Moving heaven and earth with national pride at stake

Oct 6 2008 Agenda

Britain can expect a surge in national pride when it hosts the 2012 Olympics. As Midland resident Torre Fauske recalls, one win can make all the difference.

The first winter Olympics after the war took place in Davos, Switzerland, in 1948.

Norway had always been strong in the winter Games and in particular speed skating, but five years of occupation had concentrated the attention on other things than sport.

However, Sweden, our neighbour and therefore our biggest and most feared competitor, had escaped the war and had carried on as usual, winning virtually every sporting event between the two countries since 1945.

But Davos gave us a chance to change all that., In the 1,500 metres speed skating Sweden’s, and Europe’s fastest skater, Seyffart, dominated, but Norway had managed to produce a serious competitor, Sverre Farstad, with a real chance to take gold.

The 1,500m was quite simply a question of National Pride. No less.

Being still at school there was little or no hope of listening to the radio commentary (TV was unknown in Norway in 1948) since the race was due to take place in the middle of a Norwegian essay lesson. Not only that, our teacher regarded most forms of sport – and skating in particular – as a waste of time and thought anyone who could stand and cheer someone skating or running round a track utterly moronic.

So when the rest of the country would come to a halt around the time the race was due to take place, everyone glued to their radio sets, we would be struggling with an essay.

That’s where Peter came in. Peter was the teacher’s pet, always well behaved, always doing his homework to perfection, always polite. In short not very popular with the rest of us.

Peter had made his own crystal set radio, and we suggested he should bring it along, put his headphones on, listen to the race, write down the results as they came, and pass notes round. He refused point blank, going pale by the mere thought of such utter frivolity, but a colourful description of what would happen to him if he didn’t made him change his mind. The snag was he needed an aerial. He was told not to worry.

On the day of the race, two of us went early to school, armed with a long wire which we laid along one wall in the classroom, sticking one end out of a window. The aerial was in place.

Peter was not a happy boy, crouching behind the back of the boy in front of him, earphones on, all of us pretending to concentrate hard on the essay assignment about the role of the horse in the 20th Century.”

The first note, passed quickly and surreptitiously from hand to hand, brought despair: Seyffart was leading with a time of 2.18.1 – pretty close to the world record. It created some unrest – the teacher noticed, looked up, making Peter so nervous that he took the earphones off. A kick from his neighbour made him put them on again. Two or three more notes – the Swede was still leading.

Silence reigned until Peter passed a note to John, the boy in front of him, saying “Farstad 2.17.6.” John forgot about time and place – jumped to his feet, waved the slip of paper madly and shouted at the top of his voice: “Farstad has beaten him!”

It is difficult to describe the next few minutes. Eruption, earthquake, revolution I’m sure they went through our teacher’s mind as we all stood up, jumped about, shouting, screaming – the worst as far as the teacher was concerned was probably seeing Peter with earphones on, aerial dangling, and probably the direct cause of it all. We were marched straight to the headmaster’s study. With 28 of us in there it didn’t leave much room for the teacher, but he insisted on giving the headmaster a very graphic description of what had happened.

Which he did. Then he excused himself, still visibly shaking, leaving us to be sentenced by the top man himself. “Execution” probably struck the teacher as a suitable measure.

The headmaster was a man of some standing in the community. He had been mayor of the city of Bergen during the occupation, and even the Germans had thought twice before challenging his authority. We had the greatest respect for him, bordering to fear. And now this fearsome man looked at us, very, very sternly. But then, he always looked at us very, very sternly. He was just that sort of man. Stern. A man not to be ignored.

“This,” he said, “is very serious. Very serious indeed.” He looked at us again, each one in turn. We felt less happy and comfortable than we had done only a short while ago.

After lecturing us on school rules, respect for teachers, and good behaviour in general – all the sort of things we knew, he finished: “It must be quite clear to you that such behaviour as you have just displayed cannot, and will not, go unpunished. So you must all, each and every one of you,” – and here he paused and looked sternly at each of us again – “go home and write 100 times, neatly and clearly, and hand it in to me tomorrow: ‘I am glad Farstad won gold with 2.17.6’.”

Never judge a book by its cover.