A good week ago, I started to read the first book of a trilogy I was given for christmas. It’s a rather well-known trilogy, an authentically told family epos you could say, set in Pomerania. My dad and his siblings were born in Pomerania and grew up there until they had to escape in WW2. My dad was homesick for decades, although he liked his new home as well. He often described the beautiful pomeranian landscape and way of life. Of course, a lot if not most of that was nostalgia for his abruptly ended childhood.
Now, you see, my ancestors (strange to use this old-fashioned word) came from all parts of the world. Even my dad’s family hadn’t always been in Pomerania, although it might have sound like that above. Some were Huguenots that had escaped from France. Part of my mum’s family was/is from Sweden. I myself grew up close to the danish borders and was most connected to my maternal relatives. That is why, in spite of not speaking swedish and never even having been to Sweden, I’ve always considered myself quite, well “scandinavian-influenced”. (Unfortunately, that never extended towards my outer appearance. Aren’t scandinavian girls just too pretty?) I still do believe that I got a lot from that site, but – and now I finally return to the beginning – reading that trilogy made me realise how incredibly much I got from that pomeranian side, too! Games we used to play as children, sayings we had, our little rituals and so on and so on – all originating in Pomerania! And I never even knew. Of course, it was my dad who taught us those games and sayings etc., but I probably never thought about it being a child and all. So, 20 years later I discover an unknown side to a lot of stuff that shaped my character, taste and way of thinking.
Such a strange experience. Also exciting, comforting, energising, connecting. I am only beginning to grasp all this. With nearly every page I read I find more I have to think about. Not bad at all. Curious, where -if- this will lead.
