1978
My parents were Emelia Sulkunen and Otto Tikkanen. They were
married in Tampere, Finland in 1899. I
was born October 6, 1900. My mother had
worked in a paper mill there and I think my father worked at various outdoor
jobs. Neither one had ever had any
formal schooling except confirmation school.
It seems my mother had gone for awhile to a “kierto-koulu” (traveling
school) where she had learned to read, and became a very fluent reader and read
everything she could get her hands on. My father couldn’t have cared less. At that time, Finland belonged to Russia –
and there was compulsory service in the army.
As a result, many men who could possibly raise the fare, emigrated to
America.
In 1902 my father’s brother, Victor, came to Allentown, PA
and later to Redgranite, Wis. where he got work in a small stone quarry. My
father came to Redgranite in 1904-5. He
sent for my mother and me in 1906. The
two years mother and I lived in Pispala, a suburb of Tampere.
Naturally, my memories of that time are rather dim, but I do
remember that we lived in a house with a rather large central room, which was
both kitchen and living room, with 4 bedrooms off it, 2 on each side. On one side lived the owners in one room and
an old “ruotu-muori” in the other. I
don’t exactly know the meaning of “ruotu” but “muori” means “old woman.” These “ruotu-muoris” were old people who
could no longer care for themselves – so the county paid a small sum for their
upkeep to anyone who cared for them.
Across the room lived mother and I and another young woman with a small
son, Olavi – about my age. They also
were waiting to join the father in America.
They were still waiting when we left, and I cried bitterly to have to
leave my playmate. I remember offering
this old “muori” play “coffee” from my little toy cup – her toothless mouth
looked like such an empty cavity, I was afraid she’d swallow it cup and
all! One piece of mischief Olavi and I
got into when no grown-ups were around. There was a large pan of beautifully
risen dough in the kitchen one day – we sure had fun punching that up and down
with our grubby little hands! Needless
to say, we got a good spanking. That’s
why I remember it so well.
Sometime between 1900-1904 my mother had given birth to two
more children, a boy, Otto, and a girl, Aina Elizabeth. The boy died soon after birth and Aina
Elizabeth at the age of 3 months. She
would have been three years younger than I.
I seem to hazily remember that I threw a small bouquet of flowers into
her grave. (That may be only because I was told that.)
My father’s mother came to say goodbye to us, I remember her
as being gaunt and fairly tall – dressed in her Sunday blacks. Mother and I went to her mother’s home before
we left for America. We stayed overnight
and slept in an “aitta”. That is a small
structure used for storing grain and other foodstuffs, also used for extra
sleeping quarters in Finland. I woke up in the night, because I heard a
strange sound. Mother said, “Don’t be
afraid, it’s only a ‘cuckoo bird’.” That
grandma was short and plump, dressed in a homespun blouse and skirt. Her little home was by a small creek where
there were white and yellow water lilies.
There was a board spanning the creek, I remember two teenage girl
cousins crossing it – they were coming to see us to say “goodbye.” That’s all I remember of my grandmother;
seems they were both named Eva. I never saw my grandfathers – I’m not even sure
of their names. This was around
Korpislahti and Ulsanka*, not too far from Jyvaskyla. My parents had
both been born around there.
Their parents were “torpparis”. A “torppa” is a small cabin on other people’s
property, with enough space around it for a small potato patch. A “torparri”
often got his surname from the big house.
They had to work quite a lot for the “talo” (house) in exchange for skim
milk, flour, etc. Children were “farmed
out” at a very early age to work for their food and clothes. My mother told how she was 9 years old when
she had to take care of the owner’s children and for that she got an old pair
of the lady’s shoes after a whole year! They were signed up always for at least a year. (My mother-in-law said
one place she had to eat standing up – “You eat too long if you sit!”)
My last memory of Pispala was a “lehti maja” in the
yard. That means “leafy-abode” – young
birch branches propped up around a table, which was set with a white cloth and
flowers, on which was served coffee and “pullaa” Finnish coffee bread. This was in honor of our leaving for America.
That is usually done around Juhannus, Midsummer’s Day, in June. So, it was around that time of the year that
we left. Details, I do not remember, except that we did stop in Helsinki to
visit monther’s brother, Otto Sulkunen. He had a wife and two children, then, a
boy Otto and a girl Salme. She was a beautiful child. Both these children died
later at an early age as a result of poor nutrition during some war or hard
times, when they had to add sawdust (?) into the flour for bread. Anna Lusa and Paula were born later.
That is all I remember of my life in Finland, though I must
mention that the women used to go over a hill (in Pispala) to the shore of
Nasijarvi (jarvi means lake) to wash clothes. Us children played on the beach.
The clothes were scrubbed on the rocks with brushes, boiled in a large black
iron kettle over an open fire and rinsed in the lake.
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*Velsanka, maybe? One of those words I hand trouble reading.
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