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Barndomshemmet

Där som sädesfälten böja sig för vindenoch där mörkgrön granskog lyser bakom dem,

står den röda lilla stugan invid grinden som i forna dagar var mitt barndomshem.Det var sol och sommar i de gröna hagar när som artonåring jag därhemma var.

Men de minnen jag har kvar från dessa dagar är de bästa och de vackraste jag har.

Ifrån landet uti väster tanken glider hem till kära gamla Sverige då och då.

Fast det nu har svunnit många långa tider, barndomshemmet har jag aldrig glömt ändå.

Jag är gammal och nu lever jag på minnetav mitt hem och mina drömmars vackra land.Det som fordom brukat fängsla barnasinnet

står tydligt för min inre syn ibland.Uti hemmet fick jag allt vad jag begärde,

jag förstod det kanske först när jag blev stor. Och föräldrarna mig livets goda lärde,

nu de äro borta, både far och mor.

Och min flicka sen, det fanns ej hennes like,hon var solen i mitt liv när jag var ung.

Nu hon vilar uti dödens kalla rike,jag står ensam här, och världen syns mig tung.

Och jag står då upp och griper vandringsstaven, men mitt lyckoland är endast en chimär,

ty härute ska jag bäddas ner i graven, långt från hemmet och från dem jag hade kär.

Text: Karl-EwertMusik: Paul Dresser

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Hälsa Dem Därhemma

I den stora tysta natt står jag här vid skeppets ratt,

under himlens stjärnehär, man på post mig satt.

Efter lång och strävsam dag hör jag fjärran vingeslag,

svalors flock, som åter går mot nord, mot ljus, mot vår.

Hälsa dem därhemma, hälsa far och mor, hälsa gröna hagen,

hälsa lille bror. Om jag hade vingar Flöge jag med dig,

svala, flyg mot hemmet, hälsa ifrån mig.

Lilla svala, fastän svag, dag och natt och natt och dag

förer dig mot målet fram snabba vingeslag.

Svala, tänk också på mig, gärna flöge jag med dig,

hemma står väl ängen grön, O, svala, hör min bön.

Text: Ch. BengtssonMusik: Elith Worsing

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I Villande Skogen

:|: I villande skogen Jag vallar min hjord :|:

Han följer mig så huld och trogen, Han fattar mitt ord Allt om vännen min.

:|: Och skogen den friska Är tystnadens famn; :|:

Men höga furorna de hviska Ett älskeligt namn: Det är vännen min.

:|: Du genljud, som skallar Mot klippornas höjd, :|:

Bär högt utöfver skogens tallar Min sång här i fröjd Allt om vännen min.

:|: En gång nog han kommer Att hämta sin brud. :|:

Då ska vi dansa om i rosor I liljehvit skrud

Allt med vännen min.

Text: Fredrik August DahlgrenMusik: Andreas Randel

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Malmö Valsen På Baltiskan

På Baltiskan ja går så glad mä dej min vän i Malmö stad.

Här kommer folk från öst och väst till Baltisk sommarfäst.

Härliga, härliga Malmö mö, uppå din väg skall ja rosor strö, Lilla Pernilla du tjusar mej —

å vad ja' älskar dej!

Mitt hjärtas viv, här är det liv,å många glada tidsfördriv.Och hallar speglar sej i sjö,

så skönt uti Malmö.

Här spikas inglish, snakkes dansk,här spraeckens tysk, parleras fransk.

Men blott din ljuva skånska röstkan ge mitt hjärta tröst.

På Baltiskan går allt gallant, där får ja se så mycke grant; men grannast är att se ändå,

i dina ögon blå.

Text: Göran SvenningMusik: David Hellström

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Min Egen Lilla Sommarvisa

Nu ä' dä' sommar, nu ä' dä' sol,Nu ä' dä blommer och blader,Å granner lyser varenda kjol,Båd' tös å gosse ä' så glader.

Nu kan en glömma all sorg å no',Nu kan en sjunga å skratta,Nu får en träffa sin lilla mö,Nu får en dansa hela nätta'.

Hejsan, ja' ä' så innerli't gla', Så att ja' kunne springa åsta' Å kossa tjuge gossar i en ra',

Utan att hämta andan.

När spelman kommer å polka går, Då blir dä' fart uti bena,

Å blode' bränner, å hjärta slår, Så gruvligt ljuvligt, vill ja' mena.

Då kan en känna va' livet är, Bland granna flecker å blommer,

Då kan en känna att en ä' kär, Då kan en känna dä' ä' sommer.

Hejsan, ja' ä' så innerli't kär.Å gossen han tar om mej så här

Långt in i skogen han mej nu bär,Där bara månen ser oss.

När allt är stilla, å allt är tyst,Å skogens blommor de sova,

Min gosses läppar, som nyss jag kysst,Va' tror du väl, att han mig lova?

Jag säger ej, va' han lova mej,Men fråga månen som lyser,

Han ser ju allt, men han skvallrar ej,Han bara ler i mjugg å myser.Hejsan, ja, ä' så innerli't trött.

Nu ska' vi sova, sova så sött.Månen han lyser, lyser så rött.

Lyser i sommarnatten.

Text: Eric EngstamMusic: traditional

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Min Sångröst Den Kan Ej Betalas Med Gull

HON: Min sångröst den kan ej betalas med gull.HAN: Det låter som att slå på en sprucken kastrull.

BÅDA: För Hållian Alian, Hållian Allallalej,Hållian Alian, Hållian lej.

För Hållian Alian, Hållian Allallalej,Hållian Alian, Hållian lej.

HON: En syster dä har ja' — hon dansar allt bäst. HAN: Hon dansar precis som en stelbenter häst.

HON: En broder dä har Ja', han målar med smak. HAN: Han rö' färger plank å så stryker han tak.

HON: Å rika föräldrar i staden ja' har. HAN: Pyttsan, ho har varken mor eller far.

HON: Å se mina tänder så blänkande vit. HAN: Ja, löständer har ho varendaste bit.

HON: Å se på mina fötter, så nätta å små. HAN: Ja liktorner har ho på varevelia tå.

HON: Å den som får mej, han får sej en skatt. HAN: Illisti dä ä ho', precis som en katt.

Text: Lars Dalabonde

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Tänker Du, Att Jag Förlorader Är?

Tänker du, att jag förlorader är,fast jag din gunst ej har?

Nej, du må vara förvissad därpå,att jag har en annan i val.

Så sant som här finnes vatten och vin,så sant har du varit allra kärestan min,

som under himmelen fanns,men nu är jag lika lustig och glad

och sjunger fallerallerallera!

Tänker du, att jag skulle sörja för dig?Så tokig var jag fälle ej.

Nog får jag en annan, som håller av mig,å inte hänger man sej.

Så visst som det är att jag nu sitter här,så visst har du varit allra kärestan min,

som under himmelen fanns,men nu är jag lika lustig och glad

och sjunger fallerallerallera!

Folk song from Gotland

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NOTES

Olga Lindgren - Peterson took part in many productions of “Värmlänningarna” (The People Of Värmland). As the heroine Anna she sang “I Villande Skogen”. The play, written by F. A. Dahlgren, also featured “Jag Sjunger Och Dansar” and “Värmlandsvisan”.

“Tänker Du, Att Jag Förlorader Är?” (Do You Think That I Am Lost?) is a Swedish folksong from the Baltic island province of Gotland. It was popularized in the United States in the 1920s by Olga Lindgren, leading lady of the Olle i Skratthult troupe.

DISCOGRAPHY

Hjalmar Peterson and Olga Lindgren - Peterson recordings 1917Malmö Valsen

Min Sångröst Den Kan Ej Betalas Med Gull

Olga Lindgren - Nilsen studio recordings 1975Barndomshemmet

Hälsa Dem Därhemma

Olga Lindgren - Nilsen field recordings 1980Barndomshemmet

Min Egen Lilla Sommarvisa

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Olga Lindgren - Nilsen 1980

Olga Lindgren - Nilsen, born 1896 in Norrsundet, GästriklandSt. Paul, MinnesotaRecorded February 20, 1980 in Minneapolis by Märta Ramsten and Uno Myggan Ericson

Olga Lindgren - Nilsen emigrated "to the U.S.A. at the age of 17 and went along with Olle i Skratthult’s traveling theater group as a singer and actress — she played, among other roles, Anna in “Värmlännningarna". She often sang dressed in folk costume and performed Swedish folk dances on the stage. Olga Lindgren married Hjalmar Peterson (Olle i Skratthult) but was later divorced and remarried. She has become the Grand Old Lady of Swedish American song, has performed on Swedish Radio and TV, and was chosen as the Swedish representative at the great International Folklore Congress, which took place in Washington during the latter part of the 1970s. She currently lives in St. Paul.

Barndomshemmet is perhaps with the exception of "Hälsa dem därhemma" the song which has been most widely sung in Swedish America. It is, however, originally American, written by the popular music composer Paul Dresser (1860 - 1906) — incidentally a brother to the writer Theodore Dreiser. The original was entitled "On the Banks of the Wabash" and was written in 1897. It has since become the official state song of Indiana. It came to Sweden by way of a German edition — somewhat of an arrangement of the original — but had already gone by way of Denmark, where it was sung around 1910 with the title "Skamlingsbanken". In Sweden it was Ernst Rolf who from 1914 on popularized it with the text which Karl-Ewert (Christenson, 1888 - 1965) wrote on the theme of the homesick Swedish American. It may have come to the U.S.A. through Bergslagsmor or Gustav Fonandern. Today it is sung by Swedish Americans who truly believe that it is entirely Swedish.

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Nu är det sommar, nu är det sol was written by Eric Engstam (1891 - 1944) from Småland, a singer of revue songs. The first recording of it was by Gustav Fonandern in 1914. Naturally, he sang it on his tours of the U.S.A. Bergslagsmor had it in the songbooks which she sold on her tour of the U.S.A. in 1924 under the name ''Min egen lilla sommarvisa", where the text is alleged to be Engstam’s and the music to be a transcribed melody from Bergslagen.

— From Sweden To America 1981

“Käringa mi’s kusin” performed by the Olle i Skratthult Troupe in 1927Seated second from left: Olga Lindgren

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In The Presence Of Olle i SkratthultJohan Forssblad

At times the matter of chance seems to be carefully planned. It seemed so on February 7th last winter. One evening, when recording a TV program, we were to revive the atmosphere from when the Swedish-American burlesque comedian, Olle i Skratthult, and his troupe came to a small town in the Midwest. Olle, or really Hjalmar Peterson, came from Munkfors in Värmland, so of course two inhabitants of Munkfors, Owe Carlson and Carina Ekman, were to appear in Olle's and Olga's roles, and the accordionist, Conny Axelsson, was also there, together with a local audience. The location was Ena Civic Center, near Munkfors, with an atmosphere from the 1920's and a building that really ought to be in northern Minnesota rather than the Klarälv Valley of Värmland. I ploughed an extra time through all the data and descriptions of Olle in Skratthult that I have gathered.

Hjalmar Peterson was born in Munkfors on February 7, 1886.

That date sounded familiar. Without a thought to the connection, the TV recording was made on the 100th anniversary of Olle i Skratthult's birth. Obviously the evening turned out to be a successful birthday party with an abundance of cake and seven kinds of cookies for coffee. Just think, if that birthday party could become a tradition! Imagine, trying to recreate on a dark February evening each year the light Olle i Skratthult and his theater company shed in the Swedish settlements, 60 to 70 years ago.

Munkfors humor's own museum.

Thanks to Owe Carlson the memory of Olle i Skratthult lives on in Munkfors. Owe has a lot of Skratthult material in his collection and is building a museum to honor Munkfors humor. There are many great comedians who came from the little foundry community in Värmland, but Olle was the first.

So far Swedish film's foremost entertainer, Fridolf Rhudin, has the most prominent place in the museum, but the room for Olle i Skratthult is steadily being filled, although it is hard to find interesting exhibit material about a man who lived far away on the other side of the ocean, and who lived more than half a century ago.

The gleam in Olga's eyes.

Hjalmar Peterson died in Minneapolis in 1960, 74 years old and forgotten. I never got to meet him, but a year and a half ago I had the pleasure of meeting with his previous wife, Olga Lindgren-Nilsen, a couple of days.

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Olga welcomed me to her home in St. Paul. She was 88 years old and somewhat ailing, but she had a gleam in her eyes that made me dream of the 1920's Swedish-American vaudeville, when Olle i Skratthult was the greatest.

And then there was dancing afterwards.

I was fascinated by Olle's idea of creating an entire evening for everyone. First there was a concert, then Olle told jokes that made people wriggle with laughter. In the town of Lindstrom, it is said that Olle caused one man to laugh to death. The jokes was followed by a popular comedy or farce, and then the evening closed with dancing to the music of "Luffarekapellet," and it was to be good music, Olle decided. It was an entire program worthy of a program schedule planner for Swedish television, only far more entertaining. If anyone has died in front of the TV, it hasn't been from laughter . . .

Olga laughed and her eyes sparkled from the memories, those eyes that my American photographer never succeeded in capturing, but I remember them. After the interview there was a party at the home of Olga and her husband, Harold, and a few of their friends were also invited.

A sorrowful and dismal apple pie.

I was the guest of honor, but everyone's gaze was turned toward Olga, who sang and radiated, while Harold beamed with pride. But after the meal Olga suddenly collapsed. We had to call an ambulance, and the guests remained without their hosts. I felt very depressed and responsible, having overexcited Olga with my lights and microphones. We ate up the dessert in awkward silence.

There was apple pie and more apple pie. "You're a growing boy!" said Esther and forced another helping on me, but I have never eaten so much or such good apple pie. We cleaned up all traces of the party, and the unease about our hostess made us speak in low voices. We waited. No one wanted to go home without hearing news about Olga. It came late. Olga came home.

A star's entrance.

After being examined Olga wanted to return home immediately, and the doctor was persuaded to release her. We stood with our coats on when Olga and Harold returned. Olga was pale and tired. When she came in and saw us, she smiled, and the gleam returned to her eyes. "I only did that to get out of doing dishes," said Olga.

Then I understood. Olga was a genuine artist, and it made my thoughts go back to Olle i Skratthult and to realize that in some fashion it all had its origins in Munkfors.

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That spring Olga was honored with a large celebration in Minneapolis. A few months later, she was no longer among us. She had lived in America for more than 70 years.

His Värmland dialect was his downfall.

Today it is difficult to imagine how Olle i Skratthult and Olga Lindgren managed to tour about, back and forth across America in times when cars and roads were so very different than they are now, and how all those hardships resulted in gladdening thousands of Swedish-Americans. Olle even managed to produce the popular comedy Värmlänningarna, in Swedish, of course. Olle refused to perform in any other language, and in the end, it was also his downfall.

By the end of the 1930's the public had diminished; the melting-pot had done its work. Fewer and fewer people understood Swedish, cinema pushed aside the burlesque comedian, and it became too expensive to tour with a theater company the size of Olle’s!

Nearly a half-century has passed. Munkfors hasn't really paid much attention to its great son until now. Olle i Skratthult will have a place now in a little museum in a foundry community, and just think if it could be the basis of a yearly festival, too. Olle i Skratthult would be worthy of that!

The Bridge 1986Karlstad, Värmland

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