Signe and Nils Brustrøm
Food had been rationed for some time and commodities were scarce. Some people watched to make sure no one got more than their share. The war caused many to be covetous. Nils was able to buy some sacks of flour and a few other staples.
Many a night little Hanna woke up to the clatter of knitting needles and saw her mother sitting up in bed knitting mittens, socks, and stockings. Nils caught salmon in the river and they traded it for other staples: sugar, grains, flour, and other foods.
They had a few sheep and cows that gave them milk. Signe churned butter and made cheese and gomme. They dried and salted their lamb, and during the summer they picked wild strawberries. When fall came, they roamed through the woods and gathered blueberries and lingonberries. From these, Signe made juice and jam. Since they lived close to the wilderness and were an industrious family, they were better off than many, and shared generously with others.
The war moved steadily closer to their valley. When Jan Baalsrud was brought to the cave in Skaidijonni, Nils Brustrøm became involved with helping him, and he began to disappear from the house at regular intervals. Signe constantly prepared food. Hanna’s mother stood by the kitchen counter, which was just about Hanna’s eye level, pouring food into the transport pails. Nils took the pails and skied up into the valley, sometimes toward the south, other times toward the east up the mountainside, and now and again he crossed the fields straight toward the steep mountain to the west of the valley. It was all a decoy to fool anyone who might see him. The food and provisions were taken to Jan in the cave.
Nils was among the group of helpers that regularly visited Jan with food and other supplies. He was an energetic and happy fellow who loved to tell stories and sing all types of songs both for his family and for Jan. His bright outlook on things was a boon to Jan’s sagging spirit and loneliness.
Signe became known as “the cook,” since she cooked most of Jan’s food. Several other women in the valley helped with the cooking or brought their food to her to be cooked, but Signe prepared it all for transport, and Jan was the grateful recipient. They gave him of the best they had, soups made from fish, dried meat, salted lamb, milk and homemade breads.
Jan expressed concern to his helpers that he was taking the food away from the children and that he would be happy with fiskesø, the water that the fish was cooked in. They assured him they had enough to go around.
The helpers liked to have two men go together for safety, but sometimes Nils went by himself. During those times he spent a little extra time visiting with Jan. They talked about family and the news of the war and everyday things. From time to time Nils and the other helpers brought Jan ukeblader, weekly magazines, or books to shorten the hours when he was alone. And Nils taught Jan some lively songs, making their times together memorable.
Typically the trip up and back from the cave took about four hours from the Brustrøm house. For safety the trips were most often taken late in the evening, and these excursions often lasted the whole night through.
It was rough and dangerous terrain and provisions hampered their progress occasionally. Usually the helpers took a path close along the out-of-the-way river until they reached just below the cave, where they secured their skis in the snow by the river’s edge, then climbed the steep slope up to the cave.
Jan always looked forward to hearing the helpers call out the password, “Hello Gentleman!”
“Hello, hello!”
He was armed since he never knew who might be calling on him. When he heard someone coming he became tense and alert. One could never be sure that the enemy had not followed and spied on his helpers. Jan’s gun was beginning to rust because of his swim in the salt water at Toftefjord.
“Nils what are the chances that you can restore this gun?”
“I would think they are pretty good,” Nils winked at his friend. He took it home, cleaned and polished the gun and brought it back. Jan’s happy countenance when he saw the gun was reward enough for Nils.
“Tusen, tusen takk!” Thousands and thousands of thanks!
When Jan’s helpers left, he listened to the last sound of their movements until the stillness of the vast wilderness blended with his own solitude. The sounds of the wind rustling the trees around the cave and the Manndalen River babbling below lightened his burden. A fondness for the place and its people was kindled and Jan felt a new desire to live emerge from somewhere deep within.
Jan had a lot of time to think and often rehashed the events which led to Brattholm’s mission.
Jan thought of what a difference Eskeland, Blindheim, Salvesen, and he could have made toward the war effort with their planned sabotage actions against the German installations had they not been betrayed. The soldier wanted another chance to fight the Germans. He had to get to Sweden and then back to England. He was beginning to trust that the Manndalen people would be able to get him the rest of the way to freedom, and then he would fight again.
The Germans had an inkling that secret activities were taking place in the inner Troms District, but they had never been able to pin them down. Periodically they sat for hours in secluded areas with their binoculars, scouting for fugitives on their way to Sweden.
One morning, German soldiers crowded into the little Brustrøm house in the upper Manndalen Valley. They had come to arrest Nils but he had gone to take food to Jan with Olav Fossum. When the soldiers spoke to the children in broken Norwegian, the children pretended to not understand them. Signe was told to go and milk the cows. She protested and said they had been milked a short while ago and that there was no more milk. One of the officers reached for his gun belt. Signe grabbed a pail and ran down by the fence to milk the cows. The Germans drank the unstrained hot milk as fast as she could milk it. She was forced to pull the udders until every drop of milk was gone and the animals became fidgety.
Olav’s father, Ole, was visiting the Brustrøm farm. In the confusion, he slipped away unnoticed on horseback. He galloped along the river until he reached the valley floor where he knew Nils and Olaf would be returning. On a piece of birch bark he wrote, either in Sami or Finnish, a warning that the Germans were approaching. Nils and Olav discovered the bark and hid in the thick forest. A short while later they heard the Germans as they passed them on the way up the valley. The Germans never returned to look for Nils.
To secure food for Jan every day and to bring him clean and dry clothes was a big operation. His helpers felt that it was important that they stay awhile to break the monotony for him. All involved had their assigned work. They were careful not to send the same people through the valley every day, eliminating the cause for suspicion.
Not only did the men in Manndalen contribute to Jan’s welfare but the women did as well. In addition to Helene Mikalsen, who wove the coverlets for Jan, and Signe Brustrøm, who became known as the “cook,” there was Eliva, who later married Peder Isaksen. She was a courageous and trustworthy woman who knew about the operation all along and supported the men, as well as helped to obtain food and to cook.
And there were Marie Olsen, Olaf Olsen’s sister, and Marie Holm down in Samuelsberg, a small hamlet in Manndalen. She and her husband had run a small grocery store together. When he died, she continued on alone. She was a tremendous help in gaining access to groceries so that the women could prepare food for Jan.
Together with several other women, they all participated in this dangerous work, always performed in secret. A slip of the tongue, one false move, and all their work could unravel before their eyes. The whole village could be burned to the ground.
Peder Pedersen
Isak Solvang
Nils Nilsen
Marie Fossen Olsen
Marie Holm
Eliva (Hansen) Isaksen
Helene Mikalsen and her three children, Magne, Anton and Ella.
The Nilsen brothers. From left: Nigo, Ole and Hans.
THE SHERIFF’S ASSISTANTS
LYNGSEIDET, MAY 1943: The tranquil village o
f Lyngseidet reposes amidst small farms and mountain slopes on three sides; to the west it fringes Lyngenfjord. It is the largest and most populated village in the area, and until the war, a place where tourists loved to come.
During the war, Lyngseidet swarmed with Germans. They were quartered at the village’s two schools.
While Jan lay hidden in the cave at Skaidijonni, knowledge of him and the activities surrounding him had somehow seeped out. No one to this day knows how it came about.
Nonetheless, one day during May 1943, a black-clad lady was aboard one of the local ferries writing a letter. When finished, she quickly sealed and stamped it and dropped it in the ferry’s mailbox.
The next day a letter arrived at the sheriff’s office in Lyngseidet. Three men worked in the office – the sheriff, who was a Nazi, and his assistants, Halvard Halden and Hans Larsen.
Halvard Halden, one of the sheriff’s assistants
On this particular day the sheriff was out of the office when the mail arrived. The two assistants noted the letter that had no return address and had been posted on the ferry. They became suspicious and discussed back and forth how to handle it.
Halvard asked, “What shall we do with this letter?”
“Let’s open it,” said Hans.
“You know the consequences?”
“Jaja. Open it!”
Carefully they opened the letter and removed it contents. They huddled together. It read:
Dear Sheriff,
I want to inform you of a happening in Manndalen, which should be of great interest to you.
Somewhere in the Skaidijonni Mountains, I have been told, a wounded English soldier lies in a cave. Several men and women in Manndalen are nursing him back to health. Daily they take turns bringing him food and provisions.
I believe I know who some of them are and will be happy to share this information with you.
Sincerely,
Fru…………………….
The two men fell silent and still.
“The sheriff must not see this letter,” said Halvard.
“You’re absolutely right!” answered Hans.
“Let’s take a moment to get our wits about us.”
It was a rather chilly day and the black wood burning stove in the corner crackled cheerfully. The same thought occurred to each of them and they nodded to each other.
“Let’s burn it!”
“If we do, we must act as if such a letter never arrived in this office.”
“I know nothing.”
The flames instantly engulfed the letter. Nothing more was heard from the mysterious writer.
The spontaneous, daring decision made by the two patriotic men, Halvard Halden and Hans Larsen, saved Jan Baalsrud and many men and women in Manndalen from certain death. Since so many in Manndalen were involved, many people would have been executed and most likely the village would have been burned to the ground.
Ironically, in the fall of 1944 when the Germans retreated from the Troms District, they followed a “scorched earth” policy. Tore Hauge says in his book, They Burned Our Homes, “No one believed that Manndalen would be burned and it came as a shock to all. But the Germans systematically went to work with their gas cans and matches! Within a few days Manndalen was no more.”
The one thing the people of Manndalen could be grateful for, despite the suffering and heartache the people endured, was that no lives were lost. And they had the inner satisfaction of having played a major role in Norway’s longest escape story from World War II.
None of Jan’s benefactors in Manndalen knew anything about the letter. But they were concerned about people noticing the many trips the helpers made up into the mountains, always with filled knapsacks.
Far up in the valley there lived a man who liked to talk. He freely conversed with anyone on any subject, and especially about things which were not his business. It was obvious to Jan’s helpers that he was a dangerous man. One of the resistance men, Ludvik Nilsen, visited his home one day for the purpose of getting this man to keep his mouth shut.
Ludvik Nilsen
“I have learned that you spread rumors about things that are not your business,” said Ludvik. “When the sheriff and the Germans come to question you, I am telling you here and now what you are to say. Listen carefully, and then repeat after me verbatim. If you say as much as one word that I have not instructed you, I will return with some men. Your days will be numbered!”
An angry Ludvik dictated, and the man repeated sentence after sentence, verbatim. The man clearly understood what Ludvik meant.
In spite of all the careful planning, the rumors of all the trips the men in the village were making further up into Manndalen still reached Sheriff Marvold’s ears in Birtavärre from other sources. Sheriff’s assistant Hans Larsen was asked to make the trip across the fjord to Manndalen to try and find the cause of the rumors. According to the rumors, Peder Isaksen was one who had to be investigated.
Hans Larsen came to Peder’s home. “Do you know Aslak Fossvoll, Peder Isaksen?”
“Yes, I know Aslak, at least well enough so that when we meet, we visit for a minute or two.”
“I have heard that the two of you go into the mountains from time to time. I am not sure what you do up in the mountains, but I assume that you are hunting for the mentally ill man that disappears in the mountains from time to time? Is that right?”
Hans Larsen was a good man and did not want Peder to get in any trouble. Hans was suspicious that Peder was involved in something top-secret, but he tried to help him out of the tough spot by planting another thought in his mind.
“You are right,” Peder said. “We continually have to go hunting for the deranged man that disappears all the time.”
The sheriff’s assistant was satisfied. Once again he had saved Manndalen from a catastrophe.
The village buzzed with whispered rumors. Some guessed some things were going on, others knew. The situation worsened when two quislings from Lyngseidet arrived a couple of days after the sheriff’s assistant had been in Manndalen. They came hunting fugitives. They requisitioned a horse down in the valley and started on their way.
What could have been a bad day for Manndalen gave the village people a story to chuckle over for some time.
A young girl was coming down the road, and the quislings asked her for directions to one of the people they planned to interrogate.
“Don’t ask me. I don’t know anything. I am just a child,” the girl said and skipped away.
Next they met an elderly lady on her way to the store. They stopped her and asked if she knew an Olav Olsen. He had escaped from a German camp in Skibotn.
“No. I have lived in this village all my life, but I am not familiar with that name.”
The woman was Olav Olsen’s mother.
The men continued upwards into the valley and came to a small farm where a man was sawing wood. On one of his feet he had a boot and on the other a kommag, a soft boot made of reindeer hide and worn by the Sami. The man was known in the village as a man who was a little confused and muddled.
“We understand you have several sons. Where are they?” the quislings asked.
“Ja, I have five sons, and they have all escaped to Sweden. Soon I will follow them.” The man was a bachelor and did not have any children.
The men continued up into the valley to find the man who was the easy talker (the same man whom Ludvik Nilsen had visited with a warning). The man himself was not home, but his wife was. The quislings asked when she expected him home.
“That man is crazy, and there is no reason to question him,” she said. “He just talks nonsense, and he can be real dangerous if he is pressed. If you’re wise you will think twice before you interrogate him,” she continued.
The quislings decided to call it a day. They returned the horse to the owner and they confided to him that they thought most of the people in Manndalen were screwballs.
The Brustrøm’s home
The old wo
od-burning stove on which Signe Brustrøm cooked Jan’s meals
DO NOT ASK ME THIS
FOLLOWING ONE of his pleasant visits with Jan, Nils Brustrøm was about to leave the cave.
“What can I bring you the next time I come, Jan?”
“I am remembering Signe’s delicious fish soup, maybe with a couple of nibbles of meat?”
“No problem.”
“And…” For a split second Jan hesitated.
“Yes Jan? You know we will try and do anything for you.”
Jan looked at him pensively.
“Will you cut my rotten toes off?”
Nils’ face paled. His mind raced. Speech left him. He just stared at this ill, suffering man who needed help. He weighed it all in his mind. Several times. Quietly he spoke up.
“Oh, Jan! You know I’ll do anything for you. But please… don’t ask me this. I don’t have the heart.”
“It’s okay. But you’ll bring me a sharp sheath knife then?”
“I’ll do it.”
Nils reflected upon the reason Jan wanted a sharp knife while he plodded homeward along the river. He had no problems guessing how he would use it. Jan soon had both his wishes fulfilled. Nils brought both the delicious fish soup and the sheath knife on his next visit.
Jan devoured the soup with gusto. Both Nils and the other Manndalen men had noticed how Jan, almost imperceptibly, was gradually gaining strength and becoming healthier and more jovial every day. Nils watched him with satisfaction. It was good to see their labors paying off with such a meaningful dividend, though they all realized he was still a very sick man.
Their friendly visit ended, and when Nils parted with Jan, he left the sharp knife.
On his way down from the mountain Nils spotted a German patrol coming up the valley. How could he get out of this tight spot? There was no easy way to explain what errand he had been on - and what about his tracks? He grappled for a solution.
The 12th Man Page 28
