Tell Jesper Knasfis about your experiences

Introduction

This web page is dedicated first of all to all the families who have managed to bring up their children in a way that laid a sound foundation for coping with life in an unjust world. I definitely include Jesper's parents in this dedication.

A world where jealous persons will always try to demean their target, where envy will always demand that things are taken and never given.

A world where individual thinking and doing is discouraged out of fear of standing out and be noticed.

In other words, it takes a strong individual to succeed in this so called utopia that is the country where I grew up.

I hope that with recounting my own experiences I can help my friend Jesper mature into a strong, happy and complete human being, able to cope, not only in Denmark, but in the world that I fled to.

The Jante Law

• You're not to think you are anything special.

• You're not to think you are as good as we are.

• You're not to think you are smarter than we are.

• You're not to convince yourself that you are better than we are.

• You're not to think you know more than we do.

• You're not to think you are more important than we are.

• You're not to think you are good at anything.

• You're not to laugh at us.

• You're not to think anyone cares about you.

• You're not to think you can teach us anything.

Chapter 1: Introduction to a big problem

Jesper is my friend. OK a long distance friend. I live in Spain and he in Denmark.

But we have met on a few family occasions and if he was too young to appreciate me calling him what I call him here, I felt and still feel a strong bond with this little chap.

Jesper has a real name, but I am not prepared to reveal it.

I think he has been subjected to the Jante law. This is a stupid short-sighted and navel gazing Danish attitude towards anyone who they consider is trying to be better than themselves.

Sounds difficult and narrow minded but a lot of Danes, in order to protect themselves have a tendency to demean others so as to feel better about themselves. It is a herd mentality and a way of not getting into the limelight. Anyone who tries, is pounced on to make sure he or she does not outshine the others or get above their stations.

Jesper is being teased and maybe bullied at his new school. He has a problem with coping with this and also, being a proud individual he will not confide in his parents and definitely not in his teachers.

But it seems that things have gotten out of hand and he is now afraid of going to school. His nemeses are waiting to pounce on this poor kind hearted defenceless chap. 

His only real friend is his twin sister, and even as they have grown older, they have not grown apart, each one pursuing their own interests as they have always done, but still very closely bonded.  

I feel for this poor chap, but cannot help him from afar. I can only hope that he can somehow sense that I am trying to reach out to him.

This long distance worrying about my friend Jesper is doing my head in. I can visualize him at his new school doing his best to keep to himself and not stand out from the crowd. Somehow though, whether just because he is a new student or because it has become known that his father is a company director and his mother is working hard helping immigrants and socially disadvantaged families cope with life in this small-minded country, Jesper is being sought out and targeted for intimidation by a crowd of lesser human beings as I see it.

Small minded and narrow minded as the members of this crowd are, Jesper is no match for their combined efforts to take him and his spirit down to their level.

Although we are separated by at least sixty years of age, I feel as young as Jesper and only wish he felt as knowledgeable about how things work as I now do.

One ray of optimism though: I remember when I as usual called him Jesper Knasfis he strongly objected to the name and in a fighting voice said: My name is ***** ( I still refuse to give up his real name) but this fighting answer gives me hope that he will survive and come out even stronger. Hang in there my friend.

I remember my maternal grandfather. We were separated by about the same number of years or maybe ten years less. 

Chapter 2: Meet the grandparents

My maternal grandfather was a great chap. I used to spend school holidays at his small house. This after my Polish born grandmother died. She is the reason I can call myself a quarter Polish. Of that I am very proud. It also makes my friend Jesper a sixteenth Polish. He too would surely feel proud of this if only he knew.

My grandmother emigrated to Denmark at the beginning of the 1900's. She came as a young girl accompanied by three older brothers to work as farmhands in the fertile sugar beet fields in the south eastern islands of Lolland and Falster. It was extremely hard backbreaking work but at the age of fourteen not unusual in those parts. She learned the language quickly in contrast to her three brothers, who once the season was over returned to their homeland, leaving my grandmother to her own devices.

Someone on the farm must have looked after her and let her stay and work, because the next we know she is now living on the main peninsular, not far from the German border and at the age of about twenty is engaged to by married to a Polish immigrant. She becomes pregnant and still not married, her fiancé abandon her. She somehow manages to survive but ends up living in the nearby poor house, earning her way working on farms in the area.

This is where my aunt is born and spend her first few years. 

My grandfather is a groundsman for the council at the time, in charge of maintaining roadside verges in the summer and erecting snow screens in the fields to stop snow drifting and closing roads in the winter. He has an old motorbike and carries his tools on his back. Scythe to mow grass, shovel to clear ditches.

Working in the area around the poor house he must have met my grandmother, taken to her and her Polish daughter. In due course he proposed marriage and ten years after my aunt was born, my mother arrives, a half Pole. Twenty-two years after that I arrive, a quarter Pole. Four years later still, my sister, Jesper's grandmother is born.

I vaguely remember my grandmother as a kind white haired lady who let me play with her silver dustpan and brush normally kept hanging on the wall as an ornament. My grandfather liked a quiet drink, normally cognac while listening to his old valve radio. They had a good life I think until when I was about fourteen, my grandmother died of lung cancer. Never having smoked a single cigarette in her life and grandfather not a smoking man, this came as a complete surprise. 

It was after the death of my grandmother that I started spending more time with him. Playing outside in the quiet street during school holidays away from my parent's farm.

I was bullied then, by a girl living across the street. A big girl, the electrician's daughter, I remember. Why she had her sight on me, I will never know, but she constantly gave abuse, the occasional push; maybe because I was a small quiet child and she felt good pushing me about. I never told anyone and stopped going out when she was about. Instead I spent time in the backyard where my grandfather kept a few egg laying hens or picked fruit from his abundant gooseberry bushes.

Anyway the bullying stopped and life went on. It must have left an impression though as I can still remember it some sixty years later.

Chapter 3: Dreams of travel

I remember waking up sometimes, back on my childhood farm, having dreamt going to sleep in one place and waking up in another.

Between working hard on the farm, even at the tender age of ten or twelve, I loved to read books. We on the farm unfortunately did not have many. Being poor and struggling to survive, books were considered a luxury. Readers Digests was the extent to which money would stretch. Interesting reading as the slim books were, they did not stretch my imagination. Fortunately a close by neighbour who had a fascinating carpentry business had taken a liking to me. I used to spend hours at the door of the workshop watching the sawdust pile up under the machines. The smell and feel of wood chippings falling from hand held planes I can still remember. The strong smell of wood glue or resin bonding products are still in my nostrils.

Anyway, the wife of the carpenter sometimes invited me in to the house for a glass of water or a soda water. While quenching my thirst she would often leave me alone in the kitchen. One day I dared walk into her living room where I discovered a bookshelf full of hard back books.

I remember picking one out and lying on the carpet engrossed when I was caught out having trespassed into forbidden territory. But instead of being given a slap around the head and send on my way, I was invited to carry on reading for a while and invited back whenever I could get away from my farm duties.

This particular book was about the South Pacific I remember and sailors arriving at palm filled islands surrounded by deep blue ocean. A far way from a small farm in little Denmark.

I was hooked. From then on, I had only one thought in my head, to travel and travel far. I saved my meagre pocket money earned from working on my parent's farm. When ever possible and when I had enough saved up, I would bike the five kilometres to the nearest big town and buy a book. The first book I bought was about ships, design, maritime terms and most of all sailing ships.

Hoping to qualify for enrolment on one of the two majestic school ships, George Stage or Danmark kept me in dreams for several years.

Here, a thought is sent long distance to my friend Jesper: Always have dreams, keep them alive and when the opportunity arises grab them with both hands and follow them. They will set you free, I promise.

I did. Well almost.

Chapter 4: Reality of Dreams

I never made it onto a sailing ship, majestic or not. I did make it to Sailor College though.

I had my head and heart set on becoming a ship's captain, commanding a vessel sailing the seven seas and calling into exotic ports around the world. Well dream on boy.

Having been accepted at the college and been subjected to an extensive medical examination, my dreams were shattered. Nobody would be allowed to work a ship's bridge wearing glasses. I was diagnosed near-sighted.

Options were presented: The engine room or the galley. Simple choice as I was determined to go to sea. Being buried in a greasy noisy engine room was not my idea of travel. At least from the ships galley I could see the waves and smell the sea, even when I was peeling potatoes.

So, question is: Was I trying to realising my dreams or trying to escape Denmark. A bit of both I think. 

I had long felt that my little village was too small for me. I enjoyed travel, even if it was only in my uncle's milk lorry. This is the uncle married to my Polish aunt. He had one good eye and one glass eye. As he said, "it does not matter. What I don't see on the way out, I will see on the way home."

When travelling with my father by tractor to nearby farms, I was often asked what I would like to do when I grew up. The answer was always the same: I wanted to travel the world. How, I was not sure of, nor how I would earn my keep. At some point I decided to be a camera man, travelling with a TV crew to far flung places. Or just walk the roads as the vagabonds who sometimes stopped at our farm. They were allowed to sleep in the barn after my dad had confiscated their matches. Some became regulars; one was a travelling knife grinder who had his machine fixed to the back of his bicycle. I was fascinated by the way he put his bike on its stand, turned the saddle around and pedalled while he sharpened mother's knives.

At this point a thought for my friend Jesper Knasfis: Never be afraid of the unknown, stay curious and keep your eyes open for all the strange and interesting things that happen around you. Be brave my friend. As the saying goes: Do not let the bastards grind you down.

Anyway, back to my reminiscences. I finally finished sailors college and secured a hire on my first boat. What an experience. At the age of seventeen I was going to sea. On an old passenger ship sailing between Aarhus and Copenhagen. As an apprentice to a huge cook with a gammy leg. He filled half the galley, the oil burning range filled the other. Not much room for little me. The galley was incredibly hot to work in, even in a Danish climate. When the ship was constructed, the designer had forgotten to include the galley in the design. As an afterthought they found space on top of the engine room boilers. Cook was a good person though and looked after me. I was thought the basics and allowed to practise and more importantly, allowed to make mistakes. I actually felt comfortable and excited about my future. Until the night we were caught in my first but not last storm.

The accommodation for us lowly crew members were in the very bow of the ship, well below the waterline and tapering to a point. Just room for two bunks and a wall mounted table and two seats. There was also a toilet next door with a hand operated pump flush.

The storm hit us in the middle of the night, the bow with me in it, ploughing deep into the waves, only to rise high again after the ships propellers had finished shaking us, finding nothing but air to grab hold on. Digging deep into the next wave again, this continued for hours and I confess, I have never before or since been so seasick or scared.

In the end, I spent nearly eight years travelling the seas and I do not regret a single one. I never managed the Far East until much later in life, when my wife and I managed to find funds to visit both Hong Kong and Japan. A lifelong dream. So you see Jesper, it is never too late. Go for it, dare to dream.

I had though the experience of crossing through the Panama Canal several times, either on the way to New Zealand or down the coast of South America, calling in at Columbia, Ecuador, Peru and Chile. We also managed Venezuela and Argentina. Mexico was a port of call once, before heading to New Orleans and finally up the Mississippi river to Baton Rouge where we picked up a full load of bulk paper for Leningrad.

After a while, I found myself having finished wanting to be a sailor and settled for London where I was able to put my cooking skills to good use. It did not take long though before I met my wife, and married we are now, close on fifty years. We were kindred spirits in as much as we both loved travel and soon set of on a tour around Europe in our self-converted Volkswagen van.

Those were the dream years, now for the reality years.

Chapter 5: Reality sets in

As you grow older is seems you attract responsibilities like a magnet. You yearn for status and stability, respect in the community. Quite boring, but that is how the world works. You get sucked in and suddenly you are trapped again. You think you need a better car, so take out a repayment option. How about a house? Why not take out a mortgage? Everyone else does. Result: work longer hours, take a second job just to manage your day to day responsibilities.

As long as there is enough work, there is no immediate problem, you just grind on. Where did the dreams go though? Who is in charge of your life? You or the banks? How to get your head above the parapet and feel alive again?

Thank God for a lifelong partner who is prepared to support you through thick and thin no matter how stupid a scheme you get yourself involved in. Nearly fifty years now, she is the one person who has never let me down. I on the other had have brought us to the brink of disaster quite a few times.

My problem is, that I never think far enough ahead. Using my heart instead of my head I always want to embark on yet another disastrous scheme.

A warning to Jesper here: Not all my advise is good and you must learn to take everything with a pinch of salt as they say.

But me being me, I cannot stop taking chances. At this stage in our lives I still feel young, reckless and trapped by convention. So when an opportunity arise to run my own catering business I grab it with both hands. Risking the farm as they say against the advice of my wife we embark on this new path. We are successful at times, preparing and serving food, at times for Danish Royalties. We expand, overextend and nearly go bankrupt. Only the courageous stance of my wife against the bailiff saves our house from being raided of our poor possessions.

How she does it I don't understand, but it is by no means the first time she has raked embers out of the fire to save the day. She is very good at telling porkies to authorities and at times have been known to commit insurance infractions; nearly always to the financial benefit for us or her own family. Risky for sure, but she is very good at it. Jesper, please ignore this bit.

Anyway, we are back below the parapet and now having to hold down at least two jobs each to work our way out of yet another quagmire I have landed us in.

It is at this point I decide that I never really liked cooking and embark on learning about these new computer things. Turns out I have a real gift for it and more importantly, I enjoy it and it challenges me to reach new potentials.

Strangely, being in the catering trade always felt like being on the verge of being bullied every day. You always had to be in top form and always produce what the customer expected, justly or not. One mishap and the roof would come down. It was no problem on the ships I sailed on. The crew members would grumble as a matter of course at times but it was not like cooking for paying customers.

Let's just say I was happy to turn my back on a quarter of a century trying to please people on a daily basis.

Chapter 6: A new road to riches

Learning to programme was fun and the feeling of power was intoxicating. At the touch of a few keys a whole new concept could be created. Being in control was just so exhilarating. You could move things on screen at will or create a small programme to calculate whatever you wanted.

Jesper, here is my next piece of advice to you. Don't get stuck in a groove. Do not be afraid to break out and change direction. Now is not like the old days when a job was for life. Now it the time to live, explore and experience. Remember that in later life. Go take a risk, be bold. I know you can do it. A sixteenth Polish person like you is worth a lot more than a lowly school bully.

Enough of that. Back to the keyboard, the tool of my trade now.

As it turns out, I am actually good at this programming stuff. My wife took yet another risk letting me spend a lot of money on a course which eventually landed me a job with a large engineering firm. Once we had a good income, she started learning web design and I piggybacked on her knowledge to improve my own. In her working life, she was a well respected Quality Control Manager with a large insurance company. I have lost count of the many part time jobs she held down before that while we were recovering from the many ill advised disasters I had steered us into.

After ten interesting years with the engineering firm it was time to change groove again. Although I had been offered a transfer to their office in Denver Colorado to be their Lone Wolf programmer as they put it, I declined as not only did I doubt my own abilities and feared being found out as a self-taught fraud in a big IT department, I feared loosing my freedom to go where no man had gone before. I was and still am a Lone Wolf at heart. Jesper, do you think I was afraid of being bullied or intimidated and that is why I declined the offer?

The real reason we did not go to Colorado was that we were going to Spain. A few months earlier we were looking to relocate and had chosen Spain as the country of choice. My wife had given me three possible locations across the country and it was up to me to pick the one she had already decided on.

Lucky for me, I picked the correct one and after looking at a few properties that did not inspire us, we found one that had potentials. It needed a lot of work, but so what, this was twenty years ago and we were still young at fifty plus.

On the spur of the moment, we had made an offer on a house in this small Andalusian hilltop village. We had only seen the house once, and then only for fifteen minutes, but that was enough. Always impulsive but always willing to live with the consequences of our decisions, our offer well below the asking price was accepted. Should we worry about that, was this too easy? Well, we could have done with a better survey than the one we got. Never mind, decision made, our house in England went on the market and my wife sorted out all the legal processes with our solicitor in the village. All done by email. We did not go back until we had to sign the official papers. Seeing the house again was a bit of a chock. Wishful memories can play tricks with the best of us.

Anyway, I stayed behind in England to finish my employment and complete the sale of our house. After saying goodbye to friends and neighbours I set out with a fully laden car down through France and arrived in our valley just when the orange groves showed off their best oranges. I already felt at home.

Lot of renovation work had to be done, but on a shoestring as we had paid for our new house with cash. The equity on our old house had allowed for that, but with little to spare. Finding a job that would allow us to stay and live a comfortable life was essential. Our Spanish was rudimentary at best, so I started searching for work in a big industrial park near the provincial capital hoping for employment where English was sufficient and lack of Spanish not a hindrance.

We could not believe our luck when I landed myself with a job with an American company that needed someone to improve their booking system. Being a company specialising in training people to operate large earthmoving equipment, diggers, tractors, lorries, motor graders, backhoes and the likes, they had a throughput of just over ten thousand students a year. A complicated and intricate process at the best of times, with receiving enquiries, confirming bookings from all over the world, arranging visas, transport and hotels. Food during the stay at the centre and most important of all maintaining a visual schedule of all forthcoming events. Well they offered me a salary that was impossible to refuse and I got stuck in.

After a few months of frantic programming I had the framework for a good system and when rolled out to the forty odd staff, proved capable of lightening their workload plus over the next five years improve the centres throughput threefold. Not bad for a self-taught farmers boy. 

Jesper, can you see that if you believe in your own worth and trust your capabilities, you can do anything.

Nothing lasts forever though. In 2008 the financial crisis struck and the company I worked for had to lay of thousands of people worldwide. Incredibly I lasted a full year until December the following year when I was given a nice farewell and sent on my way.

Not a good time to be unemployed, but at least my generous salary had allowed us to completely renovate the house apart from a leaking roof. I needed another lucrative contract very soon.

It took half a year of internet searches, registering with a multitude of agencies specialising in my type of work. Unfortunately as I could not supply certificates or diplomas I was always ignored or put to the bottom of the pile. I still do not quite remember how I finally ended up talking to a company in England who had read my CV on line and were interested, but put off by me living in Spain.

When I offered to give them a free week of my skills so they could test my knowledge, in return for travel and accommodation, we struck a deal. 

My wife got busy arranging travel and hotel and soon I was on my way. This exiting job lasted nearly five years until I had to announce my retirement to a company that had treated me extremely well from day one.

You might think I worked in wet and windy England for five years while leaving my wife in sunny Spain to enjoy herself. Think again. I managed to strike deal whereby I worked two weeks at a time, then take work home to process and upload to their sever from home. After successfully proven, we finally decided I could work from Spain and just send them the bill. 

Important lesson to pass on to Jesper: Trust and be trusted.

Well, it paid for a new roof and a large top terrace overlooking the valley and river far below this hilltop village, from where I am writing this.

A final fond thought

This small book has been a journey, both into the past but also into myself. It was written on the spur of the moment, inspired by the troubles my friend Jesper Knasfis was experiencing at school.

I understand from his parents that he has turned a corner and is now fighting his way back.

Both my wife and myself wish him all the luck he deserves and all the courage he needs to survive in this cruel and unjust world.

One last word from us to Jesper: With the right attitude you will succeed. Good luck and we hope to see you soon.