The world was a different one from today at the time when I went to grade school and secondary school. One thing that would seem shocking today – there was obligatory classes in Christianity. It was not teaching of different religions, but Christianity and nothing else. The teaching of Christianity (kristendom) changed in the sixties and became ‘knowledge of religions’ (religionskunskap). Obligatory teaching of Christianity would have been impossible today for obviousreasons, since there are students who are not Christians at all. There are Muslims, atheists, and not all the so-called Christians are Lutherans either.
Goodness, in grade school, we even read parts of the Bible, here and there, only the New Testament, and we had to learn hymns by heart. How backward could they be, the people in the education department who made the decisions concerning our school curricula! Those were indeed the Middle Ages. Only in the last year of Gymnasium did we learn a bit about other religions, but not in any depth at all.
Every year from the first grade in elementary school and through to secondary school graduation, studentexamen, Christianity was a compulsory subject. Two hours a week, on par with history, geography, biology and such learning subjects. More important subjects, such as English and Swedish got three or even four hours a week. The one and only subject that was ever taught five hours a week was Latin in Gymnasium.
A special honorary paragraph is due here to our incredible English teacher.
Her name was Stina Lindeberg and she was no doubt the most outstanding English teacher in all of Sweden, certainly at the time. We had the same teacher from our first year of English until graduation, that is six years, simply because she insisted on staying with us.
The way she motivated us was remarkable. I believe that most of us saw it as a given that English was our most important and also our favorite subject. In Gymnasium there was no more piecemeal homework. She lent us books of her own; we picked one we thought looked interesting and we read two-week assignments. At the end of an assignment, we gave a summary report to the class about the section of the book we were reading. English was the language that was spoken in the class. It did mean, for me at least, a lot of cramming on the Sunday before the report was due in class, but I accepted that without any problem. The advantages to this system were enormous.
In fact, I remember now that this started with ‘Winnie the Pooh’ in one of the lower grades. One at a time, we read a section of this wonderfully funny book, and one at a time we gave a report to the class. As a parenthesis, my close friends Aina and Harriet had to repeat a year because they flunked Latin. Laziness certainly since they were both bright. They decided to change schools and continue at Katedralskolan in Lund. Their English grades soared from medium/good to the top grades.
Stina Lindeberg’s classes were used not to check homework but for conversation and discussion. What a difference from our boring and incompetent German and French teachers. “Siv, Karin, Gertrud…,read / translate today’s text!” Even if I hadn’t prepared it, I think I usually managed fairly well to give a satisfactory performance. Except one time when I was caught not having even taken a look at my French homework.
We were reading Prosper Mérimée’s Colomba (or at least I think it was Colomba), but today I don’t remember in the least what the story is about. And still I had to teach it myself when I substituted for one term in Helsingborg lycée for girls in the fall of 1957, teaching French and Swedish. I had no say in the choice of book to read with the class, and so I was stuck with Colomba.
One day I was caught red-handed. “Siv Molin, translate today’s text!” said our French teacher, Anders Billquist. (The male teachers addressed us by our full names back in those days. What a drag!) The text I had to translate was about Colomba who had spent the night sleeping in a cave. As he woke up he caught sight of a lion who had also been sleeping in a far corner of this cave. Seeing the lion, “il se dressa sur son séant”. I forged ahead and guessed “He got dressed sitting up…”. General laughter and I’m not sure that our kindly French teacher Billquist even shamed me for not having done my homework.
German was the same. Why this pedagogically ignorant preference for boring books that were uninteresting to us and often far too difficult? Why not try to motivate us by having us read books we would enjoy? I later chose to read La Symphonie pastorale by André Gide as my special project, and I loved it.
We referred to our teachers by their last names only, when talking about them, which John finds very odd. No Mrs or Miss or Mr. Until the day of the baccalauréat this wenr on, or maybe rather at the big dinner party we held for all our teachers in a very nice restaurant outside of Malmö, with sketches, singing and good food, when we were officially told that now we should say ‘du’ to them, and use first names.
At this party , what I remember best was my beautiful and top student friend Karin and I doing a singing skit where I was the countess sitting on a chair and Karin was a troubadour who came in through her window. The husband-count is supposed to be away on a crusade (horrible things), but suddenly, as the countess has invited the troubadour into her room with the open window, the count comes in through the hallway, etc. It was really funny and everybody seemed to appreciate it. WE talked about it later at a student reunion, but we could not remember who was the count. A friend called Harriet said she was the count, and later Karin and I both said “Impossible. Harriet can’t sing.” We still don’t know, but there was a lot of laughing.
Getting back to our English classes and incomparable Stina Lindeberg – My great friend Britt recently told me a thing that had completely escaped me. As students joined our Gymnasium classes from other schools and were subjected to English classes where only English was spoken and where you were expected to speak it fluently, some of the newcomers literally broke down in tears.
However, they were intelligent students and little by little they caught up. In those days, the students who went through Gymnasium to pass the baccalauréat were all select, and through all the written and oral exams we had to go through, and the cramming for the orals, if there were any weak students they fell through in those exams. In all of Malmö there were only 30 girls graduating that year, but I am sure the numbers kept increasing, and very soon the final exams were done away with.
There were only two branches in Gymnasium in my days, the Latin branch (Latinlinjen) and the math-and-science branch (Reallinjen). Very soon thereafter a new branch was created, called the general branch (Allmänna linjen) where neither Latin nor high-level math was taught. In French the word is filière and there are numerous different filières today. They also still keep the final exams.
One more thing that today seems medieval was the morning prayers both in grade school and in secondary scholo (which I call lycée since it has very little in common with U.S. high school). Listening to a brief sermon and then hymn singing. A girl in my class played the organ on the balcony of the auditorium, while we all sang from our hymn books. Oh my god! What a backward era this was. Did they do the same in Germany I wonder, a country that influenced our culture so very heavily? Or were Nazi morning assemblies exclusively dedicated to patriotic lecturing and singing? Very likely.
In secondary school, right at the end of the hymn and after the person who had given the little sermon had stepped off the podium, our elderly woman principal, Marianne Mörner, would often get up on the podium and firmly tell us, in no Christian tone of voice, things such as “I wasn’t will not see gum-chewing girl in my school, and the only difference between a gum-chewing girl and a cow is the intelligent look in the eyes of the cow.” I bet she thought she had found a very clever way of expressing herself. There was usually some kind of strict rules of that kind being spelled out to us by tall and sinister-looking Marianne Mörner after the hymn singing had died down. But only just died down.
Mademoiselle Mörner had been the principal of our school ever since 1929, long before the major and modern addition to the old school was built. She was a linguist and a docent in Romance languages at Lund University. Now she became the ‘mother’ of all her secondary school girls and the number grew every year, as more and more girls went on to studentexamen. Here is just a little incident that shows Marianne Mörner’s other side.
In the lower grades, junior high school or so, we had sewing for our first two years and cooking the third year. In second grade we were supposed to sew a dress. Aina and I thought it would be nicer to make a skirt and a blouse, so we were of course allowed to do that. I learned to sew on an electric machine, since at home we only had a treadle machine. We made red wide skirts and white blouses and they really looked very nice. One day we were wearing them in school both of us, and as we walked down the hallway, here comes Marianne Mörner towards us. She was so delighted to see us, two nice-looking little girls in identical outfits, that she stopped and talked to us. She was over-brimming with delight when she learned that we had made them ourselves – in sewing class.
Mörner, as we usually referred to her, retired the year we entered gymnasium, 1948, and I believe the school that same year ceased to be a partly private school. It also soon thereafter ceased to be a girls’ school only. Bertil Block became our new principal, and the school gradually lost its exceptionalism.
Marianne Mörner was a tall, skinny spinster whose only close friend on the faculty was Ingeborg Tegnér, my philosophy teacher and my sister Gun’s English teacher. This dried-out little woman was the descendant of our ‘great national’ poet, Esaias Tegnér, one of the most outstanding members of the Gothic League (Götiska Förbundet), from the early 19th century – an association of poets and writers who had clear nationalistic and patriotic features, an attempt at reviving the Viking spirit. Oh well, worse things have happened in history. The two spinsters found great satisfaction in knowing that they were both members of the Swedish intellectual and social elite. Mörner’s father was Olof Stellan von Mörner, Ryttmästare (officer in the cavalry) at a German regiment and owner of vast properties in Germany as well as in Sweden, inherited in his family from the 16th century.
In the late 1990s when I was working on a big project about the escape over to Sweden of Danish Jews, which began in October 1943, I managed to get an academic paper from a library in Uppsala about Nazism in Sweden during and before World War II. I read all sorts of books on the subject of Danish Jews and even rescue organizations for German Jews set up in Berlin, and I was fascinated by my project. In this paper about Nazism in Sweden – what did I find? Marianne Mörner was one of the pillars of the aristocratic Nazi party. I wasn’t surprised. There were at least three different Nazi parties in Sweden at the time, and one was especially dedicated to Swedish aristocratic admirers of Hitler. The three parties, for workers, farmers or the upper classes, were all named National Socialist this or that.
This woman had a historic ancestor, Baron Carl Otto Mörner (Friherre Mörner), the man who took it upon himself in 1810 to go to Paris to ask le Maréchal Bernadotte to become the Swedish Crown Prince. Prince Karl August, son of the present king, Karl XIII, had suddenly died and various political groups were vying for a candidate who would suit their own ambitions. Baron Mörner cheated them all by hurrying to Paris and persuading Jean Baptiste Bernadette to become the Swedish Crown Prince.
Bernadette was one of Napoleon’s marshals and he had even taken over Napoleon’s own betrothed, Désirée Clary, and married her in 1798. When he now made his entrance into Sweden, he was accompanied by his wife Désirée, who became the Queen of Sweden a few years later, one big step better than being Napoleon’s betrothed, especially since Napoleon in the meantime had married Joséphine de Beaumarchais. As King of Sweden from 1818 Jean Baptiste became Karl XIV Johan. He governed Sweden for 34 years, but he never learned to speak Swedish.
My research about Swedish Nazism took me much further, however, than to the upper class National Socialist party of which Marianne Mörner was apparently a pillar. As I already knew, Sweden made a pact with Hitler, promising to deliver iron and arms, (cannons from Bofors, Boforskanoner), allowing German trains to carry soldiers and arms through Sweden to Narvik in the north of Norway, and to generally look the other way when the Germans needed their silent collaboration. So much for Swedish so-called neutrality. I now learned much more about the stand-off position of Swedish bourgeois Jews, who kept a low profile during the war years – be they Bonnier or Josephson – and the general fear of the Swedish war-time coalition government to interfere with Nazi plans.
Denmark was an occupied country very different from Norway or the continental German-occupied countries. Norway was of course ruled by the collaborator Vidkun Quisling, but the country was teaming with resistance fighters, many of whom made their way into Sweden across the border in the middle and the north that was not very distinguishable.
The big difference was that Germany was very much dependent on Denmark for food for the military, and so this fertile country got special treatment as a ‘good’ occupied nation. Until October 1943, their Jewish population was left undisturbed, so as to show the world what a benign occupier Germany really was. It got to serve as a model, and the Germans pointed to Denmark as proof of their harmless intentions as an occupying power. Sweden went along, and it even happened that German Jews, via Denmark, who had managed to make it over to Sweden, were forced to return to Denmark. All this suddenly changed in October ’43.
In September 1943, a drastic order was issued from Hitler personally. He suddenly decided that all Danish Jews were to be rounded up and deported to German concentration camps. This took place during the night of Rosh Hashanah, October 1. However, thanks to Georg Ferdinand Duckwitz, a German working in Copenhagen as a naval specialist for the German transportation department, the dreadful news was leaked to Hans Hedtoft, president of the Danish Social Democratic Party, who then told Rabbi Marcus Melchior about the urgent need to spread the news among the entire Jewish population, especially in Copenhagen. This took place just two days before the fatal night. Most Jews managed to go into hiding, some just with neighbors, others with families they vaguely knew in the countryside.
It was also of great importance to the fate of the Jews that the SS forces in Denmark were far from sufficiently numerous to really guard the coastline to Sweden. Many of the German soldiers and most of the Danish police purposely looked the other way when refugees were sighted near the coast or transported inside a truck along the east coast.
The 95% of the Danish Jews who were saved went through enormous ordeals to finally make it over to Sweden, mostly in small fishing boats and even canoes. Quite a few refugees drowned on nights when the winds were rough in the Sound. But 7,000 Jews out of 7,500 made it safely across the Sound, which must be considered as something of a miracle. Most of the remaining Jews were sent to Theresienstadt concentration camp in former Czechoslovakia and actually came back unharmed at the end of the war, thanks to endless involvement by the Danish Red Cross who regularly checked on the living conditions at the camp. And finally there was the remarkable rescue of thousands of prisoners from that camp by Folke Bernadotte’s White buses. More about Folke Bernadotte and his White buses below.
The Swedish government learned about the radical change in the German stand concerning the Danish Jews at the time when Germany was factually a broken nation on all fronts. Even so, Hitler went on giving orders at Stalingrad “Not one step back” — the formal end of that horrible monhs-long winter war was in February 1943, Easy to say for Hitler in Berlin, but impossible for the half-starved and half-frozen German soldiers during the onslaught of Russian soldiers, who were well prepared for the climate.
The German war in Africa was lost. Field Marshal Rommel, the leader of the Afrika Korps, was a sick man who went to Germany to beg Hitler on his knees to order a stop to the fighting. The battle for El Alamein was lost in 1942 and any sane man could see that the war in Africa was unwinnable. But Hitler was not a sane man. He ordered Rommel , sick and in despair, to immediately go back to Africa and to make sure he would get to Egypt.
Even the naval war in the Atlantic was lost and everything pointed to a soon upcoming surrender by the Germans. That was the situation when the Swedish government finally broadcast a message over to Denmark in the last days of September 1943, announcing that all Danish Jews and members of the resistance were now welcome to Sweden .
My eyes were teary and my heart beat with joy and emotion, when I read about the strong searchlights being focused on the Danish boats, but this time, at last, by friends.
The little boats arrived at night in Swedish territory, and the loudspeakers announced “You are now in Swedish waters and we wish you welcome to Sweden.” All kinds of Swedes were ready at the landing with warm clothes, warm food and warm welcomes.
A fairly large number of Danish Jews were rounded up nevertheless, in spite of the wonderful cooperation and support by the Danish people, and those were taken to the concentration camp Theresienstadt in occupied Czechoslovakia. Miraculously, almost all of
them survived, thanks to regular visits by the Danish Red Cross at the camp and the ultimate rescue of the survivors by Count Folke Bernadotte and his ‘White Buses’.[1 The White Buses © USHMM] The Danish Red Cross also brought food and made sure that living conditions were bearable.
In the spring of 1945 innumerable Scandinavian prisoners were saved from German concentration camps through Bernadotte’s intervention. He had personally negotiated their release with Heinrich Himmler
“Himmler, Reichsführer of the Schutzstaffell (Protection Squadron; SS), was one of the most powerful men in Nazi Germany and among those most directly responsible for the Holocaust.”
The Danish Aid Corps arranged for cars and buses to transport the prisoners, and as an example, the Folke Bernadotte’s white buses carried away, in one day only, 423 liberated prisoners.
All of this, and more was the object for a big some research I undertook in the later half of the 1990s. I nbegan by reading the perfect book for such a beginning, “In Denmark It Couldn’t Happen” by Herbert Pundik, who had been one of the people whose family managed to esceap to Sweden after long periods of waiting for the right moment, the right boat and the right man to take the family across the Öresund.
Pundik was a toung student at the timeand he graduated from lycée at a Dabish school that was set up for the refugees in Malmö. He much later became the head editor for the top first-rate Danish daily Politiken, which he was still writing for from Tel Aviv when I got in touch with him.I was supposed to meet him and his wife in Paris one of those years, but, sadly, I couldn’t make it.
I read books in various languages, Danish among hem of course, which I find a little hard to read, but I get used to it. Herbert Pundik very graciously lent me a book that it was impossible to find, even in second-hand bookstores in Denmark. One book I could only find at Lund’s University library and so, with my sister’s name as guarantee, I managed to borrow it and read it, after all.
So it was a bit of a hassle to find all the books I wanted to read, but soemhow it worked out in every case. I got so much into the rescue of teh Jews that I even read a book in English about an internal Jewish organization in Berlin that managed to save the lives of a great many families. Some refugees however, found themselves on a boat that no cwestern ountry would welcome on shore. A few of those boats ultimately ended up in China. What a weird world.
I then followed closely the peace negotiations’at a Camp David Summit with President Bill Clinton, Israeli Prime Minister Edud Barak and the Palestinian leader, Yasser Arafat. They had even insisted on getting the dying President Hafez Assad to travel all the way from Syria to give more prestige to the negotiations. I am not sure he evev survived the great effort. He died the same year.
The summit ended without a result, as had been expected. It was all just for show. Some of us trusted Edud Barak, Herbert Punduk among them. Barak was not a Likud member, and so,naively we thought he might be more open to konest negotiations. Those continued between Arafat and Barak at theEgyptian resort town on the Red Sea, Sharm el-Sheikh. The day it looked as if a solution acceptable to the Palestinians was on the horizon, Barak fled back to Tel Aviv, tail between his legs. That was something he had never counted on. Failure and a big show was all he had expected.
So now Bill Clinton had had his perfectly dishonest show, and so had Barak. I do not think the world really noticed how Barak abandoned the ship when it seemed to be halfway floating.
I felt sorry for the Palestinians and for the world but, in this case, most particularly for my fiend Herbert Pundik. He had written an editorial in Politiken, titled “Det dagas i öst” (There is daylight in the east) which they sent me, since I had asked them so very nicely for a few articles by Pundik. HHe did not use a computer, so transfering his articles was not just by a simple press of a button. This editorial, which arrived when it was newly written. was so full of hope for the Israelis and for the Palestinians that my heart was bleeding for my friend when it turned out to be nothing but a show, predestined and even designed to fa.
When I learned about Barak’s cowardly dishonesty, I got so completely discouraged with Israel and with the world that I didn’t feel like writing about the very positive story about the saving of the Danish Jews. I can only guess how my friend Herbert Pundik was feeling. He had been active in organizing peace negotiations of his own, he told me. And it all came to naught. So there went one of my major projects.
On September 11, 2001 the world chanegd, however, and after a couple of years of deliberation and mainly reading the progressive articles by my friends professor Bernard Weiner and Ernest Partridge. I then began slowly to write a couple of essays for Crisispapers and contributing to their discussion column. Somehow I then got in touch with Axis of Logic and I wrote political essays for them for over ten years.
I branched out to publish my articles also on the Smirking Chimp, which I think very highly of, on October 11, 2006n with ‘The End of an Era’ (I was far too optimistic). My last article on the Chimp was ‘What Really Happened on September 11 – A Whistle-blower Comes Forward on August 1, 2017. Again I was drawing my optimistic conclusions too soon. I still believe though that the real ytruth about 9/11 will come into light one day before the world sinks into total chaos. Jeff Tiedrich, editor, became a friend and told me the Chimp would miss me when I said I would retire.
From about the dsame time I also started publishing on OpEdNews where editor Rob Kall was most cooperative. My articles on OpEdNews spanned the same ten years as on the Chimp. They were also usually picked up and reposted by several other sites. 4I just now saw that Rob Kall has added lots of telltake pictures to my areticle about 9/11 and the whictleblower.
I see now that my last article on Axis of Logic is ‘Bin Laden died from Marfan syndrome in 201 By Steve Pieczenik and Siv O’Neall, on Jan 12, 2017 (Here)
I also, in 1916, somehow got in touch with editor Professor Anders Romelsjö at jinge.se where a few articles of mine were posted in Swedish. I then translated them into English and my friend Paul Harris at Axis of Logic said they would be interested in what was going on in Sweden in terms of anti-Russian sentiment, whcih was what my essays in Swedish dealt with. The cetral figure in Sweden concerning anti-Eussian sentiment and the support of the 2014 coup in Ukraine is and was Carl Bildt, bormer Swedish Prime Minister and later foreign minister. Carl Bildt is a close friend of nefaious U.S. political figure Karl Rove, ever since the days when George W Bush was the country’s figurehead. Carl Bildt has been a disastrous influence on Swedish maily foreign policiest, but generally by pouring oil on the already existant flames of Russophobia in Sweden (Can Swedish Russophobia have an explanation?) My counntry is the top country in terms orussophobia in teh world, outdoing even the United States.
I retired from political writing so as to be able to commit myself entirely to my memoirsjb.