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The 185th Birthday
IGIL TVIBUR CLOSED THE CEMETERY gate behind
him and, as often happened when he stepped into
the great oaks’ shadow, his mind grew calm. The
trees were among the city’s oldest living inhabitants; thanks
to their age and beauty, they were treated with the greatest
respect.
When the municipality first installed drainpipes and laid
sidewalks along Dr. Jakobsensgøtu in the sixties, it was
necessary to move the south stone wall somewhat further
in. That meant that two of the trees came to stand just
outside the cemetery; in order to protect them, attractive
iron grills were placed around the trunks.
The spruces farther up the yard were also a pleasure to behold. A
hundred years ago, Gerd, who married the tradesman Obram
from
Oyndarfjør
ð
ur, brought some root cuttings back to the
Faroes in a tub. She had been visiting her family in Bergen,
and the tub spent the entire trip securely fastened to the
ship’s deck. Perhaps the act of defying storms from heaven
and sea had implanted something joyful and proud in the
trees’ souls. Whatever the case, Eigil had the feeling that
one bright day the trees would burst out singing:
Yes, we
love this land . . .
The rowanberry trees were scrawny and grew best on the
cemetery’s west side, although some had also been planted
E