Author’s Inspiration — Anna
Belfrage
All those that left…
I stand in
the midst of a forest and the trees whisper in the wind. If I listen closely, I
can hear the stories they tell. Ok, so that, of course, is an exaggeration. The
trees don’t speak to me—my imagination does, having been poked into overdrive
by the environment I am presently in. And if we’re going to be honest, the
trees that surround me aren’t that old – they are all part of the concerted
Swedish effort in the early 1900s to re-forest a country that was mostly
meadows and meagre fields. No, what is old is what lies among the trees: the
broken remains of stone foundations, the remnants of an old hearth, a chimney
stack. Once there was a village here. Once this place rang with the sounds of
people, the bleating of sheep and goats, the grunts of pigs. Once. But they are
all gone now and this spot is known as The Dead Village.
The Dead
Village was abandoned by its inhabitants approximately 150 years ago. Men and
women, children and babes in swaddling bands, joined the exodus due west, to
the promised land known as The United States of America—or, as these people
would have said, “Amerikat”. They
left behind their old people, their dead people, their roots. They left behind
a backwards and extremely intolerant country, hoping to breathe freer in the
Land of the Free. I hope they did. I’m not sure, though.
What I am
sure of is that it must have taken considerable courage—or desperation—to sever
all ties with the old and go forth to the new. They knew that there was no
going back. Never again would they hear the babbling brook leap down the
hillside studded with beeches presenting the bright green foliage of spring.
Never again would they see the land of their birth, embrace their ageing mother
or father. Instead, they’d end up so far away the people around them would
likely not even speak Swedish—and they spoke no English. Despite this, they set
off. They packed their belongings into decorated wooden chests, closed the door
to their homes for one last time, and set off, down roads so old they’d
traversed the countryside for centuries.
The roads
led to a harbour. From there they took ship, and most of them didn’t know how
to swim or had even been aboard a boat before. It scared them—but the ghost of
starvation, of not being able to worship as they pleased, of never being given
the opportunity to better themselves spurred them on. They set out to make a
better life—for their children if not for themselves.
It is
estimated approximately 40-50% of the Swedish population immigrated to the US
during the 19th century. Most Swedish people have someone up their
family tree who undertook this perilous undertaking. Some had little success in
their new homeland. Others embraced their new life, their new country and never
regretted leaving the old country behind.
I have
always been drawn to the story of the people who left. But the 19th
century isn’t really “my” century, so it is somewhat fortunate that the 19th
century exodus was not the first time Swedish people went west. Already in the
17th century Sweden established a colony in the New World, Delaware,
and Swedes flocked to the ships departing for this new land, where riches were
to be found wherever one dug. Not. And just as my 17th century
countrymen, many were the English who set off across the Atlantic to make it
good in Virginia or Massachusetts. Which, from my point of view, is a good
thing as I am more into British history than Swedish.
The people
who set out on the perilous journey to the New World in the 17th
century were quite often driven to do so due to religion. In fact, the entire
17th century is a bubbling cauldron of religious issues, all those
conflicts that began in the wake of the Reformation coming to a head. For a
novelist, this religious upheaval offers quite the smorgasbord of potential
premises, especially if one adds religious persecution to the mix. Suddenly,
the characters in question do not have a choice: if they want to survive they
must leave all that they know and hold dear behind and go somewhere else.
I find the
whole concept of people uprooting themselves and starting anew intriguing. I
close my eyes and I can imagine the dismay some of these colonists must have
felt when they saw their new homeland appear before them. So much wilderness,
so little of anything else! Providence (present day Annapolis) in the 17th
century could at best qualify as a village, and beyond the log fence defending
the settlement there was…a LOT of trees. And savages. And God knew what sort of
dangerous animals.
Those that
came to farm had months of back-breaking work before them before they’d even
managed to clear a plot. Things that grew “back home” did not necessarily grow
here, but our settlers came with more than clothes and utensils, they came with
hollyhock seeds and marigold seeds and herbs and roses. I guess they needed
something from the old country to help them set down roots in this new
place.
However, not
all of these immigrants were voluntary travellers across the sea. Many were the
English, Scottish and Irish people who ended up in the New World as indentured
servants – and here, in the overlapping circles of colonists braving a new
world and involuntary immigrants lie the roots to several of the books in The
Graham Saga, set both in post-Restoration Scotland and 17th century
Maryland.
There are of
course a lot of other ingredients in the spicy stew that resulted in the story
of a young woman thrown three centuries backwards in time to land at the feet
of escaped convict Matthew Graham. Like my fascination with time travel as a
concept and my weakness for love stories, just to mention a few. But it is my
fascination with and respect for all those people who took a deep breath,
ignored the excruciating tearing of the soul as they bid everything farewell,
and dared to try for something better in a far and distant place that are the
main inspiration behind my stories about Matthew, his wife Alex, and the life
they carve themselves in the wilderness of Colonial Maryland.
I walk
through the ruins of homes that once housed generations after generations of
poor farmers, men who toiled to bring forth a crop out of ground riddled with
stone, women who did their best to feed their families on what little food
there was. God didn’t help much. The Swedish Lutheran Church made it its
business to persecute them for having the temerity to try to find solace in a
new version of Christianity (in this case Methodism). Children often died. Life
was harsh, and yet they persevered, having nowhere else to go. And then, one
day, someone lifted his face to the sky and yelled “enough!” Enough of watching
your children starve, enough of paying tithes to the Swedish Lutheran Church,
to the state. One anguished yell and an entire village decided it was time to
go elsewhere. I have no idea where they went. I can but walk through the
remains of where they once lived and wish them well, wherever they might have
ended up.
Anna
Belfrage
Had Anna Belfrage been allowed to
choose, she’d have become a professional time-traveller. As such a profession
does not exist, she became a financial professional with two absorbing
interests, namely history and writing.
Anna has just released the fourth instalment of The King’s Greatest Enemy, a series set in the 1320s featuring Adam de Guirande, his wife Kit, and their adventures and misfortunes in connection with Roger Mortimer’s rise to power.
When Anna is not stuck in the 14th century, she's probably visiting in the 17th century, specifically with Alex(andra) and Matthew Graham, the protagonists of the acclaimed The Graham Saga. This is the story of two people who should never have met – not when she was born three centuries after him.
Anna’s books
have won multiple awards among which feature numerous Historical Novel
Society’s Editor’ Choice. She has also contributed to several short-story
collections and aims to release a contemporary trilogy in 2018 – a mixture of
time-slip, suspense and burning passion.
Find out
more about Anna on her website, Amazon, on FB or follow her on Twitter. Or pop by her blog and submerge yourself in
historical posts about everything from golden camels to abducted nuns.
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to visit with you, Mary Anne!
ReplyDeleteIt is always a pleasure to have you on the blog, Anna!
DeleteA wonderful read so beautifully written.
ReplyDeleteThank you!
ReplyDeleteI feel immense delight reading all there is here. Thank you very much Anna.
ReplyDelete