Good morning! I am here today with Thorfinn Kormaksson, from a small village 20 kilometers from Dublin, on the green hills of Ireland.
Thorfinn is a middle-aged man of twenty-five, six feet tall, strong, blonde-haired, and his teeth are crooked. He seems very kind and responsible, and loves his wife, children and community.
His children, Veleif, Heith, and Jorunn, are playing in the settlement’s streets with the other children, we can hear their laughs from outside.
He has kindly invited me to his family’s house, and now we are sitting next to the fireplace, in the middle of the room. His house is not big, but it’s well-kept, clean and tidy.
So, Thorfinn, can you explain to me your daily life?
I ask.
Thorfinn scratches his chin – stubble is growing on it.
I’m a farmer.
He begins.
I wake up before the rooster calls, put on my work clothes, and wake up my wife after preparing her work clothes. Then, trying not to wake up the children, we take our utensils, get out the house and head off to work. It’s very cold in the morning, so we wear coats, but not the fancy ones.
Work in the fields is not always hard, especially if you’re used to it: me and my wife, just like almost everyone else, have been working since we were children, so we’re not really struggling.
My wife doesn’t work in the fields these months, but when she does, she leaves the field some time before me, to check upon the children, see if they’re already awake or if she needs to wake them up. And she also starts preparing the dagmál.
Thorfinn notices my confusion.
Dagmál is the day meal, breakfast. We eat it after three hours of work.
We adults eat the leftovers of the previous meal, the náttmál, dinner. And also some fruits. The children eat more, because they need to become adults. They eat more especially in the winter, so they can survive it. They usually eat porridge, fruits and bread.
At the end of the day, we eat stew and vegetables, and we’ll eat the leftovers the morning after.
I ask my next question.
So you’re just a farmer?
Thorfinn shakes his head.
If there’s war, I’m also a soldier.
He gets up, and takes a helmet from a basket in a corner.
This is my helmet. It fits me perfectly, and it will fit Veleif’s head when he’s old enough.
It’s round and it’s made to protect the head from any sort of impact.
Two years ago, someone tried to hit me in battle with an axe! But it only cracked my helmet.
He shows it to me. It has a crack right in the middle, fixed with melted iron.
See? I had my neighbour Haklang fix it for me.
Thorfinn sits back down, after leaving the helmet.
We’re not really a war tribe, so most men work in the fields, like me, or are blacksmiths, like Haklang, or craftsmen, or shepherds. But we’re ready to fight, if needed. Haklang is the best blacksmith in this village: men from Dublin come here for his swords, and shields!
A woman walks in the hut – she’s pregnant. Three children walk beside her.
This is my wife, Skur.
Thorfinn smiles. The woman smiles and sits in another corner, playing with her children.
Skur is slightly shorter, long haired and blonde, too; she also seems to have strong arms.
She’s very beautiful.
I say.
Can you tell me about her? About you two?
The man nods.
Skur and I have known each other since we were children.
We got married when she was thirteen, and I was fifteen. My father Kormak organized it all.
We had our first son, Veleif, he’s now ten. Then Heith, she’s now eight, and finally Jorunn, she’s four. We’re expecting another child, maybe a boy!
The children wave at us and giggle. They look like their parents, but smaller and skinnier.
What about the rest of your family? Your father, is he alive? Do you have any brothers?
I question.
Unfortunately, my father Kormak died when I was seventeen, and my mother when I was twenty-one.
I have a younger sister, Matilda, twenty, but she’s married off to Koigrim Flosisson, in another village.
I also have two older brothers, Thjostolf and Tofi. They moved to Dublin, the big settlement, and they’re the ones that told the men there to come here for Haklang’s swords. They have joined a group of raiders.
Every now and then, when they have time, they come here to visit us: sometimes they also bring their wives and children. When they visit us, they show off their loot; what they found after raiding monasteries or villages. Coins, shoes, rings, too…
I ask my last question, and Thorfinn shows me his farming utensils.
After that, I say good-bye to Skur and the children, as Thorfinn walks me out of his house.
It’s a nice day – the sun is high in the sky.
I wave good-bye to Thorfinn and the villagers and I ride away on my mule, towards the seaport in Dublin.