A Tribute to the Swedish American Line The White Viking Fleet 14 Years on the Internet
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Thanks to Aili Mårtens for permission to post this story of her crossing at Christmas time in 1929.
This article was printed in Jakobstads Tidning , Finland, on Christmas Eve, 1998.

I think you would need a very special reason to take on a voyage across the Atlantic in wintertime. (This was before the era of air travel). Such was the case for my mother and I. Our two year permit to visit Finland had come to its end. The depression was deepening, and visas to the United States were hard to come by. The Swedish American Line's MS Gripsholm, said to be the most stable ship of the company's fleet, was ready for departure in the Göteborg harbor. Now, seventy years later, I can no longer remember the date. So far, we had made a long journey. From Nykarleby with Alström's bus to Kovjoki, sitting on a train one night to Helsinki, to the American Consulate for the final check up of our health and our documents. To Turku and on to Stockholm on a large size tugboat. Could it have been called Ariadne? It was not Arcturus. The train from Stockholm to Göteborg was like first class, because of the Line's concern for its passengers. We were served veal and a delicious dessert. On the train mother and I noted that we were not the only travelers bound for America, which we had been joking about. On board at last How wonderful to be able to let out a sigh of relief, when we finally were on board. Yes, all the passengers showed up at the dinner table. The dining room is the best place to see all the passengers, but after a day, as the sea gets rougher, the dining room guests become more scarce, you see unused table settings, and finally, unprepared tables. Seasickness had struck, the 3rd class cabins were uncomfortably located, two decks below. It was possible to fight the sickness, not to give in to it. Find a sturdy paper bag, walk slowly, one step at a time, up to the boat deck for some fresh air. It was interesting to study our voyage on a chart on the wall. An inch-long line showed the distance we had traveled during the day. We were crowding in front of the chart to find out where we were. The wide sea around us, and so far from land - that's all we knew. Two handsomely uniformed young officers rushed about. I wondered if they had older, more experienced, officers to aid them. When a day's line on the chart became shorter than the previous day's, our fellow passengers were giving each other interested looks. Our laughter ended when we lost our balance, and stumbled continuously. Our conversation turned all the more solemn as we became aware that the sea was angry. We knew that the situation was serious when there was no new line on the chart. Powerful waves The small door to the forward deck was guarded by a seaman. We asked him to open the door, at first he hesitated, aware of his duty. A wave hit the deck making a sound as if huge barrels of water had tumbled down upon it. A wave circled the hatch to the cargo hold, which had been covered by canvas secured by ropes, some days earlier. We thanked the seaman for letting us watch, not with smiles, but with tear filled eyes asking: "How will this end?" Christmas Eve tomorrow: Incredible! On the ocean, in a storm! There were Christmas trees here and there. Appreciated, but far more judged as unnecessary work efforts. Danger was very imminent to us, we realized how little we knew. Our thoughts wandered to the Almighty and his mercy. No one wanted to miss the Christmas dinner. The Swedish smörgåsbord was renowned, and Christmas was something special. We didn't know who were missing at the dinner. The sickness was merciless. The supper went by in silence. The table was divided lengthwise by a wooden bar to stop the plates from sliding about. With the dessert, we were given printed notices with the message: "Go to your cabins, put on your life belts (bricks of cork, sewn inside sail-canvas, to be tied around your waist). Assemble on upper deck at life boat I." We obeyed the order, but I was like in a trance, stunned, watching the life boat swinging outside the railing, one seaman at the bow, and another one aft. We were all awaiting new orders. I heard two Finnish ladies say "vaan trilli", a drill. I turned around and said: "Not very likely on Christmas Eve, can't you hear the waves having their say?" Waited for a while, that felt like hours, without any thoughts. Someone else had been thinking, and we heard the order "Return to your cabins". No one hesitated, surely all in quiet prayer, grateful. A welcomed signal On Christmas Day, the 3rd class passengers were invited to a sermon in the 2nd class dining room. We were sitting at round tables with white linen table cloths. I remember the speaker saying: "We are in a world of our own here". Most certainly he was praying that we would reach our haven safely. After that evening and night, it was as if the storm had surrendered. "Boooooh" - what signal is that, somebody asked. Well, I knew. "It's the fog horn, warning other ships in the fog that we are approaching". It was a welcomed signal, because when the sea is settling, fog appears, certainly yet another hazard, but we had been so frightened by the towering waves, that we thought no other danger could exist. The horn sounded at a minute's interval, it was a comforting thought that other ships could be at sea, even though it was our own ship that was signaling. There were no more lines on the chart, and no one expected it. We had been through so much. Someone wondered if "they" had altered the course, as everything changed in such a short time. I woke up in the middle of the night, sensing that everything was so different, so still. I went out to the stairs, where people were gathering. "We have docked", in New York. Across the continent It was New Year's Day, 1930. Everything was closed. On the following day, we were on solid ground, bowing our heads, grateful that we could continue our journey by train. "The Line's" bus took us to the train station, we were advised not to miss the Niagara Falls, and given good luck wishes. Yes, the train stopped for 15 minutes, but we had grown so tired of all the water, that our interest was very low. There were not many of us who were going across USA, only five to the West Coast, Oregon and Seattle, Washington, where mother's and my journey ended. The train took four and a half days, but cost twice as much as the voyage across the sea. No stops at any stations, just a whistle as we were passing by. Once in a while, in a curve, you could see the two locomotives and the last car at the same time. When I look back at my Christmas on the Atlantic in 1929 and the storm, I realize that the lifeboat, 8-10 meters long, would have been caught by the waves and thrown against the ship’s hull. Time and time again, I have wondered about all these people who go to see the film "Titanic". Can it be called entertainment, watching people go under? Has the Estonia catastrophe already been forgotten? Aili Mårtens © Aili Mårtens, 1998 Back to the Gripsholm page