The child (at fourteen in 1904 you were still a child) poses proudly in
front of the fishing crew at the bow of the schooner. His first fishing
season in the Icelandic sea. Six months on a boat without sight of
land. Romantic – at least for painters, writers and photographers. But what’s the
reality of these “Icelanders”? Leaving Dunkirk at the end of winter,
facing the storms of the northern seas, back for the start of the
Dunkirk winter – until the next year. Retirement, staying on land,
fading away, already the cold of the grim reaper. Their entire life was
called February, and stank of cod. To bring back a cargo of it for a
pittance, they slaved in fear. For those staying at home, waiting, a horde of young kids. The bell tolled often in those days, and
the entire village would gather around the new widow, who prayed for a
better life for her children. Somewhere away from the oceans.