespeare—on the woodenbench by the sink. What a man & he up since 6. am. & mowing like
mad in what we’d call weather not fit to send a dog out in—eating
his fish out of the pail & all & drinking coffee as hot as might be
expected after an hour’s walk up a mountain in an enamel can! Well,
well. And yesterday—hot again at first—what a long way off it
seems. We finished up the mountain-cut hay—binding it—between
about 10. am. & 7. p.m. Then home—helped Anna with clotheshanging out (had rinsed some with her before going up the hill—in
the stream—what a washing—of folk & everything including sheets& pillow-slips. Then—because we’d taken in all the hay from thehomefield—we had tö›ugjöld (a feast of hot cocoa & pancakes &jam (it costs 1/2 a lb here) & cakes & coffee—all at midnight—in
the sitting-room not the kitchen & we changed slightly—Páll put on
his socks & a coat & I me one other dress. We’d all been in thehomefield first thing & got that done in no time—t’was fun. Apparently you allus have this feast when all’s in thus. So to bed after 1.
am. & read till 2. am. as no time during the day. It clouded over up
the mountains but was better to work in. Feet bled a bit from thistles& short cut grass so decided to indulge in pair of sand-shoes (theycost 4/- here!) So when I got back from the hills nipped on to Haki
& cantered off to farm with telephone & where the Reykjavik rutebil
stops. Haki was like the wind—what a glorious horse to ride—& I
didn’t fall off—Páll was aferd I would! The saddle lopped all off to
one side but I didn’t even so—it was too loosely fastened. Saddles
often do that here & it’s a bit awkward sometimes if it happens in
the middle of a bog or halfway up a bank. And the dale mountains& glacier were aglow in the sunset as I came back. And they “thou’d”
me in the kitchen at Mulakoti when they heard I’d been raking &helping in the kitchen here. Now—sleep—. 1. 30. Sunday morning
early. Got yr letter to-day at Mulakoti—nice.

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Monday. 11. 30 PM.
Just got to bed—began at 8. 30. this morning. Baked for hour andhalf or so—washed socks (it pelted with rain so I rinsed em down in
the “cellar” alongside the salt fish & smoked meats & bones &chicken food & general litter—& banged ’em in the stream clad inoilskin coat. Then fed & washed-up—a lot this morning as there’s a“guest” here. Then ironed for hours. Then 1/2 hour off during which
I read some modern Icelandic. Dinner at 3. 15. P.M .—usual salt fish& rice—then washed—(no I didn’t for once as there was so much cut
I lepped off to rake—raked like mad with ten minutes interval forcoffee at 6. 45. P.M.—till 9. 30. P.M! And wet, heavy grass all up &down slithery slopes in rubber boots & trews & coat. Then home,supper of rye-bread & porridge—washed up—and then a grand wash—bath in my tiny basin (thorough, so it took no end of a time twenty
minutes I think), and so to bed. Oh—I am sleepy—& on the way
home—Páll asking all kinds of things about words—& me panting
to keep up down the mounting, let alone finding phrases to answer
him in Icelandic! Well—I may never write a book on the ancient
Icelandic woman but I do know a lot about the modern ditto country
woman. But I fair glowed with pride twice to-day. Halla said I wasa (untranslateable adjective—nearest approach “fine” country-wench
and Gisli the 14 year old grinned & said it was going well when I
was sweating away at the hay from 7.–9. 30 non-stop. And yesterday
was glorious. Up lateish—after 9. And only dinner to help get ready& washing-up & a little sweeping. And Sunday dinner—& I was in
the sitting-room with the guest—her sweetheart (I think) & Páll. And
at 2. 30 P.M. off we set on horse-back! It had poured all morning
something terrific & all night but cleared like April with blue sky &dark clouds & a terrific wind. And I rode Haki the best horse in this
district—you have to hold tight—he flies like the wind. Lord—it wasgood. And we called on the schoolmaster & he & his wife said I
spoke ágætliga (excellently) & didn’t believe I’d not been 2 months
here which cheered me because it is a damn hard language. I’dforgotten the grammar was so difficult & have been disappointed I
can’t speak better than I seem to. Then on the folk who own theexperimental seed-station—acres of oats, rye & barley blowing inthe south west gale—a rose out, pansies & marigolds—Sámssta›ir.
Then on Páll’s niece at ﬁverá where again we got coffee & cakes.
Then on the folk at Mulakoti to get my sandshoes—& again got
coffee for the 3d time! (But what with riding & all it’s welcome).

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And home about 9. 30. PM. Supper—washed up—after guest too whocame very late. Talked till 12. 15. am. bed at 12. 30. & read till
almost 2. am! (So no wonder I was sleepy when I began raking at 4.
P . M. after having worked almost 8 hours already! But time simply
flies.) Now a wee read & then sleep, sleep, sleep. How fat I wax
here—but I do be that hale & hearty. And Spain seems a long, longway off.
Wednesday 11. P.M.
Brrr–rr—cold and I’m not going to wash! I can only either night or
morning in my room anyway so to-night I chose to-morrow morning!
It’s rained no end since two days ago—my wig what rain. The yardof course is a mud-mire-bog impossible to poke nose out of doorssans rubber boots & hot porridge is good at nights. And most of us
have had slight colds (mine just in me throat) but it’s been goodagain. The latest “new” job was helping churn butter yesterday in an
old wooden pump-churn—you just bump a pole with a splay-end up& down in a narrow wooden high cone-like box and—hope for thebest & the best comes sudden-like. Also—small boys of 4 are justlike babies I discovered & in the midst of changing & washing one—came two folk from Lancashire to ask if I was there. When finished(being so of course involved a going to the manure-heap at the back)I entered into converse & found they were quite at sea with a prop
& stay in the shape of a girl who’d had 11 “hours” of English once!
So—we fixed up to “expedite” with Thorsmörk the next fine day—
if one ever comes now—& I went out a short while with ’em—it was
6. PM when they arrived & I was just off to the “meadows” on themountain with the men’s coffee. One can’t ride at all tho’: she’ll
never get the whole way so we’ll go slow at first & leave her halfway at a farm. The river is dangerous—with a powerful current &only for them as can stick on—I trust I can. Then—washing-up andodds & ends—darning & so forth & coffee at 11. PM with Halla
whose birthday she suddenly remembered it was. To-day, Wednesday, house-jobs—washing-up (much—very much of great pots &pans in the stream—the kind with rice-porridge & gravy that’s all
stuck & hard)—hurrah—because it ceased to rain & even looked as
tho’ to-morrow might be fine. And I sallied over to the “Lancashire
Lasses” (about 45 and 50 I should guess—one an inspector of elementary schools taught cooking once t’other in Manchester teaching French Spanish & German—very live—black hair brown eyes,

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humorous been to Russia, Romania, Lappland . . . . I liked ’em bothbecause they looked as tho’ they’d never do the sort of thing they are
doing & there’s much to both of ’em—real Lancashire folk—very
like some Icelanders methinks. I went over on “Old Bruni” thebiggest horse they have—alone ah–ha—& all was well ’cept that he
was damn hard to get up on to ... Icelandic saddles don’t stay put like
English ones—they slide down your near side unless you’re terrible
quick—& the moment your foot is in the stirrup away goes yourhorse! But I rode with one foot in stirrup & the saddle all crooked
for a bit & then managed to waggle the saddle straight—so I live &learn & didn’t fall off—& had opened “gates” in bogs en route.
Well—well—then I darned more & looked after Thorir (the 5-year
old “not there” who wdn’t go to sleep) & washed up and—talked a
bit with Páll about Icelandic plays & A “Winter’s Tale” & “12thNight—and so to bed. How I’d love the sun to shine again!
Friday. 11. a.m. c.
I’m in Mulakot the farm with telephone etc: and finishing this off sothat you get it before I arrive meself. The Nice folk from Lancs. are
posting it for me from Edinboro’. One is going to look up Maisie—
she teaches languages in Central School, Manchester—a live wire—
60 & I put her down at 45 at first!!) & she rides a horse and all gaily.
Maisie & she will get on fine. She’ll dry up & do anything in thehouse. We rode all day—blazing sun—to Thorsmörk over absolutewaste desert into a wood & glacier after glacier high above & beyond—lovely. Now—wet again—but yesterday was a day. Did few
chores before leaving and bed at 1. am. after coming back. Muchest
love to you—Páll & Halla are splendid people. How I’ve beengallivanting this week tho’—must make up for it now—when I getback home this morning. Jean.

On the quayside

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VII
August 31. 1936.
11. 30 PM.

Good & early—Halla said I could hop it at 11. c. so hop it I did. Well,
well what hasn’t happened since Thursday, when I did the expedition
to Thórsmörk with the two “old ladies” as the other two English(girls) who appeared here Sat’ called ’em! That was heavenly—
never shall I forget the sight of those glaciers—& the luxuriousnessof the little birch-wood after that trek over stones—great giant pebbles—& those swirling glacier torrents—I did go slightly giddy inthe middle once but looked up & along & all was well—it’s a queer
sensation—deafening rush of water round your boots & the horse
feeling his way backing agin it and it seems he’s being carried miles
down—actually it’s only a few yards. And, as stated, I was let goalone! Well—that was that day—only clearing away & washing-up& getting this bed & room ready for the less confident one of the two
who didn’t feel up to the half-hour to Mulakot in the dark—bed sometime before 1. a.m. Then Friday—walked to M. with her & talked
much with ’em both & stayed for lunch & so home—to wash up andbake, (took 3 hours that time 7–10 P.M.), and oh yes ironing camefirst for a couple of hours. Saturday, world’s worst cold developed
furioso—head hot & all tight—but what a day’s work in spite of it
all—washed socks, pots, sausage (one huge ’un wot’d been smoked& got coated 1/2 inch deep in sort fat which I had to remove in cold
drops from the tap! Then also—did rooms (heard 2 English girls
arriving—turned out of mine—bag & baggage washed floor, madebeds (not as simple as in England, you try wrestling with a “sæng”(floppy eiderdown wot has to be fitted into a “shape” envelope & tied
up & shook out smooth. Washed up, minded children—bloody noses& lost socks & cold-streaming noses—(while I was having 1/2 hour“off” reading part of a play—! First—Thorir had to be washed—face& hands—then Siggi warned not to wet his trousers (but he allus
does!) Then Thorir fell & hurt his nose—more washing. Then Halla
did the farm—cleared out cellar while I churned butter. But I thought
she said I was to put t’other hand on the spinning kettle-like object
her churn is—so I did & churned for 1/2 hour with the sweat pouring
down into me mouth even—gosh it was hard—I sat & stood &propped meself up agin things—and nowt happened. Then she came
& realised what was amiss—the butter came in 10 mins after that—

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59

but I turned with such vigour I broke a bolt thing which had kept
falling out before (that’s very Icelandic—the handle to my door
dangles from a nail in the wall of the next room on a bit of string—& the W.C. door has long since simply lain flat outside agin the wallso—“take up thy door as thou enterest”). Well—then I washed windows—in a tcupful of originally warm water. & dried ’em after.
Then the girls arrove & had to be talked to & while they were out
I got supper ready for ’em & had it with ’em. Then huge piles to wash
up—lots of stuff from the fields—done about midnight—& thenmended me riding-breeks wot ad “split” in two places—& so to bed,
but had to sleep with mouth wide open—cdn’t breathe for cold also
right ear ached—but slept quite a bit. Sunday morning washed up &got their lunch (chicken-soup & chicken & I had it with ’em at 11.
am!) ... they’d contemplated going same expeditn as we did Thursday. But it was raining so they had to cancel it. Washed up all therewas (the others’ things too) changed & set out with Páll & Ólafur (forMullakot & then) to a gorgeous cleft up the dale with a waterfall
dropping sheer 100 feet & more—& trees overhanging & a longgorge twisting & broadening—& the sun came out & the glacieremerged from mist & t’was good. I felt it was kill or cure the cold
& if I had to work I was going to play as well. Then off to a Sunday
Ball—at schoolmaster’s house—in the big room in the school. Everybody
from far & near there—& about 200 horses in field—good sight inthe sun. Schoolmaster & wife gave us coffee & we talked, (I could
scarcely, all ﬂ’s were their t’s but it wasn’t worse & the head was
better out in the air & I was riding Haki who goes like the wind I had
to hold in like mad all the way back—he got too hot on the way there.
Then they danced in the thing—scene like a Bar in the Middle Westin America (or is it Far West?) but not the rowdyism—at least not
while we were there—girls much impressed by savoir-faire of Icelandic peasant lads who asked ’em to dance without the slightest
embarassment etc: One was Joan Scott (Westmoreland & acts as
hostess to Dominion students in London) t’other Janet Wood who’s
studying singing Chelsea—lives in Croydon I think—nice young
things both of ’em, specially Joan Scott who’s been brought up on
horses all her life (but says English ones easier to ride—I think NOT
but we’ll see when I get back. How I love riding, & how Maisie
would enjoy careering along on Haki. Well—the sunset on the glacier
was a grey-rose flush—& a primrose moon came out above the snow
flush for a few moments before it rose into clouds (I’ve only seen it

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twice since I came to Iceland but I did see green curtains of Northern
Lights dancing about here twice). And we rode over to a farm where
there was still an old ba›stofa sitting-room—i.e. room with low
wood-gable roof (steepish pitch) & rows of lock-wood beds (3 a side)& in which everything used to go on—no means of heating cept
closed windows—& folk just sat on their beds—spinning, weaving,mending tools—knitting, bearing children, eating etc: etc. Also kitchen—
black as pitch—& filled with nice sort of smoke from dried sheep
dung—just a hearth & cauldrons on it—nowt else—& a delightful
woman there who received us with much dignity. Olafur wants topaint it (he’s the inn-keeper (but no drinks) at Mulakot & paints asa hobby—his biggest is in a big elementary school outside Reykjavík.
Then home in the moonlight—11. P .M. eat egg & rye-bread & so to
bed c. 12. 30 after talk about the day. Páll told us the legend about
Bliksá the place where we saw the gorge—while we were there—
There’s nowt that man doesn’t know! To-day Monday. Up 8. 45—
Páll walked into my room he [came] to get his screw tobacco—forgot
I wasnt in my own room!—then washed socks, & washed up—&then out to the mts to rake. (Had a better night tho’ cold very heavy
still—) & raked in blazing sun for bit—then it turned cold, put on
shoes & stockings & coat. About 6. P.M. heard that Prof. Bassett hadarrived. Nipped on the horse Thorir used to lead the train of hayhome & bolted down the mountain home—queer riding in gym-shoes& a frock—not much to grip with but he went O.K. & I’d not beenon him before—found Prof. B. & Brian his 16 yr old lad encamped—& asked about designs—They want to see Thórsmörk. Got them ameal—baked rye-cakes for 13/4 hrs—chatted a bit about their experiences—once a bus broke down & they arrived miles away from
Reykjavik where most folk wanted to go at 4 am instead of 9. P.M.!
Also—nearly into a river because the earth on road gave way at a
crucial bend. Slept on café floor that night. Then—put Siggi to bed(had to be 1st coaxed & washed—coaxing a bit difficult in Icelandic
but it went OK.) & he broke a porridge-plate before. Washed up large
piles again—& 11. PM. or just after—to bed, to bed. Cold a bit better—rubbed feet with castor-oil (remedy I’ve just heard of from the “oldladies)—Bassett much tickled at my present way of life—it must strikean outsider & one unfamiliar with ways Icelandic as a trifle odd—Iquite see—but I’ve imbibed much—Anna indeed spoke of “foreigners”
to me & I laughed, ... I’m one too but not quite she says ... of speaking& working with them. It’s fun to “belong”—now I must sleep.

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61

Wednesday.
Well, I dunno what Prof. Bassett thinks of my mode of life now—
last time I saw him I handed him—“the guests’ chamber-pot”! I think
he & his 16 year old son were more embarassed than I was—I was
NOT—& told ’em its name in Icelandic to make ’em feel more
Icelandic about it. The reason being it’s coming down in torrents &all their spare clothes they usually sleep in & on & about are wet
through ... they went to Thórsmörk—& got caught in this depression.
They arrived about 9. P.M. & after pulling off their boots (he wore
mine & I thought he’d never get out—he sitting on Gisli’s bed & I
sticking one leg round the door to get purchase to tug with—hanging
up their trousers chiefly over the electric fire in my room—giving’em said room to change in—feeding ’em on hot porridge bread &eggs & coffee—they decided it was too rough a night for the 16 yr
old to face—so we hauled the divan from my room into another nextdoor (Gisli’s is the entrance-hall to both—so is an Icelandic housearranged—& then they both sleep with the cupboard containing theextra clothes of Páll & Halla—the iron and rickety ironing table,some spare bedding & a desk. Since—I’ve washed up & made merrywith Halla over the way one gets better acquainted with one’s compatriots when abroad. And before that I’d been working all day since
8. 30. washing-up, baking rye-cakes (lovely—I sat on a bench doing
it for almost 11/2 hrs—nice rest), darning socks with holes you could
put your whole foot through, looking after Siggi (who didn’t wet his
trousers for the very first day since he’s come—I kept asking him if
he wanted to “pissa”—& Thorir who was in a mischievous mood,while darning socks & put him to bed just before they came. Poured
with rain so no raking for me, & swept floors & chased cows fromhay bagga & made bannocks for ’em. Cold a bittie better. Yesterday—got the Bassett pair’s meals (I do the setting of table etc:) &washed up—dressed Siggi—& washed up & baked and then at 3. 30
out to the hay-meadows miles up the mountain—in a drizzle & ahowling N.E. gale what fairly tossed the hay about. Home—(wore a
bit of sheep’s fleece I found lying about as a cap t’was for once too
chill to be entirely bareheaded as I’ve been allus since I set foot on
Icelandic soil) feeling the cold a trifle—I wish it’d hurry up & go I’mbored with it & it’s very difficult (indoors) when you’ve only 4 hkfs
altogether—outside you do as the Icelanders do—but revived after
hot porridge. Gave the B’s their meal, talked, gave the men from thefields theirs’—washed up everything, to bed about 11. 15—early for

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once. Now—nearly 1. am. must sleep. I think I’ll be wise & have awhole day in bed when I get to Reykjavík. Páll & Halla are being
splendid to the B’s—Páll himself took ’em to Thórsmörk a thing he’s
not done all summer. They are nice people.
Saturday. 11. 30. pm.
Well—nice to sit down. Didn’t at all to-day ’cept for meals from time
I got up!!! Dressed infants, washed up (all the stuff from “the meadows”—i.e. tin pail, wooden pail, enamel cans spoons forks & knives
wot had to be cleaned as in the good old days with an inch of emery
paper. Then washed window & door ledges chairs (all woodwork inthe sitting-room (which accounts for the faded look of much Icelandic paint!), got the B’s meals (they’ve fair enjoyed their week here
I think), fed infants (literally) washed-up (Halla baking most of thetime) got B’s more meals, gave men porridge & milk when they camein from the fields, washed oven-plates, washed-up, swept floors,
made beds, washed up, (NB it allus includes all the drying as well)washed cloths, scoured pots (poured all day so no stream—all done
under 1 tap which drips at rate of a teaspoonful per second only!) But
it has its advantages when you’re washing lettuce or spinach. I’ve
discovered. Washed up and scoured sink with boiling soda-water.
And so & so & so to bed. And yesterday—was much like cept thatat 2. P.M. I did set off for “the meadows”—& made hay gently—downin the bog squelch-squelch in a glorious weather (the sun was hot in
the morning) and felt strong & hearty, the cold being that muchbetter—no tight head or ear or throat, hooray. Made hay till about 7.
30. p.m. & the light on the glacier with a new covering of snow I’ll
not forget soon—nor the blue hills up the dale. Then home, gave B’s
their supper & baked rye-cakes all the time & gave men porridge (&ate mine while baking) & washed up & washed up & washed up. But
Thursday was different—I had the day off—that is in the afternoon
off we set for the place where they grow oats & wheat & barley &rye Sámssta›ir & the air was fresh & cold & it cleared up after rain—& there was new snow on the glaciers & on the jagged dark blue
peaks that suddenly stuck up round a bend in the road—over brilliant
green grass—lord it was beautiful. And the rye waved tall as a man
agin all that & the great glacier—& didn’t I understand why Gunnarof Lithend (in Njálssaga couldn’t bear to leave his home when he’dbeen outlawed & stayed—& got killed by his enemies. Then wevisited the farm with the old ba›stofa (I thought the B’s d like to seeLetters from Iceland 193663

it—& the folk were charming & offered us coffee which we refusedhaving already partaken of it at S.) And then—to the schoolhouse
where the schoolmaster’s wife gave us coffee (we were chilly & it
was good as it was 8. 30. p.m.) It’s glorious riding all afternoon likethat—easily & drinking in the loveliness & watching other folk workin the hay-fields. And behold coming home—a full moon behindmackerel clouds & it gradually swung clear so that the snow on theglacier gleamed blue—& we rode & rode—feet froze, the night wasso keen—& home—at a gallop the last patch of grass—by the hundred & one great and little waterfalls roaring & splashing down—thebest ride I’ve yet had almost. But the one you’ve just had is always
the best. But still to ride in moonlight with a blue glacier aglow ahead& white falls crashing on your left & a great expanse of stone & sandlit up by river-tracks shining in the light is an experience. Fed hugely
on sour meat, rye-bread, eggs, smoked sausage, bits of veal (newmeat) & coffee—washed up & bed about 2. am. much content. It’s
days like these that are so lovely & Páll & Halla just let me off likethat horse & all which is most decent of ’em. That’s two whole weekdays I’ve had “free” thus since I came. And ideas about this farmchange—the B’s said they didn’t think much of it at 1st but I guessthey do otherwise now—they had the best parlour to themselves all
day & it pouring cats & dogs & it’d have been no fun at all in a tent.)
Halla fights the mess with all her might but there’s just too much for
her to do. In how many English farms is all the woodwork washedof a Saturday afternoon I wonder—& windows & chandeliers & all?
And the men have a good wash in a minute enamel basin—heads &all. And—well, well, well, don’t they have an electric stove too—but
when you think that there’s only one woman to run it all—cook,
wash, clean, churn, milk, bake—(even the meat is kept away up thehill in a cellar place). I know now what it must have been like for
the Ancient Icelandic Female from my own experience—no wonder
she was often as she was. Now—I’m leaving on Tuesday I think. I’dthought I might stay the week out but now to-day came a letter from
Clo (Miss Clover of Cambridge) to ask me cd I possibly go to
Stykkisholm (up in the N.W.) to visit a schoolhouse where Dame
Bertha’s books are (she gave ’em all those the Univ. Liby & G.C.
didn’t get). And I feel I must & wd like to do that—it’ll be a pleasant
expedition—& I’d like another now after this “rest-by-the-way”! So
off I hop—& then for a “quiet time” in Reykjavik (?) before sleeping
all the way home.

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Sunday. 12. 15. a.m.
Bed again—after a glorious day! Wild wet windy night but no rain
early mg. Then up c. 9. am. and got the B’s coffee & helped get theirlunch ready & then ate mine with t’others in kitchen—salt meat &thick gravy potatoes followed by pink fruit porridge but for me skyr
(sour milk) hourly—it’s so much nicer. Then washed up, changed &ready by 2. p.m. for the excursion across the river-desert to a particularly beautiful waterfall—about 3 hrs riding fairly hard. Poured
with drizzle-rain at first & looked black but after we reached the fall
it cleared. Anyway it was lovely seeing the greens—what a variety
there are of green colours here—through the mist & being on horseback. I rode Haki again—lord how good it is to ride, ride, ride. And
the fall was joyous—it sprang clear & fell sheer in a spouting stream—and you could get in behind it—120 feet back or so in a sort of vault& see almost the whole 250 feet of it fall sheer & spray rising likethe steam from a geysir & it tossing about on the surface—what afall. Then out onto the grass again & away at full canter in quest ofcoffee what we had about 6. 30. p.m. at a farm where the mud is boutas thick & deep as it is here. Then gallop over bog & mud tracks &through streams to the largest rowan tree in Scandinavia (I shd say
Europe too). It grows out of a crack in a rock & its trunk is enormous& it overhangs a deep gorge with a stream rushing below. You canwalk across on its branches that span the gulf. And then down to the
fljot once more into the Thorsmörk onto black-blue through shifting
mist & the grass brilliant yellow-green. And we raced through theglacial streams—I wasn’t a bit scared this time—wished they’d been
deeper & the current more! One was fairly strong—& there werequicksands the guide’s horse sank into once—but he got out—black
quaking wastes—rather nasty & sts there are in the rivers whichmakes the fording a trifle difficult. There were about twenty or moreglacier streams to get over so t’was quite fun. And the going over the
shingle much easier than to Thormörk where you’re picking yourway over boulders so often. Gallop a gallop home with rain coming
on again—& a good supper of hot porridge, spinach & egg & salted
mutton & bread & coffee & milk (I fed with them). Washed up—&then Halla asked me about going away—she’s an awful lot to do thiscoming week—the B’s have of course hung up things like washing—& there’s much to do out in the fields too—& they’ve been terribly
decent about letting me ride—I’ve done more in my 3 weeks here
than all the rest of my stay in Iceland & they’re glorious horses—

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65

Haki the best for miles & miles—so I’m staying after all till next
week. I don’t really need so long in Reykjavík—I can always readat home & I feel that there’s been so much to do with English folks
these last 10 days that Icelandic has stood still—if not gone back &I’ve seen less of the folk here—and don’t want to leave thus—so allis well. I’ll do the Stykkisholm jy as quickly as possible & there’ll
still be 4 whole days in Reykjavik. And I shd like a last Sunday here
alone with the Icelanders. Good-night.
Monday. 11. P.M.
Early for once. To-days report—WASHED UP! Just dealt with thepails & cans from the meadows & all clean—even linoleum wot
serves as draining-boards wiped. It rained, it is raining, & it willcontinue to rain—oh I darned socks for 10 mins some time thisevening & sat chatting 20 mins with the B’s. I wish I had a tougher
hide—I do be all cuts etc: & a queer whitlow like finger but I
squeezed it & it’s better this evening. Dunno quite why I said I’d staynow, but there’s a queer fascination about all this—& anyway I’ve
burned me boats now—& a month is a real test. Good-night.
Tuesday. 10. 40. P.M.!
NOT 11. even & I’m in bed—washed up & all & “explained” his billto Prof. Bassett who’s off to-morrow after a 9 day stay here. These
last two days have been a bit dreary for ’em I’m afraid—just rain &rain & more rain & it’s not so noticeable if you’re busy—I’ve notbeen out cept to scour the porridge-pot in the stream (clad in oilskins!) And to-day I spent much time with ’em gossiping after
meals—two of which I ate with them. I like B.—his son (16) Brianspent most of the time sleeping on the sofa in sitting-room or in the
hay-loft. We talked Iceland, holidays, books & a spot about Reading
which again begins to loom up instead of being far, far away. Coldmuch better & pleasant to be about & finger improved tho’ hot a bit
to-night—I’ll put a new dressing on it. Wouldn’t it be nice if Siggi,
for once, didn’t wet his trousers etc:! And I ask him every time I see
him. Well, well. And Bói licked the Brisling tin to-night—without
damaging his tongue. They’ve no sweets of course out here so sardinetins & new potatoes & raw turnips take their place. I must send a box
from Reykjavík for the boys. Well—this’ll likely be the last letter
you’ll get from this country—& it brings you muchest love. I hope
all was well if that Swedish girl turned up from Reading. And

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Eleanor isn’t going to take the job—so you can let her know I did
get her letter day before yesterday only—no Saty—I may bring homean Icelander—to cook & clean for you in return for her food but it’s
not at all certain. Only for a bit & we’ll find somewhere else she cango later—she’s a capable lass in the kitchen & young & spritely.
Aged 20. (I’ll stand her keep). Phew—how it rains—poor Bassetts
packing a wet tent to-morrow. I’ll walk to Mulakot where the bus
goes from if it’s fine—nice to get out but better to be indoors the likeof this weather. Then—an enormous washing to get done this weeksometime—followed by ditto ironing but I hope I get out into thefields once more—if good weather comes. How very odd it’ll be tocease being “Johanna” & turn into a Miss Young from England
instead of Paul’s “Danish help from England” as I’ve been termed
here once (they tend to call all foreigners Danes! like the Empire
Butter joke). While baking rye cakes to-day or wasn’t it yesterday
I had an idea about my Inter lekks which was encouraging—I want
to change ’em & improve ’em. Well—well—good-night—keep well
& I hope the weather’s better chez-vous—but it’s not been at all badhere altogether—& the really good days are simply glorious becauseof glaciers & green grass & waterfalls & space.
Jean.
What fun this all is & what fun to come back to a different life again
too—this has been like taking part in an exciting film, but real.

Trekking

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VIII

11. 30. PM. Wednesday 9/9/36.
Just had a bright idea about late hours here—“an hour before midnight worth two after” etc:—well the clock here is 11/2 hr in advanceof the real time “wireless time” as they call it (so we can be out late
for the hay—it isn’t dark till after 9.)—so that 11. 30 is really only
10 P.M. (tho’ of course by “wireless time” we were up at 6. a.m!) sothat we do get in two hours before midnight. Just now the rain islashing down agin the corrugated iron roof and it’s well we got the
hay in that was only mowed this mg. I began at 7. 30 (or 6. a.m.) andescorted the B’s to catch their bus from the the farm 21/2 mls away.
Lovely mg—wild but sun trying to break through and the blue glaciermts glorious agin brilliant green grass. Chatted with nice old Gu›björg
the inn-keeper’s mother (the inn-keeper paints as a hobby—quite
well), then called in on another old lady Astrid & Professor Gordonof Manchester know—then home & washed up. Then helped get
dinner ready—ah–me—took me pots to the stream & dealt with ’em
there with great joy & satisfaction. Then washed socks—about 18 in
all this time soaked with mud—and they needed much banging on theflat stone with the wood clapper. Then went to fetch Thorir (the 5yr old) from the flat bit where they were working to-day about a mileaway west (they allus talk about E. & W. even in the house here—
isn’t it pleasant?) & they all came back—& the walk through the air
was good (it rained so Mon. & Tues. I wasn’t out at all). Thendinner—usual salt fish & potato & turnip & rice pudding. WASHED
UP & then out to make hay about 5. P.M. Terrific wind sprang up—
kind that made your nose drip even tho’ you hadn’t a cold so mine
did quite a lot (but it’s almost gone at last that cold). Wind got
stronger so it was almost impossible to rake—& we fought our way
home agin it—Coffee out—rather cold ... Halla brought it withThorir & it took a long time to come. On way home colouring glum—
kind you get before a storm—livid greens & blues & black clouds
over the dale & glacier—& queer shifting yellow light across thestone-waste where the rivers run. And the waterfalls running likemilk. And a bit of a rainbow leaping right out of the glacier. Baked
cakes for about two hours—while Halla & Anna began to wash (ina big zinc bath just at me elbow) & milked the cows. Gave me their
hot porridge—had mine—and WASHED UP and H. & A. continued
washing in the big bath—& so to bed at 11. PM. (Washed meself

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since—now very weary but much content. How queer it’ll be to cease
this purely physical life—it is so good & peaceful & restful—justobeying orders & working hard & eating lots & sleeping well. I wax
fat.
Thursday. 11. 15. PM.
Well—we washed—I got up lateish—sleepy after the long day yesterday—& Halla began washing almost at once—wet day so her big
bath & smaller with lid on the stove as it were “occupied” thekitchen. I WASHED UP and swept rooms—lor’ what a dust & allfeathers & hay do make—then time to send off the men’s dinner inthe pail & to have our own—salt meat for a change & very good I
found it. Oh—first thing before washing up, I took Thórir for a walkto visit his great-aunt at the next farm & she gave him 2 lumps ofsugar & off we toddled again through the fresh mg & the sunshine(it rained afterwards). Then I helped H. rinse everything in thestream—EVERYTHING including the men’s great dungarees—(whata weight!) and SACKS—just plain sacks wot’d had oats & stuff in’em. That took till about 8. P .M.
Friday. 11. 25. PM c.
At that point the girl of 16 I’m now sharing me room with finished
her ablutions so I set off on mine which were slightly more complex
and lengthy! Well—“about 8. PM ”. Then in to feed the infants of 5
& 4 & put the 5 year old to bed & he almost fell asleep on the pot(I wondered why he was such an awful long time—I learn daily).
Then gave men their supper had mine in between I think and WASHED
UP. And then retired with Anna’s daughter Sigrny (the 16 yr old).
She’s worked 2 yrs at a big confectioners in Reykjavik—bakes all
their fancy stuff—& is that capable—I’d take her to be 20 at least—
a nice lassie—big & bonnie—fatter even than I am at this moment—
fond of dancing & acting works 6. a.m.–5–6 PM. or 8. a.m. –9. PM (!)
for 50/- a month & gets 14 days “off” a year. My wig how they workup here—& her ankles swell up times with the many hours standing.
But she’s interested in her work & keen to learn more by coming
abroad some time later. She’s read Laxnes’ book the one l’ve talked
about a bit “Independent Folk” & thinks it good (it’s a “classic” I
spose we’d call it & that a 16 year old help in a baker’s shop shouldhave read it is typical of this country. I told her she’d have to dancewith Hrei›ar the 18 yr old to-morrow evening on Sunday he dances

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69

so well—& the wireless is allus switched on then—indeed every
evening & it’s pleasant to listen to whilst WASHING UP. Well—thismg up earlier soon after 8. and out to see the glacier emerging frommist in shifting sunlight—the green below looked so near in thatlight. Halla & Anna were milking their cows—Halla in blue Anna witha bright red jersey and a black overall—good colouring. Few mins
thus—then breakfast & then darning of socks—out well wrapped up on
the top of one of the stables—turf-grown (you see the cows wandering about the roofs at night of course). That was peaceful & good—
I only heard the waterfall up stream—can see it from here—and saw
the misty mountains. Then in & WASHED UP and despatched Gisliwith the meadow folk’s coffee. Then darned—then helped Hallahang out some of the clothes—exciting as it involved standing on
tip-toe on an object like thisdunno what they use ’em
for—but it bore me & the bars
didn’t break nor did theline. More darning—it tried torain—dinner—fish & ricethen WASHED UP—more darning. Oh—swept up two rooms & madebeds some time this morning—took in clothes from a terrific shower(it continued to rain heavily after that)—chased cows from garden,
darned, then ironed till about 8. PM . Then gave small infant supper(feeding one) put him to bed, had my supper—& sat down a wee
while—then WASHED UP and—so—to—bed. I just don’t know what
happens to the time here—Friday & my “extra” week here almost over.
Do hope to-morrow or Sunday’s fine too for the last sight of theplace. It wallows in green mud at the moment (from stables etc:) &the best way of getting to & from the stream is by walking along theturf & stone wall of the garden & giving the yard a miss but that takes
time so can’t allus be done. Made up me mind too to try to see Laxnes& tell him I’d like to translate his book for him, (if it’s still “free”
for English folk—it’s been done into German already), feel I’d beable to after this month ... now I know about this kind of life 1st hand& from inside. We’ll see. Can’t believe that at the end of this month
only a fortnight now I’ll be back in England & picking up the
dropped threads of a very different existence. lt’s been such fun to
be “Johanna at Árkvörni.” It’ll sound queer to be called Jean or Miss
Young again. And how very odd not to be called for & sent to do this,that & t’other. Páll very sympathetic about desire to translate Laxness—see little of him of course because I’ve been indoors all this week—
bad weather & better so—very wet raking. But there’s lots of hay cut
so I may be out tomorrow. Good-night. Sigrny is reading.

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Sunday ? a.m.
Too weary to scribble yesterday which ended about midnight. ltbegan by Halla bending over me & saying sg about a very beautiful
rainbow—I leaped up put overall over pyjamas and out—and it wasglorious. Spanned the whole stretch of country to the west—began
up the hill quite near & arched right out to sea and a complete double
one—with very high apex—& the sun gleaming on the glacier to thesouth & east—well I got up after contemplating that—& climbed thehill to the pool under the little fall—cold but that invigorating &refreshing to have a bath—soaped all over first—did feel clean.
Then—hung out rest of washing to dry—took time as it involved
fetching from grass by stream where it’d been lying (on dishcloths)& stretching up on rickety box affair for bedspreads & sheets. But
good to be out in sun once more—mist about and a little rain but notmuch till evening, washed muddy socks—stripped some beds—thenbreakfast—took a few snaps of this place & of Halla & Thorir (thelittle 5 yr old who looks quite normal when he’s laughing). ThenWASHED UP and baked rye-cakes and then, really because I’dstrongly hinted I’d like to rake this last day in the good sun and all—set off in boots & oilskin coat tied round middle plus gym-shoes plus
woolly plus camera—for the meadows—now almost an hour’s walkaway! And—the sun was pure joy—and I lay me down & rested a
few minutes en route & took snaps of one of the myriad falls spouting from the cliff-way—also of the glacier that was good with clouds& a little mist trailing away east. So I arrived on the field of action
a trifle late but feeling fresh—& raked with interval for dinner &coffee until after 8. p.m. And it was good. Grand to be out in that
good air. I slept a bit after dinner in the wind & sun (cold tho’ thewind was) and that was good to do. And the walk home throughcoming twilight with black rain ahead & the grey river ripping
through the black sand just the sound of the waterfalls & the curlews
gathering to move south was very good indeed. Got home & firstgave Thorir his porridge & egg (which he wdn’t eat) & put him to
bed and changed bed-clothes—then ate my porridge & excellent
chunks of rye-bread & dripping plus a bit of smoked sheepsausage—then sorted out meadow-stuff (spoons forks tin pail etc:)
and WASHED UP—including pail etc: which I took down to streamin black night with me overall to rinse. Did knives with emery paper,cleaned sink with boiling soda water—washed me overall & socks& stockings & then it was 11. P .M . Paul came into kitchen & talked

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about plays chiefly & I told him about Macbeth and Pirandello’s “AsYou desire me” which he didn’t know. And so—to—bed—& it’slashing with rain. And it’s pelting now but I don’t think it’ll be
impossible to get out—hope not at anyrate. Think I’ll get up—sowide awake now.
Well that’s it—
Reykjavík. Tuesday 10. a.m.(!)
Well—well—well. To-day feels like a huge blank sheet of paper andI can write just what I will on it losh! But what a month I’ve had—it’s as if I’d been re-incarnated pro tem. And it’s odd and good tothink I can lepp into that existence again one day if I will—tho’ of
course now I know ’em at Árkvörn it won’t ever be quite the sameagain. Well—Sunday was good. I woke as you know earlyish andwent to borrow the mincer from the farm half a mile away to the east.
And old Sigri›r (who nursed Prof. Gordon of Manchester when hewas staying with her once & got asthma) had a pair of gloves(designated for Eleanor or praps I’ll keep ’em ... Sigri›r knitted ’em& hoped I’d wear ’em tho’ I told her I wanted ’em for a friend) andI’ll get Eleanor a pair here—) ready for me and wdn’t take more than
4/- tho’ here they’re allus at least 5/- —and I ordered another pair(praps for Irène) I don’t think you cd do with ’em ... they’ve nofingers but they’re that warm & soft & a good pattern & the colourof the sheep here. Then I minced with Anna down in the cellar—it
took over an hour—had to be put through three times (the result
when you eat it is delicious) ... the salt stuff is so grisly and fat &when it’s soft it oozes out that slow. We got almost cross & then I
felt ashamed ... that’s such a minor thing really—and when I contemplate what Halla puts up with in the way of a tap that drips only etc:
etc:—Well—then H. said I’d better say good-bye to old Sigri›r(who’s Páll’s aunt) then as we might be late that evening so off I
went again after cleaning the mincer in the stream & then with acupful of boiling water (from the potato-pot). And we chatted overcoffee & cakes (at 12. p.m.) Laura S’s daughter & I & of course likeeverybody else L. wts to come to England. I hope by the way thatthat girl Finna doesn’t & that Sofía does—she may instead. She’s
Gu›björg of Mulakot’s daughter & a fine person is Gu›björg. Then
Gísli came to say that Páll was ready & they’d had dinner so I ran
back & bolted the minced-meat & spinach & sk‡r (H. knew I liked
that better than rhubarb-cornflower-porridge) & changed & out we72Letters from Iceland 1936

rode to Kollabær beyond the schoolhouse & had coffee about 5. 30.
p.m. Then home—and more & more folk joined us especially at
Mulakot. And there was mist driving about the glacier but the grass
glowed green and the pale sun struck the river so that it changed from
pewter to silver—all its myriad streams & channels amongst the grey
black sand & stone waste. Lord, lord, how I loved it all—and thewaterfalls crashing down the hillside all the way back, and the horses
tossing their manes as we passed—the untamed ones—they nevertame ’em till they’re 4 yrs old here—that’s why they’re so good I
think & the taming is very gradual & slow. And from Mulakot homethe last two miles I let Haki rip—and tho’ there were 11 of us there& some of the men had “lively” horses—Haki just outstripped ’em
all—and we charged over the hummocks. I’ve never had such a “valhopp” gallop before and enjoyed it to the full. I think Haki knew it
was the last ride and he felt the thrill coming through the saddle andme boots! And the farmer who came second asked with a grin if I’doften ridden like that—and wasn’t Haki a joy to ride. The snag is thatnext time I’m on at home I’ll forget I’m not on an Icelandic beastie
and I’ll find meself on me head on the ground. Well, then half the
farmers came in for coffee and Halla & Anna & I served—and we
ate porridge & rye-bread & mince-meat spread—and put Thórir tobed—with the door open to join in the talk. There was some ofdancing but they were oldish fellows most of ’em so rather to thechagrin of Anna’s 16 yr old daughter who changed nowt came of it.
Then washed up for last time and then packed. And Halla gave mea bit of stuff she’d spun & Páll had woven—like their chair-covers
in the “parlour” & it’d make a cushion-cover & I’ll use it at Readingat the Uy. It’s lovely to have just that. And Páll gave me the newillustrated edition of Laxdæla Saga—a rare book & bound and all—with “To Johanna, with thanks for the summer from Páll” in it. They
didn’t oughter do sich things. And Anna ironed my overall that I
washed partly in stream & partly at home, before bed. And so andso and so after talk to bed. I slept not very much—in view of going
and all—but felt spry in the mg & went out to say good-bye to themen—Páll & Thori and Hrei›ar & they all said “thank you for goodcompany” (as they do here ) and I watched ’em plod up the hill &up the mountain with the ropes & the enamel can of porridge & Páll
waved at the turn. And then Anna milked—and the yellow sunlightbegan to flood the green tún and the great waste beyond—and themist to shift over the glacier & Halla called me in to breakfast—ofLetters from Iceland 1936

73

many kinds of bread & an egg & smoked sausage & cakes & coffee.
Then—she decided to ride with me to Mulakot—my baggage wasrather heavy as it contained about 23/4 lbs of wool for a friend of
Eleanor’s plus book from Páll now—& she rode the colt Hrei›ar has
been taming a beautiful animal but still wild but all went well & sothat was one more ride—I rode in me tartan skirt which is so gloriously wide & only scratched a leg agin some barbed wire fencing
going through a gate for me laziness—the opening was narrow & I’da rooky 30 lbs & a bag on me shoulders & behind me & bumped a
bit as we rode. And the sun came still farther out—and at Mulakot
old Gu›björg gave me a bouquet of flowers from her garden—
Marigolds, then deep deep crimson Sweet Williams, then some otherold-fashioned white flowers—then blue pansies—a Victorian bunch—in concentric circles as it were—also some “everlasting” flowers(pinkish with yellow centres and rather like big paper daisies) to takehome to England. And “Vertu nú blessu› og sæl” (Be you now
blessed and happy” (a good salutation which they give when theyknow you well or you’re a relative) & off went the bus. But it stuckin the mud round the corner of the farm and Siggi the driver had toget a spade & dig it out. At the next farm got in old Erlendr Erlendsson
the old man of 81 who was hopping about at the “Ball” in theschoolhouse yon Sunday. He was coming to Reykjavik (1st time he’dleft his farm I believe) for his sister’s funeral—she was 79) and we
sat together & chatted all the way & I gave him half my chocolate
I bought at Ölfusaá stop—when I went to wash my boots in thetorrent—Thorsá ?Olfusá—my wig what a river—swirling & racing& milky-green-grey, and Ingolfsfell standing up dark blue & misty
under a grey sky. It’d been raining there. But the first few hours werebest—never have I seen so clearly—and Hekla which is hardly everclear—stood out quite naked from the plain in brilliant sunshine &then Búrfell & the ﬁríhyrning (Three Corner Mtn) & the range
leading up to Eyjafjalla glacier which was half hidden in clouds.
Lord—lord—& the distance t’other side all waste & here & there aqueer pink colour. Then the wind got up & it grew chillier & it hadrained much as we came west—splashing through the pools—& up
on Svínahraun (Swine Lava Field) mist and green shining grassamongst the lava—& Reykjavik grey & the wind swirling paper
about. And the rutebil took me right to the door of the nice chimneysweep’s. And it was almost like coming home they welcomed a bodyso and I told ’em a bit—and had coffee & then went out to shop—

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lots of presents to give all the folk who’ve been so nice to me—(I’dlike to send from home but a) there’s customs problems—everythingis duty-able and b) I’ll not have time once I plunge into this year at
Reading—)—& then discovered I’d forgotten money (... I’ve notused any for over a month now!) so wandered about a few mins
deciding what I’d buy. And then a voice said “Hullo are you here”(in Icelandic) and there was big Bjarni from Rey›arfirth in the east—
whom we met at Ásbyrgi & who took such good snaps. He said hethought I was in England by now & I said far from it & told him what
I’d done since Ásbyrgi (in July was it?) & we drank coffee & talked
an hour & then it was time for the evening meal with the nicechimney-sweep (they’ve just said I can go there any time I like formeals & it’s so much more fun being with folk & they talk less fast
& more distinctly than the country-folk—tho’ there are no “dialects”here) And I dried up. It felt so odd to sit down at a tablecloth & tohave so many utensils—plates & saucers & what not—& then thewater just gushed from their tap. And altogether it was most pleasant—for a change. Then at 9. pm I decided bed was the one & only
place & I cdn’t face the thought of going to Stykkisholm or any otherholm for a day or two—so here I be—after nearly an hour’s scribbling to you. I may go Friday but if I can find out what’s happened
exactly about Dame Bertha’s books here I’d rather spend this last
week peacefully in Reykjavík. My wig I was weary last night & slept
till 8. a.m. & then began thinking about presents & house-hunting in
Reading (!) so got up & made coffee from Mrs Særet’s present Café
Veige—delicious with the coffee-cream I bought from the milk shop
up the street. When I got here yesterday before sallying out to shop—
this is the “flat of Benedikt Jacobsson” the nice gym-instructorÁstrid knows—I found doors open—even of the clothes cupboard—someone had been in to “clean” & I slept with ’em open ... I’d only
the key to B’s room I found! It’s so like Reykjavik this—anyone cd
come in & walk off with anything! But no-one does. Now I must
“tidy” up a spot—all my gear is strewed about—& then shop & thenit’ll be lunch (dinner-) time. It was odd not to hear Páll waken Gísli
first-thing this morning. And what a gale last night—a terrific S.Wester fair tearing through the town. But grey & quiet this morning.
Summer is over though it’s not cold at the moment. I’m posting
this—you’ll get it just before I come I expect. I hope by the way that
I shall get home Sunday eve—27th but Prof. Bassett left a note to sayLetters from Iceland 1936

75

that his boat was a day late leaving Reykjavík so I don’t know. Mineis Go›afoss & due to leave 23d & sails to Hull. Fare thee well a wee.
c. 6. 45 PM.
Well—I must say there is sg that satisfying about spending when you
haven’t for over a month! I came in the other minute with exactly 2
English farthings and 1 Icelandic eyri! But I’ve done all me necessary shopping for presents here and got just what I wanted so feelmost pleased. Also wrote Astrid pages and had coffee with Júlia
another friend of hers and called on someone else who wasn’t feelingvery well (didn’t know the complaint—it sounded like “kirtles”) andso home to finish this before posting it. Haven’t heard from Finna
who was going to have sent a letter yesterday so may still turn up
minus an Icelander—but hope that Fía will come if Finna doesn’t.
Also hear that Dettifoss was 2 days late so trust & pray my boat’ll
be up to time but Prof. Bassett will have warned ’em at Reading—he was on Dettifoss—I may have to go straight to Reading—in whichcase I’ll come home for Wednesday night & part of Thursday—all
I can do—but I don’t want to miss Kathleen Steeds who’ll be there
the week-end before. So—praps see you Sunday–Monday 27–28—
praps Wednesday 30. I’ll wire on arrival in England. Muchest love
to all—Jean Johanna.

Crossing the riverGeysir

Bergﬂórshvoll

HallaPáll

Jökulsdalur

Hlí›arendi

TransportÁrkvörnThórir

Thórsmörk