Childhood Memories by Borghild Antonia Ingier

Written June 24, 1971

(Born Oct 6, 1890- Died 1973   Her Father was August Thorval Ingier & her Mother was Marie Ellensdallen Ingier)

I was born October 6^th, 1890 in Oslo, Norway, and christened Borghild Antonia Ingier.

    We moved around a lot, as my earliest memories was from a place out in the country near Oslo, called Hedemarken, which was a district divided into counties. The county we lived in at that time was called Furnes and my Father was managing a small grist mill. Most houses in Norway had a name. The house we lived in was called Babylon. I don’t remember how old I was when we moved there, but I remember some incidences from there. One time my old sister (1 yr older) and I was invited to spend the day at the big farm where the owner of the gristmill lived. While there the lady of the house (no children there, but perhaps grandchildren) gave my sister some doll clothes but none for me which made me very angry. I thought it wasn’t fair and tried to think of some revenge. There was a big bell in the yard which was used to call the fieldworkers in for meals. It wasn’t mealtime but I went out tin the yard and looked to see if I could reach the rope for the bell. I was small but found something to stand on, and yanked that bell as hard as I could. Well, the end of that was we were sent home in disgrace. I was probably punished but don’t remember.

   Another incident I remember very clearly, which didn’t end in punishment, was one day I went in search of my Mother. We lived by a small river and carried our water from there. I thought my Mother had gone for water but knew she did not always get it at the same place, so I wandered along the river looking. There was a long kind of spit going out in the river where a lot of the ferns grew and taller than I was-probably flowers too- I guess they sort of lured in in there to look. In the meantime my Mother came home and found me missing. She sent someone for my Father and he came home. My 2 sisters,-one older and one younger- told my parents I had gone to the river, so the first thing they thought I had drowned. My Father put on his wading boots and which up above his knees and started wading along the shore of the river-calling me all the time-I finally heard him, but he couldn’t see me. I probably wasn’t much over 3 ft. tall and those ferns were taller than that. Well, it had a good ending that time, I still remember riding home on the shoulders of my Father.

   The house we lived in was a very old fashioned house and had a small fireplace in the kitchen were perhaps my Mother did her cooking. I do remember how she baked her bread. There was a long opening built in the chimney where she would first build a fire, and after that burned for a while, it would be raked out and the bread which in the meantime had raised on a long board, would then be pushed in there. How she judged the heat and the time for baking I don’t know.

   My parents have always claimed that the reason for one of my eyes not being right was caused by an accident that happened at that place. But I have found out since that it wasn’t so, but I am the only one in my family with this fault. The accident I remember very well-in front of that fireplace there was always a small box (about the size of an apple box perhaps) which was used for firewood. I remember I was sitting on the edge of it with a plate on my lap (the box was empty at the time) when I fell backward and hit my head on the fireplace which was perhaps about 2 ft from the floor. I received a concussion and my Mother claims I was unconscious for several days and when I recovered my eye was out of focus. At that time doctors probably didn’t know as much as they do today. I do remember my Mother took me in to the city of Hamar (a good size city) but whether that was for my eye or not, I don’t know. She also took me to a circus at that time-only me and none of the other kids.

   While we lived at Babylon my oldest brother was born and I was 5 years old. Now there was 4 children and my Father probably started looking for more income. So we moved again- this time to Nes? Hedenmarken to a larger gristmill. This time our house was named Dahl, and there my sister Valborg was born. When she was baptized my Mother decided we should have a party. We must have had one when my brother was born tho I can’t remember anything about it, except that my Father made a drawing of how his baptismal gown was to be made. (And that one was used for everyone after that). On this Dahl place there was a small building consisting of one room with a fireplace like one we had at Babylon. In this fireplace was a 3 legged grate and on top of that rested a big ironplate at least 3 ft across. The reason I mention this is that my Mother hired a women to come and bake flatbread for this party-and in the little house is where she sat and baked it on top of this big plate. I remember watching her sitting there and rising big feather wing (probably from a rooster) to brush off the four from this big ironplate between each flatbread which was as big as the ironplate. When they were baked they were stiff and crisp, not soft like lefse- and could be stacked in a big heaps. This kind of bread is very traditional in many places in Norway and could be baked and stored for months. I never saw my Mother bake it-maybe she didn’t know how-but she baked lefse.

   At this place my Father’s finances must have improved because I remember my Mother hired a girl to help around the house-well she sure needed it too with 5 children. This girl’s name was Kristine, but I don’t remember much about her.
**EDITOR'S NOTE: This is a family photo taken in Norway of her family. The woman on the far left was identified as the maid. This could be Kristine.**

At our nearest neighbor there was a couple boys-don’t remember any girls there-these boys was about same age as my oldest sister and myself, and I remember they seem to always have running noses. So when they came over to play I would tell them to wipe their nose before they could come in to play.

   Somehow I don’t remember very much from Dahl, tho I remember my oldest sister Eugenie started school there, and one day I was allowed to go with her to school. I thought that was great fun and looked forward to when my turn would come to go to school.

   I guess we didn’t live very long at Dahl because I had just started in 1^st grade when my Father decided to move back to Oslo where he was promised a better paing job. This was at Myrens Technical plant, and this time as superintendent of installation of machinery. At this time I should mention that my Father had worked at this plant before I was born, and of course wouldn’t remember anything about this period in my life.

   The first thing my Mother did upon our arrival back to Oslo was looking for a school for us 2 oldest girls. We didn’t stay very long at this first school on account of a very unfair treatment of me by one of the teachers. So my Mother took both of us to another school. The name of this school was Lilleborg and was a very large school. (This school was still at the same place when I went back to Oslo for a visit in 1963) The discipline in school was very strict and was run on a somewhat military way when I think back on it. Girls and boys were not mixed. The boys were in a separate part of the school. The school time was divided in 2 parts- your either went from 8-12 or 12-4 every day of the week. Vacation time was 7 weeks during summer and 1 week at Easter-same at Christmas. Hot lunch was served free to the ones who couldn’t pay. On days where they served things we liked, our parents gave us money to buy our lunch. At recess time on command we stood up from our seat (2 at every desk) and on a second command stood beside it-one at each side-then the teacher would say “march” and we would proceed in orderly fashion. I remember one time a girl took 2 steps at one time down the stairs and had to stay after school. In the 1^st grade we used small blackboards to which a small sponge was attached. It happened ne time this sponge much have fallen off and I didn’t notice it before I got to school. It happened on this particular day we had a substitute teacher-an older woman I remember-and now when I think back on it, she must have had a mean streak in her. I had made a mistake on my little blackboard and not having this sponge to erase it with, I lifted a corner of my dress and probably wet it with my tongue. Well, this teacher with her eagle eye saw it I guess, and told the class to watch and she would show them how Borghild erased a mistake on her blackboard. She went to the large blackboard in our classroom and wrote something, then lifted a corner of her long dress and rubed it out. Of course the whole class was laughing and I was in tears-so embarrassed.

   We moved twice during this time, the flat we lived in was on the 1^st floor in a large building consisting of 4 floors, 4 flats on each floor. I remember on one side of us was an old couple who got drunk every Saturday. On the other side there was also an elderly couple with a grown daughter. They also got drunk every Saturday and the girl would come and get my Father because her parents were fighting and she was crying. We kids probably thought all this was exciting. The 4^th family on this floor were Italian and a big family but somehow I can’t remember much about them. I think the reason we moved was because my Father didn’t think this was a very nice place for us to live.

   My father was very strict, we were never allowed out on the street after 6 in the evening-that’s when he came home from work.

   My Mother was gay and full of fun. I remember sometimes she would have us join hands and danse around the floor-and she would make up little ditties and sing while we were dancing, then pretend we were all so tired we would sit down on the floor and laughing. She was always singing or humming around the house while she was working. My Father was of a more somber or serious nature, but he liked to sing too and they were both very good singers. My Mother has told me that when we were small he would often sing lullabys while carrying us in his arms walking around the floor. From one of those lullabys I got my name-my Mother has told me. And freely translated it would go like this= Hsh, hsh, no more tears –no more grieving-no more fears, and no more pains. Hsh-hsh-see how sweet little Borghild sleeps now. Hsh-hsh and listen to what we hear-that’s Angels singing. Kind of morbid for a lullaby I think. Later on when we were older I remember how he would make my older sister and me line up in front of him and he would stand with a hymn book (this would be on a Sunday) and keep time while we would have to sing it over and over till he was satisfied. I have often wondered about this later in life-why did it always have to be a hymn? He wasn’t really a church going man.

   But I’m getting ahead of my story-have to keep this in chronological order, like Evelyn says- Let’s see, where were we, oh yes, we were going to move again-this time to a more quiet street. But not so far that I had to change school. I was now in the 2^nd grade and my class was so happy when we found out we would get the same teacher from 2^nd to 3^rd. I remember her name too-Marie Bredahl-and she was nice tho she could be very strict too. (I have to skip back because I forgot to mention that I was moving up in 3^rd grade with the same teacher). In second grade I went to school from 12-4 but now in 3^rd I went from 8-12 o’clock. I remember one Christmas in 3^rd grade especially. It was the last day before Christmas vacation and after the recess. We had just come in and were back in our seats when the teacher asked us if we could very quietly march out again down into the schoolyard. And stay there very quiet until she came to the window and gave the sign for us to come upstairs again the same quiet way. When we came back to our seat, there was a small candle on each desk and a nice little frosted cake. Things like that wouldn’t mean much to children now a days but to us it was wonderful. We were not used to sweets except at holidays.

   Another time I remember we were studying about bees and how they made honey. The teacher asked the class if any one of us had ever tasted honey and only one girl raised her hand. Then she said next day when we come to school she would bring some and all of us would get a taste. And sure enough-next day she had us line up in front of her desk where she had little squares of bread and a jar of honey. Well, one by one we filed by and each got a piece with honey. I can’t imagine a teacher doing anything like that in today’s world, at least not in this country.

   In his late teens my Father contracted a serious illness and from time to time he would suffer reoccurring attacks from it. The earliest I can remember was when I was between 8 or 9 yrs old. But my Mother told us about earlier ones. During these attacks he would be unconscious and often grow violent. We children would be very frightened when this happened but he never hurt any of us. Usually my Mother would call a neighbor to help her hold him down. I remember once my Mother had to call on a strange doctor and the first thing he asked if my Father was a drunk. This made my Mother very indignant because my Father was not a drinking man.

   At this time there were 5 of us children and I don’t think my Father was making very much money, so my Mother probably had quite a time making both ends meet. I think my Father was constantly on the search for a better job –he was at the time working on some mechanical plant where he had worked from time to time before. Then one day he was very elated when he found out about a company that was planning some building to make further use of big waterfalls in the biggest river in Norway. So he got in touch with one of the officials to find out if there would be a chance for a job for him. And he was lucky to be hired for remodeling of a pulp mill after they found out about his qualification. Now this was located several miles away from Oslo (or Christiana s it was called at that time) I don’t remember but I think my Father went out there some time ahead of the family, but I do remember the house we first lived in there-not very big but it did house 2 families and it was on top of a small hill. The biggest shock for me and my older sister too I supposed- was when we found out how far we had to walk to school. I was 9 years old and my sister 10, and the schoolhouse was an old small building consisting of 2 rooms. Here the boys and girls were mixed which we were not used to, and the teachers were men which were also new to us in the lower grades. I don’t remember how long we lived in this house, but I sure remember the winters when we went to school on skies. We had approximately 4 or so miles to get to school and I remember many times how frozen my feet would be. The teacher would usually be there with a big fire going in the stove-sure, just an old wood burning stove- but he knew we had just come from a big city and not used to have to walk so far to school. So he was extra good and helpful to us-to get our shoes off and get our feet warm. But in time we got used to it and then summer came and we had lots of fun on the road home from school. We often tried to catch a ride on farmers driving their wagons, they wouldn’t stop for us but the bigger kids managed to run and hang on. Not me tho- very seldom I could make it, I was small of size and couldn’t run fast enough. A new school was being built and when that was finished-larger too- we wouldn’t have so far to go. Of course at that time there was no cars. This was in a farming district and of course they had horses and different kinds of buggies and wagons but they were not about to drive their kids to school. We of course had no horses or any kind of vehicles, so we had to get used to walking, Of course wherever there is a river there is always a valley and it was there in this valley this pulp mill was situated that my Father was hired to remodel. There was also a large gristmill- 4 stories high- built there close by, also a sawmill an sash(?) factory a little farther up the river. This place along the river was all commercial, not residential, tho there was a few homes built not too far away for the workers. When the pulp mill was finished my Father was asked to take over the running of the gristmill/sawmill and sash factory which was all housed in one building. So here we were on the move again, and this time to a 2 story house right in front of the gristmill. Now we were living right by a river again and the roar of the waterfalls was terrific but we soon got used to it. It became like a lullaby and when we were away from it, we missed it. Running along the valley towards where the land sort of became level there was lots of trees- almost like a little forest. A stairway was built up thru there- well, sort of steps were built, just little boards laid down in the soil and a rickety kind of railing. This stairway had over 300 steps, but we kids run up and down like it was nothing. Well, I was young then and full of pep. There was high hills bare of trees around us too, so we could have walked or climbed up them if we wanted to) but we went skiing on them in the wintertime. There was also a road curving around from the top where the farmers drove to get down to the mill. There was a building at the bottom of the hill where the farmers could stable their horses as most of them came from far away and often had to stay over sometimes a couple nites. They always brought their food with them and my Mother fixed up a room in our house where they could eat and she sold coffee to them. But they didn’t sleep in our house. I think some of them just bedded down in their wagons or perhaps where their horses were. But there was a small room in the front part of the mill with benches and a long table in the middle, tho this was mainly for the use of the millworker. But I supposed if no night shift were working, I supposed the farmers could sleep there-tho this I don’t remember. Electricity was not so common everywhere in Norway at that time, so it often happened that some of these farmers who came from far away had not seen electric lights and was quite intrigued by the lights in our house. But I in turn was also sometime very intrigued by the difference in the food they brought- for instance their bread was often so black I remember, and I often wished I could have a piece of it. (I have always liked dark bread) My Mother of course baked her own bread, but she used mostly wheat tho some rye too. Sometimes my Father would experiment with blends of different flour, and then he would have my Mother bake and try it.

   Whenever it happened that my Father was absent from the mill on some business, we kids would run all over the mill from top to bottom. The mill workers didn’t seem to care if we didn’t bother them, but we never dared if my Father was present. Right in front of our house there was a rock formation (or a fjeld as we called it) not very high on our side but on the other facing the waterfall very steep. But on top of this rock there was a small level place. So when they weren’t too busy in the mill my Father had one or two of his employees cart some soil up there and build a fence around it. In the middle he had them set up a tall flagpole. Then my Mother planted flowers and some vegetables too I think.

   When I was back in Norway in 1963 my sister and brother in law drove out there from Oslo, but everything was gone and covered with water except that rock with the flagpole was still there. It was very sad for me to look at. I had looked forward so much to see the old place where I had spent many happy hours. There was something being built there but I didn’t find out what and didn’t seem to care.

   I’m digressing so back to my story. I don’t remember how long after we moved to this mill it was that plans began to be made to dig a canal to lead part of the river farther down the valley where a power station was to be built. This was right back of our house and a lot of blasting had to be done. Our house was practically covered with 2x4 plants and heavy shutters for the windows. In the middle of the river above the waterfall there was a small island, and from there over to this fjeld in front of our house a high concrete wall- perhaps 20 ft maybe higher and about perhaps 5 ft across the top. On one side was the waterfall, on the other a dam. Timber was being floated down the river all the time and some of it was being floated in to this dam. And there it was temporarily stacked up like floats. The only time I can remember that I came near to get a licking was when a neighbor girl and I was caught out on one of these timber floats. We just had the time of our life gigging up and down on these floats but my Father’s eagle eye happened to see us from one of the windows in the mill. Well, my Mother interfered-wouldn’t let my Father with that hot temper of his at me. And personally I thought he was unfair- I thought he ought to be thankful I hadn’t drowned (That’s kids for you). Well, when they started digging this canal a high wall with locks had to be built to contain the water in the dam. The sawmill and sash factory was a little farther up the river from the gristmill and the canal right between. Some sort of beltline from the dam was built to bring the timber to the pulp mill, and this of course was right above the canal, also a narrow foot bridge alongside the beltline. This high concrete wall I mentioned earlier had no railings on either side, but didn’t stop us kids to run over to this island-that is whenever my Father wasn’t around. And when as it sometimes happened that the water in the river was low, we could run on rocks in the river from this little island over to the other side of the river. This was quite an adventure-it was like we were in another country. Actually we were in just another county but with a little imagination it could be for 8-10 and 11 year olds, it could even be Africa. Well, we had lots of fun anyway, that is, whenever I could sneak away from babysitting. For some reason that I never could figure out, I seemed to be singled out as the babysitter in the family- never my older sister- only 1 year older. There were times when I even thought maybe I didn’t belong in the family because my older sister always got more attention than I did. Like when we came home from school, my Mother seemed always to have something different to eat for her- I had to eat whatever there was left over from dinner. (We always had dinner at noon) Maybe she was more delicate of health and I so disgustingly healthy I could eat anything. I guess I was at that- I remember once when all the rest of the kids came down with measles but I didn’t.

   In those days my head was always buzzing around with all kinds of ideas. The sawmills & sash factory was a little ways further up the river from the gristmill and one of my uncles, besides a few others if they were busy, worked there. My uncle was an expert cabinetmaker but there was also another older man who must have had a lot of patience with kids, because I can remember I used to go up there and watch them working. So one day I got the idea I was going to make a kind of book shelf for our bedroom. Well, this old guy he gave me some odd pieces of boards and he even let me cut them on an electric band saw (guess that’s what they call them) but of course with his guidance. Of course I couldn’t go up there if my Father was around.

   When they started to dig this canal, a bridge was built across it, after all a way had to be made for the farmers to get down to the mill. Every time a blasting had to be made, someone came to our house and closed all the shutters over the windows and warned to keep the kids in the house. A first aid station was installed on top of the hill where a doctor and medics worked. There was always accidents with all the blasting going on and I remember several times when an emergency happened they would bring them over to our house as that was closer. My Mother would tear up sheets and other things needed for bandages. She got so used to see all these accidents I don’t think it bothered her. I remember one time a man was carried in with half of his face blown out, but Mother just got some clean cloth and helped to stop the blood until they could get the man to the first aid station. Things like that happened all the time and we kids got used to see it or hear about it. My oldest brother was the kind of kid that always got into one or another kind of trouble. He would disappear and we girls would have to run around looking for him. Mostly we would find him down by the river somewhere fishing with a little branch and string and a bent pin. But one time we had looked all the usual places but no boy. At that time the canal was dug but no water was let in it yet-deep too. On one side of the canal where those trees grew the hillside sloped down to the edge, but from there went straight down, deep too. Now, there was no water down there yet and in some places a sandy bottom. On this hillside among the trees there grew wild raspberries in season. So one of us girls got the idea that Rudolf (my brother) might have gone there to look for berries. Well, 2 of us went up there to look-calling and yelling for him (he wasn’t quite 6 yrs old) and sure enough we heard a familiar voice answering from the bottom of the canal, “Here I am”. I, for my part could have cheerfully strangled him, making us running around for hours looking for him. I don’t remember now but my Father probably hoisted one of the young fellows in the mill with a rope to get him up from there. He wasn’t hurt, just that it was great fun. I don’t remember if he was punished this time, it probably was considered more an accident than a prank. But he certainly was into plenty of pranks. By now the new school was built-quite a big larger too, 2 stories high and 4 classrooms- but we still had over 2 miles to walk. But by now we were used to walking long distances. And in the wintertime we used skies. 

*THIS IS STILL INCOMPLETE IN MY TRANSCRIBING IT *

  

Memories of Borghild and family by Irene Thorson Rowland

*I copied this from a letter from Irene and some words were unreadable* -Val

Dear Valarie, This is about all I know about your Grandma Thorson.

When she was a young girl (in Norway) *** to have special shoes made for her, she had rickets. She knitted socks for the family. She went to a board school. She finished in the eight grade. They taught their members and to sew, crochet & **. Then she went to work in the store.

My mother had one crossed eye so she wore ** glasses.

Mother borrowed $50 from her older sister so she could come to America. I don’t know how she got here. All I know is she came by train to North Dakota. Mother was only 20 years old when she made this trip. She had cousins in ND who lived on a farm and had children. They wanted Mother to teach Norwegian to them but Mother didn’t want too. She worked on the farm.

My Dad and his family had a farm not too far away. I guess that is how Mother met my Dad.

This is all I know. I hope you can read this. Love Aunt Irene

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

Verbally told to someone who wrote it down for Irene:

Mother’s cousins, the Berg’s, in Bottineau wrote to Mom to come to America. Bottineau and family farm was 20 miles from Lake Metigoshe (sp). The area was a Norwegian farming settlement with a few Germans, French, & American Indians.

We had a Summer home on Rugby Island, which was part of Lake Metigoshe. Dad would put the rowboat he built into the water and Evelyn would swim behind the boat from Rugby to Bottineau side of the lake. One mile to little store on the shore.

Ingier (my grandfather) had 2 mills, one was flour, one was wood.

Notes- Livingston, Montana, Dad lived there for one year, homesteading before he met Mom. Dad went fishing in Winnepeg.    Northville, MN(?)     Bottineau, ND—pop. 1700 people. 

I am the granddaughter of Borghild Thorson. I barely knew my grandmother while she was alive but remember things she brought me back from Norway when she visited there. She gave me a small handcarved wooden seal covered with real seal fur, and a tube of cavier paste, which I remember tasted good. This is how I remember her when she lived with her daughter, Doris, in Anaheim, CA. She's in the middle with her two sisters visiting from Norway. I think this is about 1969.

She passed away when I was eighteen. At the time I only knew some of her history, and had a copy of my great-grandfather,  August Thorval Ingier's, auto-biography that she had translated from Norwegian to know her by. Over the past 30 years I have learned bits and pieces about her. My father, William A. Thorson, before he passed away, spent a few years collecting more family history from his relatives in North Dakota and some extensions in Norway. I would like this blog to be a collection of photos from our ancestors and some of their stories to share with our family.
*Edited to add- April 19, 2014* I always thought Grandma came to America via Ellis Island. No one ever corrected me when I said that. But a few years ago I found out that wasn't true. She immigrated to Montreal in Quebec, Canada and then came to the US to North Dakota. I don't think there's a border crossing there but Aunt Irene said she came by train. 

This was a souvenir plate brought back from Norway by Borghild who gave it to Irene, my aunt, who gave it to me.