When Norway was invaded in 1940, the Nazis came marching with old Norwegian runes on their chests. What a paradox. Our country was thus attacked by a nation that admired Norwegian culture and used Norse symbols to legitimize its war. How could they do that? The relationship between Germany and Norway has fascinated author Lars Mytting for many years. There have been three books about the fictional village of Butangen. Lars Mytting Photo: Robert Rønning / news Norwegian journalist and author, born 1968. From Fåvang in Gudbrandsdalen. Had his big breakthrough with the non-fiction book “Hel ved” (2011). Has also published the novels “Hestekrefter” (2006) “Vårofferet” (2010), “Svøm med dem som drukner” (2014) “Skråpånatta” (2023) is the third release in the trilogy “Hekne” where “Søsterklokkene” (2018) was first book and “Hekneveven” (2020) was the second book. Lars Mytting’s books have been translated into more than 20 languages. The hub of this trilogy are two church bells that once hung in the valley’s stave church. In the last book, “Skråpånatta”, the Nazis come to the village. They want to get hold of the last church bell that the villagers have hidden away. Now it must be emphasized that Mytting writes freely, but the background to his story is true. The German Nazis were extremely interested in Norse culture. SS chief Heinrich Himmler even went to Norway to experience the country with his own eyes. He wanted to hear the folk music, see the Viking ships and admire the stave churches. But why did Norwegian culture become so important to the Nazis? In Ringebu in Gudbrandsdalen there is some of the answer to this. Photo: Javier Auris / news Ringebu last day in August – Here I was confirmed. Lars Mytting and I sit on a hard pew in the empty stave church. It is completely quiet in the 800-year-old wooden building. Only the photographer wanders around and takes pictures of details. Photo: Javier Auris / news As a child, Lars thought that all churches looked like that, with portals and mysterious signs carved hundreds of years ago. And while the priest taught the hopeful young people in the village about the life of Jesus, young Lars let his gaze wander around the old wooden church. Paintings are hung along the walls in memory of people who had lived and lived in Ringebu. One of these paintings caught his interest. – Already as a child I had wondered why something was written there in another language, says Mytting. He would later learn that the foreign words under the painting were German. They were written in memory of a lieutenant colonel who died in Ringebu But the German lieutenant colonel did not die between 1940 and 1945. The year was 1735. Photo: Javier Auris / news The Germans’ interest in Nordic symbols, runes and Vikings did not originate in Nazi Germany. It came several hundred years before Hitler and Himmler were born. It started as a friendship. The Germans come (the first time) The German lieutenant colonel who died in Ringebu in 1735 was not alone in coming to Norway. – Already in the 16th century, the first German immigrants arrived, says Mytting. The country was to be built, and professionals were needed. It became a kind of elite German immigration over several hundred years. Doctors, merchants, officers, miners. They came in droves. And while native Norwegians tore down old stave churches to build larger and simpler houses of worship, free of magic and knick-knacks, the German immigrants allowed themselves to be fascinated by precisely this – the primitive Norwegian and pre-Christian. That’s exactly what you find in an old church in a valley in the mountainous country of Norway, filled with carvings from Norse times. In short: a wooden church with hints of Odin and Thor. DRAGONS AND SNAKES: Around the portal in Ringebu church there are old carvings with elements from pre-Christian times. Photo: Javier Auris / news In Ringebu, the stave church stands firm to this day. However, the stave church in Vang in Valdres did not. It was taken down and bought by King Frederick William IV of Prussia and moved to what was then Germany in the mid-19th century. Today, the Vang stave church is a tourist attraction in Poland. LONG TRAVELED CHURCH: Vang stave church in Karpacz in Poland. The precise thing would be to say – the reconstruction of Vang stave church. Here you have added a little at your own discretion. Photo: Thomas Ystrøm / news You can call it a kind of cultural infatuation. But falling in love is often about a kind of recognition. The Germans found something in Norse culture that resonated with them. The German poem Nibelungenlied was used as evidence for a cultural kinship between Germany and Norway. In the poem we meet Sigurd (Siegfried in German) who kills the dragon Fåvne. The same story repeats itself in the Norse texts in “The Elder Edda” and “The Younger Edda”. After the unification of Germany (1871), many were in search of a common culture. The idea of a common Germanic origin in a mythical time was sown. Likewise the belief that the remains of this common culture were still to be found in Norwegian valleys, unsullied by modernity. – At the same time, they misunderstood so much, says Mytting. Odel for example. – One of their most important ideologues believed that it was the strongest who inherited the farm, that Norwegian farming families were refined through the best man principle. Photo: Javier Auris / news In addition, they also adopted old Norse superstitions about how a physical object or symbol has actual power. This very point is important for understanding the Nazis’ use of old Norwegian letters on shirt sleeves. They simply believed that the runes were magical. The letters Lars Mytting and I stand in the middle of the church room and look up along the old pine poles that hold up the roof. There are 12 of them, huge pines that were felled once 800 years ago. They have been standing here ever since. It gives a very special feeling to be surrounded by old wood. A distinctive sound of ancient times. On one of the staves/pillars, someone has taken out a knife and carved their message when the church was new. “Here he was, and from here he went out.” The letters carved into the bar are angular. Such letters were fashionable in posters and books before the invasion in 1940, but now such fonts are associated with Nazism. You could say that they destroyed an entire typographic tradition. Graphics: Harald Damsleth After 1945, for example, the sun runes have become useless. Examples of Norse symbols and rituals that are difficult to use now: Heil og sæl – old Norwegian greeting with outstretched hand. Hird – In the Middle Ages, the king’s men were called hird. Now it’s called the King’s Guard. Sun rune/victory rune – The rune sign is the eleventh sign in the younger rune series and represents the letter s and the sun. The Nazis renamed it the victory rune. Olav’s cross in yellow and red – this was the NS logo. Precisely this aesthetic has fascinated Lars Mytting in his latest book: how idioms from before 1939 become inedible after 1945. “There doesn’t need to be more than a direction of gaze on a picture,” says Lars Mytting. – It’s enough. The millennial gaze. The Nazis often used this look in their propaganda posters. Graphics: Harald Damsleth Sportspeople still have to be careful. The mixture of a strong body and a military attitude quickly gives rise to crazy associations. Ammunitionsfabrikken Nammo’s sponsor campaign for the show jumping team is an example of this. CRITICIZED in 2017: This was a full page in VG. Facsimile: VG / NAMMO It didn’t go much better for the alpine national team when they got new jumpers … UNFORTUNATE ASSOCIATIONS in 2017: The Nordic resistance movement in Gothenburg used the Tyr rune, as did the wool jumper manager for the alpine national team. Facsimile: VG – Our reality for this still remains, says Mytting. The Germans are coming (for the second time) When the Germans attacked Norway in 1940, orders were given from the top to treat the Norwegians well. Norwegians were Aryans, the lordly people, and we were all Germans. It probably came as a shock to the occupiers that many did not agree at all with this common Germanic idea. It is unpleasant to be liked by Nazis. – Did we just have bad luck that it was our culture that they liked so much? I ask Jimi Thaule. He is a university librarian at the University of Agder and has written about the Nazis’ use of rituals and historical symbols. Thaule hesitates a little to answer, because bad luck is hardly the word you use for such a thing. – There are probably several coincidences that happened at the same time, says Thaule. The Germans were already fascinated by Norse symbols when nationalism arose in Europe. In addition, political unrest after the First World War contributed. In Germany, people searched for a common ground and found the answer in a mythical past. – But the peculiar thing about German nationalism is the occult side, says Thaule and adds: – If you disregard the atrocities, this can seem almost comical. Thaule refers to the notorious organization SS. The supreme leader was Heinrich Himmler, the most cow-co of them all. Heinrich Himmler. Photo: NTB Scanpix Himmler mixed thoughts about blood, ancestors, rituals, astrology and Norse symbols into a sauce. – They cultivated the irrational, says Thaule. – What do you think as a professional about the priest Schweigaard saying in Mytting’s books that the SS uniforms look like magician’s suits? – It was a precise description, says Thaule. The uniforms were black. This was inspired by the costume of the Jesuit priests and was supposed to show how one sacrificed oneself for spiritual strife. On their shirt collars they wore double sun runes which they renamed victory runes. Photo: NTB Scanpix They used the bull rune as a life and death rune (depending on which way the rune faces), and they met for mysterious rituals at Himmler’s castle. – The historical symbols were more than just inspiration, says Thaule – They were an expression of a desire to return to the virtues of earlier times. A Norse spirit was to lead the people into a new era of greatness. When the war was over, parts of Norwegian culture had been tainted to the extent that we can still feel the after effects. The Germans are coming (for the third time) As Lars Mytting and I leave the Ringebu stave church, we see two women in the car park. They are obviously tourists. Then they spot Lars Mytting. Of course they know Mytting! The two ladies are German and work in a bookshop. Now they have come to Ringebu after reading about the sister clocks. THE GERMANS ARE COMING: But this time it’s just nice. Photo: Javier Auris / news In other words, the Germans are here again. I feel like reversing the priest Schweigaard’s statement in the book to Mytting: I like you better this time than the last time you were here. Epilogue – to the delight of those initiated into Mytting’s universe To all of you who have read one, two or three of the books in the series: – Do you want to join us up the tower of the sister clock? asked Lars – What? so I. Are the bells here? I couldn’t believe my ears. The sister watches? Do they really exist? – We are not really allowed to do this, said Lars as he opened the hatch in the roof. Photo: Javier Auris / news On the way up the steep stairs, he muttered some sort of reason why we could break this ban right now. I didn’t hear what he said. I was just thinking about Astrid Hekne, our heroine, how she realizes that she has to climb up to the sister bells to save them from being sent to Germany. Once up through the hatch, Lars pointed to a ladder. I stared up at the tower and realized that this wooden ladder was only the first of several. In the book, Astrid trembles with fear on the way up. I did that too. But my reason was fear of heights. Lars Mytting chattered all the way. He told about the bell legend from his home village, about two sisters, joined at the hip, who were so good at weaving. That their dad had two sister bells cast for Ringebu stave church. One bell is unfortunately missing. Lars has tried to find out what happened to it. Maybe it was recast, he said and entered ladder number four in the old tower. Outside I could hear the wind. It cracked in old wood. I was dizzy and worried about how I was going to get back down, but I knew I had to go up – up to the sister watch I had read so much about. Because just then, Lars Mytting’s universe felt completely true, even though I know that he composes. Photo: Javier Auris / news I took the sister clock in Ringebu. Grafted me an atom or two, because you never know – maybe the weekend basket will work… Right? And then I climbed back down to reality. *** Here are some other things you might like:
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Lars Mytting on why the Nazis were so happy with Norwegian culture – Culture
