Dagmar's Stories - Grandma and Grandpa's engagement portraits

remembering one of the many stories my grandmother Dagmar shared with me

In the previous post I  celebrated the marriage of my grandparents Paul and Dagmar Sevald. Their marriage was small, most likely just the young couple and maybe a friend or two. They never had an official wedding portrait. They did have individual engagement photos taken.


On one of my last visits to Norway Grandma made a point of telling me the story of her family and passing on to me family photos. Among them this engagement photo of my grandfather. The original photograph is about 18" high and was originally displayed in an oval polished wood frame. It was no longer framed and a section of Paul's hair was missing. Where was the photograph of Grandma? Grandma immigrated to America alone. Grandpa had come the previous year and sent her the ticket to follow. She had only a small trunk with her but the precious photographs were packed safely inside among her clothes.


America was Paul's dream but for Dagmar living in Roaring Twenties Chicago? not so much. She said the happy go lucky Paul and she spent too many nights smoking, drinking and dancing the night away in local Norwegian dance clubs and bars. Once Dagmar had the two babies, my uncle Arnold and my mom Grace, she preferred quiet family nights at home and money in the bank. Paul danced on. Her pleading did not matter, so she assumed their family must not matter to him either. She threw his photo to the floor, her photo she "ripped up to tiny pieces and flushed down the toilet". It was 1929 and she packed up her babies and returned to Norway without him.

Good for you Grandma! She wanted better for herself and her children. And she got it. But I did wonder why she ripped up her photograph instead of his? So I asked her and her reply? She clicked her teeth in that Norwegian way and said "Oh yah, I should'a done that instead", and she laughed.

Grandpa surely got the message because he gave up the party life and Grandma returned to Chicago.  I remember him only as a devout Christian who did not smoke or drink, loving, generous, joyful and kind. But more importantly I remember that he adored my grandma, but he still loved to dance.

Grandfather's picture photoshopped, 

looks a little better don't you think?

Paul Skoglund Sevald

b. 25 Aug 1894 Kragerø, Telemark, Norway

d. 5 Sept 1971 Chicago, Cook, Illinois USA

A strong independant woman, my Grandma Dagmar, 
Grandpa knew she was a keeper.

**click on photos to enlarge for easier viewing**

Dagmar's Stories - Grace cuts her head

 remembering one of the many stories my grandmother Dagmar shared with me

In 1929 my grandmother Dagmar returned to Norway with her two young children, Arnold 4 yrs old and my mother Grace who was 2 yrs old. They stayed in the home of her parents, my great grandparents Nils and Gunhild Gundersen in Skien, Telemark, Norway. Dagmar was lonely for Norway and she wanted Arnold and Grace to have a chance to get to know their grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.

In the street in front of the family home the village was laying sewer pipes and large trenches ran up and down the length of the street. Little Grace, playing with her cousins, tumbled into one of those trenches. Her uncle Rolf, not much more than a boy himself pulled her out. Luckily she did not get seriously hurt but did get a cut across the top of her head. It did not seem to be anything significant.

Less than a week later Dagmar, Arnold and Grace were on the "Stavangerfjord" headed out to sea, bound for New York harbor and home. Perhaps some dirt had gotten into the cut because now it appeared infected, yellow pus oozed through the little girls curls, and she complained of pain. Dagmar took her to the boats doctor. Grace screamed and cried and would not hold still for the man.  The doctor was impatient and rude. "If these stupid immigrants can't keep their children clean and teach them to behave its not my problem". She was in pain, spoke no English and after all she was only 2 years old! He brushed them away. Dagmar said she hurried the kids back to their cabin. She was so very afraid.  She assumed they would be inspected before being allowed in America as she had been when she first came. The children were born in America but she was not. What if they sent them back to Norway? Her husband was in America waiting. What would they do?

As they neared New York Dagmar hid a rag among Grace's curls and covered her head with a scarf. She told her "do not take off the scarf no matter what" and "don't tell anyone and for sure do not cry". Grace, scared also, did as she was told. The same doctor did only a cursory exam of those who traveled in cabins. They held their breath but the scarf never came off and the pompous self-satisfied American doctor did not even seem to recognize them from their earlier visit.

Pa met them in New York and they continued home to Chicago. The cut healed and Grace forever had a scar about the size of a dime on the back of her head where hair refused to grow.

As my grandmother was telling me this story, some sixty years later, I could hear in her voice the remembrance of her fear, Her fear for her little girl's safety and her panic that they would not be allowed into America.

At first I couldn't believe a doctor could be so unprofessional. I was a nurse and felt I would never have been like that to that scared little blond girl who spoke no English. But then I remembered the many times I had more work than I had time to do, dealing with seemingly uncooperative foreigners, who spoke no English and dressed in ways I would consider "funny" or "dirty". I had heard lots of disparaging remarks made by "professionals" referring to the immigrants of today. On those overworked and tiring shifts at the hospital. Did I? Have I? I was ashamed.

Grace Gunhild Sevaldsen - back in Chicago

(click on photos to enlarge for easier viewing)

Dagmar's stories - Papa gave me a doll

remembering one of the many stories my grandmother Dagmar shared with me

My great grandfather Nils had black hair and brown eyes and my grandmother Dagmar always felt that she was in some way his favorite because she did also (as did her brother Finn). Her mother and remaining members of her family were fair, blond or redheaded, and blue eyed.

Nils was a sailor and then a captain and was often away from home for lengths of time. On one such trip Nils brought home gifts for his two oldest daughters from England.

To Dagmar's older sister Gudrun, petite and blond, he gave a beautiful blond doll of wax with long flowing curls. To younger Dagmar with the black hair he laughingly gave a rag doll. A black rag doll with “wild crazy hair and a crooked stitched smile”. A "black Norwegian like you", he said. Dagmar was so mad and jealous of her sister.

In 1909 great grandfather Nils had built a home in Skien for his young family. Their home was only one floor with an unfinished attic above. The girls would play in the attic on days too cold to go out. They would play “house” and “school” sitting their dolls in a window seat pretending they were the teachers etc.

Even on a Norwegian winters day it can get warm in the attic particularly right by the window where the sun streams through the glass. One day Gudrun and Dagmar ran upstairs to play. There sitting in the window were their dolls. Gudrun’s beautiful blond doll had melted! Melted into an ugly mess. But Dagmar’s doll? She just sat there with that big wide crooked smile on her face! Dagmar knew she should feel sorry for her sister but she had been so jealous of her that “inside she smiled to herself just as wide and goofy as her silly black doll smiled”. She loved that doll after that.

In 1988, almost 80 years later, Dagmar laughed and smiled her own wide goofy smile, as she told me the story of her black rag doll given to her by her father, who like her, was a “black Norwegian”.

1910 - a little girl with her beloved doll

Dagmar's Stories - Cooking on Papa's boat

remembering one of the many stories my grandmother Dagmar shared with me

A century ago, in rural Scandinavia, childhood was short. Life was hard,  families were large and had to be fed. Dagmar finished the fifth grade. She was twelve years old and she could read and write. Her formal education was over. It was time for her to contribute to the family. Her older sister Gudrun, petite and blond, also left school after the fifth grade. Her responsibility was to stay home and help Mama with the cleaning, cooking, washing and tending to her younger brothers and sisters.

Dagmar was "dark strong and sturdy" she told me proudly.  At twelve she had already physically developed into a woman. It was decided that her father Nils would bring her on his boat with him. Nils was captain on a boat that traveled the length of the newly built Telemarken canal. Dagmar's job would be to cook and clean for the ten to twelve man crew. The work was hard but she didn't mind it. She liked seeing new people and places and when they were docked in Kristiania (Oslo), while the men loaded the boat she was free to explore the town spending the small amount of money her father had given her.  She thought this was much nicer than being stuck at home babysitting.

On one such trip, when Dagmar was thirteen, they docked in Oslo. Papa warned her to return in time to prepare dinner for the men.  She fearlessly headed out into Oslo to find a girlfriend from Skien, her home town, who now worked as a maid in the city. The two girls had a wonderful time even having their picture taken at a photograph studio. The time flew by and soon it was dark and they were unsure which way the docks were.

Dagmar finally found her way back to Papa's boat late late at night. He yelled at her for being so "selfish" and struck her.  Dagmar was a headstrong and feisty girl and ran so Nils couldn't punish her. The boat was not very big and Nils was quick. Now he was furious and began to beat her mercilessly, throwing her against the wall of the boat again and again. Dagmar said one of his men intervened and saved her from her father's wrath.  "Nils, stop! you'll kill that girl!", he said. Dagmar said she "hated him for that beating".

Hearing that story I asked her, "was your father always cruel?" "Cruel?" she said incredulously. "That was just how it was back then. I was supposed to cook and if the men didn't eat they couldn't work and that meant that the family at home wouldn't have money for food. He was not cruel, life was cruel, and he had to teach me to survive. I was mad at him for a long time but I know now he only did what he had to do, the only way he knew how to do it."

Dagmar worked on Papa's boat until she was nineteen. Then after a fight at home with her boyfriend she took the train alone to Kristiania to find a job. "When I left home Papa bought me a trunk for my clothes and told me I had done a good job", my grandmother told me proudly. She took his gift as a sign of his love and pride in her.  As an adult, visiting Norway from America with her family, she felt very close to her father. She described him as a "good, strong and handsome" man.

1913 - Dagmar (left) and her friend in Oslo

Dagmar's Stories - "The Baby Stealer"

remembering one of the many stories my grandmother Dagmar shared with me

                         KIRKEGÅRDSPROSJEKTET, GRENLAND ÆTTEHISTORIELAG.

Nordre Gravlund Cemetery

Avskrift gjort av/Transcribed by Thorbjørn Rogstad sommeren/summer 1997.
Registrert av/Registered by Reidar Ballestad

  H  6  1  Frithjof Gubberud 28.09.1900  25.02.1968
  H  6  1  Hanna M. Gubberud 07.12.1904  22.02.1989
  H  6  1  Roar W. Augestad 29.06.1926  11.01.1987
  H  6  1  Eva Augestad 05.11.1930  25.05.1995
  H  6  2  Olaf Vollen 12.12.1906  22.04.1973
  H  6  2  Solveig Vollen 30.12.1907  22.10.1996

This is a partial listing of those buried in the Nordre Gravlund Cemetery, Skien, Telemark, Norway

I found the listing on the website SKIEN GENEALOGICAL PAGE

***************************

Hanna is my great aunt, grandma Dagmar's sister, and Frithjof is her husband. Solveig is another of grandma Dagmar's sisters and Olaf is her husband. In 1984 I visited my grandmother Dagmar in Norway and one of Solveig's great grandchildren referred to Hanna as "the baby stealer". Questioning my grandmother, she told me this story.

Hanna and her husband were childless and not by choice. Solveig and her husband Olaf had four daughters. Upon the birth of her youngest Solveig was very ill. Hanna took in "temporarily" their oldest girl Eva, to "help out Olaf" who was having a difficult time managing his children alone while Solveig was ill. Hanna spoiled the girl so much she cried when her father came to pick her up to go back home. Hanna refused to give her up and went to her mother, my great grandmother, Gunhild. Gunhild intervened and sided with Hanna. She told Solveig that she should "let Hanna have the girl since she (Solvieg) had three other girls anyway and Hanna had none". To keep peace in the family they let it go awhile and again attempted to bring Eva back home. According to Dagmar, Hanna had "poisoned the girl's mind against her own parents" and she again refused to leave and Hanna refused to give her up.

Hanna kept Eva and raised her as her own. Eva "called her mother" and took on their last name of Gubberud. Feelings were never the same. Solveig abided by her mothers wishes although she was hurt and mad but Olaf would periodically "have a few drinks" and threaten to get his daughter back until the day he died.

Eva was forever estranged from her birth mother and her sisters "by her own choice". I don't understand why Solveig gave up her quest for her daughter, but times were different then, family relationships were different then also. I do know that Solveig loved her daughter and felt a great hurt and void from her loss.

Eva and her husband Roar Augestad were also childless. Hanna and Fritjof left everything ("they were well off")to Eva. Now here they are all buried in adjoining plots! Maybe I am dreaming but I would like to think that this indicates that the story of "the baby stealer" ended with one family or both families regretting the hard feelings and somehow making amends. Or maybe not........Eva was buried with her birth parents on one side and her adoptive parents on the other, although even in death she is in plot 1 with Hanna and Frithjof.

*click on photos to enlarge for easier viewing*

Dagmar's Stories - Arnold's "sensitive" hearing

remembering one of the many stories my grandmother Dagmar shared with me

December 7, 1941 the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor Hawaii and America entered World War II. Dagmar's son (my uncle Arnold) had just turned sixteen the previous September.

Dagmar's beloved Norway had been invaded and fell to the Nazi army in April of 1940. King Haakon VII had escaped and was in exile in London. Dagmar's small immediate family in Chicago were cut off from their extended family in Skien, Norway. Until the war's end they would have no clue as to the fate of their family in occupied Norway.

Dagmar's son, Arnold was one of the many patriotic American young men (and women) who enlisted after Pearl Harbor. Perhaps because his Norwegian uncles Rolf and Oddvar, who he had been close to, had both worked as sailors, Arnold chose the Navy.

The problem was that Arnold was underage. He was only a junior at Kelvyn Park High School in Chicago. He needed a parents signature to enlist. My grandfather Paul's English was good and he never could have been persuaded to sign such a consent for a young boy. Dagmar, who rarely left her immigrant neighborhood, spoke poor English. Arnold tricked his mother into signing consent and was inducted before she realized what had happened.

Spitting mad at Arnold, but more in fear for her only son, Dagmar took the "L" downtown and got on a train headed for Boston. She would NOT be dissuaded until Arnold was home.

Dagmar came home the next week proud that she had "talked to Arnold's commanding officer himself". She had explained, in her thick Norwegian accent, that Arnold was unfit for service. As a child he had broken both his eardrums playing with firecrackers and his hearing was very "sensitive". She felt she had fixed the situation and certainly the Navy would send the boy home where he belonged.

The Navy promptly made Arnold Sevald, with the "sensitive" ears, a sonar operator on one of its cruisers in the South Pacific.

U.S. World War II Navy Muster Rolls, 1938-1949, Ancestry.com, Original data - Muster Rolls of U.S. Navy  Ships, Stations, and Other Naval Activities, 01/01/1939-01/01/1949;  A-1 Entry 135, 10230 rolls, ARC 594996. Records of the Bureau of Naval Personal

Arnold did return home after the war and got his high school diploma. Uncles Rolf, Oddvar and the remaining family in Norway also survived the war.

 my Uncle 

Arnold Calvin Sevald

     b. 18 Sep 1925  Chicago, Illinois

d. 26 Nov 1983 Dallas, Texas

*click on photos or documents to enlarge for easier viewing*

Dagmar's Stories - Harald

remembering one of the many stories my grandmother Dagmar shared with me

No, Harald is no relation, but his story and the love story of Dagmar and Harald is part of our family story. If not for Harald, Dagmar would not have met Paul and well, you know.

This photo sat on grandma Dagmars end table in Norway. I vaguely remember also seeing it in her home in Chicago. My mother had told me it was most likely a picture of Dagmar and her brother Finn and probably she kept it to remember him as he had died young in Norway.

It was perhaps 1988 or 1989 that on a visit to Norway, at her insistence, we were going over her photos. I would question her as to the date, place and name and then write in pencil the information on the back of the photo. "In this picture I was maybe 19. It was taken in our yard at our home in Skien. We were having a little party for my sister Hanna, she was being confirmed. That guy must be Finn."  Wait a minute, wait a minute. Dagmar was born in 1900, therefore this photo was taken about 1919. That would follow as Hanna, born in 1904, would be 15/16, confirmation age. Finn, however was born in 1910. At this time he would have been only 9 going on 10. "Grandma, that's not Finn."

There is something special about the grandparent-grandchild relationship. I know that personally from my grandmother and from my grandchildren. There is an honesty and pure love. You can tell your grandmother things you would never tell your mother. And she tells you things she would never have told her daughter.

This is her story as I remember it.
"That is Harald, my first love. He was dark haired and handsome and he loved me too.  He was tall and thin, serious, and very very proud. In 1919 my family had a party to celebrate my sister Hanna's confirmation. I brought Harald. Now, my mother was a fun lady, always laughing and joking. "My, you are thin Harald, I hope you don't have TB!" she joked and then she and my sisters and I laughed. Harald did not laugh, he demanded an apology. I was also proud and would not apologise. The joke turned into a fight and neither of us would budge. I was going to show him! A friend in Oslo had previously offered to recommend me for a job. "I'm going, just try and stop me!"  "Go ahead, who cares", he replied. I went so far as to pack a bag and marched to the train station, sure he would follow. The train came. He didn't come. I left for Oslo. You see we were both so proud. I am sure if I had gone to him or he had come to me, we would be together today. But it was more important to me to be right. I am still right but what does it matter? I lost him that day.

Harald's good friend was Paul. Paul was short, not very good looking but lots of fun. He went to Harald and told him that he had always liked me and asked his permission to try to see me but only if he had Harald's approval. Harald was still mad. You can have her, he said. Paul followed me to Oslo and I guess you know the rest."

"But Grandma", I asked "didn't you love Grandpa?" Her reply, "Oh of course I loved him, he was a good husband and a good father, the man I believe the Lord meant for me to marry, but......not the way I loved Harald." "Then why did you marry him?" I asked. Her answer stunned me.
"He could dance and he had a car."

just so you know
I never heard my grandparents call each other by their first names. It was always Pa and Ma. I also never saw my grandmother cry, she was strong.  Except once. The day my grandfather died grandma sat at our kitchen table and cried. No, she sobbed, great gulping sobs. In between the sobs she cried out "Oh, Paul, Oh Paul."

Harald never married.


                                        **clicking on photos or documents will enlarge them for easier viewing**

Dagmar's stories - stolen by the gypsies

remembering one of the many stories my grandmother Dagmar shared with me

Dagmar is stolen by the Gypsies

My grandmother referred to herself as a "Black Norwegian", a term that puzzled me. I guess it is an old phrase for those that are not the more common blond/blued eyed variety. Knowing what I now know about DNA and the history of Norway it makes more sense to me. Norway is very mountainous and the vast majority of Norwegians live on or near the coasts of Norway. For many men their life was the sea. From Viking times on Norwegian men went to their ships. The ships went out to sea to fish, to other countries to trade (or loot), and as now (and always) wherever men went they left their DNA behind. Or brought a dark-haired lovely home to raise their children in Norway.

I have traced Dagmar's line in Norway back to the mid-1600's. She was solid Norwegian. Her eyes were brown and her hair black and curly. She was a "Black Norwegian".

Great Grandmother Gunhild with
blond Gudrun and dark Dagmar

When Dagmar was three her mother sent her and her sister, five year old Gudrun, out to play. When she shortly went to check on them Dagmar was gone. Gudrun told her "the gypsies took Dagmar". Her mother took Gudrun and ran to the local police. There was a gypsy camp just a bit outside their town. The Sheriff took them in a wagon out to the camp. There Dagmar was playing happily with the gypsy children. Now, my great grandmother, Gunhild had strawberry blond hair and Gudrun was blond and blue eyed. "Look at her," said the gypsies pointing to my grandmother Dagmar, "she is dark and beautiful like us, not pale and ugly like that child. She belongs to us." The sheriff was not fooled. My great grandfather Nils was a friend of his. Nils was a sailor and out to sea but the sheriff knew. Nils was a "Black Norwegian".