Manus Reflections II

- in words and proverbs
2. Auflage 2018
ISBN: 978-87-7188-104-2
Verlag: BoD - Books on Demand
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 184 Seiten

"Reflections II" has been given its name because as the author, George Manus himself says: My reflections have developed into stories. In the book the author, George Manus, reflects over this and that as well as the somewhat unexpected. No less than 66 reflections have seen the light of day, from those dealing with moral topics such as AMBITIONS and DEPENDENCE, to the enjoyable OSCARs CONFIRMATION SPEECH. Some of the reflections are self-experienced, whereas in others George Manus focuses on general topics. The short stories are presented alphabetically and can thus be read individually.

George Manus was born in England 14.05.39. His mother was Ida Nikoline Lindebrække from Norway and his English father George Bernardes. His parents divorced and George grew up, after the Second World War, as the stepson of war hero Max Manus in Norway. He got the name Manus but was never adopted. All his professional life he was engaged in the Max Manus companies and leader of same for about 40 years. Throughout his adult life, he has thought about EVERYTHING, making notes along the way, as a basis for the books he knew he would write upon retirement. George Manus has fulfilled his dreams and as of today has written several books. In his authorship one can sense the cosmopolitan, which isn't random. He has experienced a lot, lived abroad and for the last fifteen years been firmly ensconced in the South of Spain. Homepage: https://george-manus.jimdo.com George Manus ble født i England 14.05.39. Hans mor var Ida Nikoline Lindebrække fra Norge og hans engelske far George Bernardes. Foreldrene ble skilt og George vokste, etter annen verdenskrig, opp som stesønn av krigshelten Max Manus i Norge. Han fikk navnet Manus, men ble aldri adoptert. I hele sitt yrkesaktive liv var han engasjert i Max Manus firmaene, og i nærmere 40 år leder av disse. Han har gjennom hele sitt voksne liv fundert over ALT og gjort seg notater underveis, som en studie for de bøker som han visste at han på sitt otium ville gi seg i kast med. George Manus har innfridd sine drømmer, og har til dags dato skrevet flere bøker. I hans forfatterskap kan man merke at det er en kosmopolitt som skriver, noe som ikke er tilfeldig. Han har opplevd mye, bodd i utlandet og de siste femten år vært fast forankret i Syd Spania. Hjemmeside: https://george-manus.jimdo.com

Autoren/Hrsg.

Manus, George

Leseproben

No Future without a Past

Dear Rotarians and guests.

An indisputable prerequisite for growing up is having been born. The date was 14.5.1939, very early in the morning. As in all mothers’ lives, it was surely a big event. The following probably applies here as well as in other situations:

“Most women give birth to children, but only I give birth to mine”.

The offspring was very thin according to what I’ve been told, but we can’t all be the same.

The place of confinement was the local hospital at Caterham, a suburb of London.

To be brief, my maternal grandfather, the County Governor in Bergen and Hordaland, felt that his daughter, after finishing her A-levels at Bergen Katedralskole, ought to learn languages. London was chosen and the year was, as far as I know, 1933.

What actually happened was that she met the man who was later to become her husband. He was English and one of three brothers. He ran a family business which was founded in 1885 and which was responsible for the unloading of wood from all Scandinavian countries, a so-called Stevedore firm.

The wedding took place in 1936. They built a house in Caterham and though a lot of it was exciting, I don’t think my mother really settled down to being a stay-at-home housewife in England. She drove her husband to the local train station every morning and picked him up in the afternoon, after having spent most of the day playing bridge with other like-minded women. That was apparently how one had to live at the time, and the English are conservative.

I was, as mentioned, born in 1939. The heavy clouds over Europe, which we have all heard of, seemed to be extra heavy at the time, because mother shortly after moved back to Bergen with me.

Allegedly the thin offspring was also quite ill at the time. The doctors weren’t sure what illness I had, but that I was going to die there was apparently no doubt at all.

The medicine which finally cured the evil was said to have been tried for the first time in Norway on yours truly. Drama from the word go, and as if that wasn’t enough, while staying at Ulvik in Hardanger, the family hotel was set on fire by the Germans. The old wooden hotel burnt down to the ground and the baby carriage with me in it was apparently rescued at the last minute.

My father reported for duty at the Foreign Office after his elder brother was killed in Ethiopia. The import of wood in England had stopped because of the war and the firm was closed. It’s probably a bit strange that he despite being an officer in one of England’s oldest regiments, The Honourable Artillery Company, considering the lack of officers in those days, was transferred to Haugesund as Consul. He had, however, fairly good knowledge of Scandinavia and spoke a bit of Norwegian. He was - among other duties - to report on the movements of the German fleet.

The Germans came and he retreated towards the north and ended up in Åndalsnes. The house he was staying in there got hit by German bombers.

It’s not easy to make the story short, but I’ll try. He was rescued from the ruins as a non-survivor, but someone must have seen that he was still alive.

He was later transferred to the hospital in Ålesund, heavily wounded by metal splinters in his head.

Via Vollan prison in Trondheim he was then by the Germans sent to Møllergata 19 in Oslo.

During one of his stays at Ullevål Hospital in Oslo my mother visited him and that was actually the first time she heard the name, Max Manus. This strange person had fled from his guards at the same hospital the night before, after first having struck down a nurse. My mother and Max were to meet later on in life and there is no doubt that my life has also been affected by that meeting.

My father was, due to his diplomatic status, eventually sent to Sweden and was there operated several times by the well-known brain surgeon, Olivenkrona.

The metal splinters were removed after which he spent a long time recovering at Saltsjøbaden outside Stockholm.

My life as a hostage began after Fehmer, himself the the top German Gestapo officer in Oslo, gave the order that if my mother wanted to go to Stockholm, she would have to leave me in Norway.

My dear auntie Kari, mother’s sister, had due to the war moved from Bergen to Ulvik in Hardanger. She became my mother number two and a person I greatly appreciated. Unfortunately she died a few years ago. My mother’s brother, Sjur, became part of the resistance movement from the very beginning, whereas my maternal grandfather stayed in his post as County Governor throughout the war. It seemed to be the way things went in those days.

It’s been reported that the hostage in Ulvik wasn’t very old before he was given an extra ration at the co-op, because of the excuse he used: “You must take pity on me because I haven’t got a mother or a father”.

In Stockholm my mother worked at the British Legation, where she under the nickname “Auntie”, among other things, wrote and conveyed reports from the resistance people who managed to get to Sweden on their way to England. She was later given King Haakon’s Medal of Freedom for her work, of which she is very proud.

As I have been told by my mother, a very strange man by the name of Max Manus appeared at the office one day, after one of his resistance operations in his homeland. It must have been this meeting which was to be the start of a new future. It is said that time solves most problems and there is certainly a lot of truth in that. I don’t know why, because nobody has been able to tell me why, but the hostage was eventually set free at a later date, with the natural consequence that he ended up at his mother’s, again as when he was born, abroad. Some insignificant confusions of time may have sneaked in here, but no matter how it was; the earlier hostage had become a big boy all at once.

After my stay in Stockholm, back to Ulvik in Hardanger I went, where my first school year finished the spring I turned seven.

The reason for my early start was probably that the extra work for my auntie Kari was reduced by letting me start school rather than having me at home. Her daughter and son were already at school.

The teacher was another aunt, though not by blood, and she accepted responsibility for me. She died many years ago, but I still remember her as a somewhat special person.

I can also remember that I went to Sunday school the same year and got a good many stars in my book.

Somewhere in time, just after the liberation in 1945, I recall one of the biggest disappointments imaginable, the taste of my first banana. There was no end to my tears, the banana had been so much talked about and so overrated, and then for me there was no taste.

Back to Sweden once more and what do I remember from those days that may have affected me? At least one episode from the tail end of this stay in Sweden, I can recall; too terrible. Without having any other purpose than lighting a fire, I managed to light one in a wood stove standing in a barracks consisting of at least two storeys. I lit the fire on purpose, of course, but what I didn’t know was that the stove had no chimney. The result of it being that the entire house burnt down to the ground.

Furthermore, I lost my watch one day at the daycare centre. It had been given to me by my father and I never forgot its loss.

The summer of 1945, was perhaps the start of that part of my life which was seriously concerned with my development and awareness of environmental influence.

The middle of the day, lovely sunshine, I recall. The place being a summer camp way out in the Swedish country-side. A car arrives with my mother and an unknown man inside. My belongings were packed and off we went. I became carsick at the time and have been frequently so ever since.

There was apparently a lot of excitement at the Norwegian border; I had some odd thoughts, but was to young to understand. Had my father, who was a convalescent but who still had his position as Vice-Consul in Stockholm, heard tell about a kidnap attempt?

Had he been able to arrange for us to be stopped at the border? No, not at all, everything went well and the kidnap victim didn’t understand a thing.

It later came to me, that my mother’s female instincts must have been quite natural, I had to be part of the deal.

After the mentioned stay at auntie Kari’s in Ulvik, I ended up at Landøya in Asker, a place Max had bought just after the liberation.

There I lived until I got married. Max turned into uncle Max and a more orderly life took shape, though perhaps not always welcome from my point of view.

At seven I started my second school year at Holmen school.

The problem - no, even in those days problems became challenges - was that I spoke a mixture of Ulvik dialect and Swedish.

This was the most important reason for my day mainly consisting of my strength being tested. We humans just seem to be made that way.

The school almost became a story in itself. Bible history, geography and normal history, I understood in part, but in other subjects I was hopelessly bad.

I never actually had to repeat a year, but seldom was anyone closer to doing so than me. It was said that the most positive part of what I did at school was that I spoke loudly and clearly in class, but my teacher pointed out that I suffered from something which today would probably be called a mild form for...