Glimpses of My First Home
This will be the first of a series of “first” experiences
My parents got a small apartment in Copenhagen just before my twin brother, and I was born in 1951. We lived there the first three and a half years of my life, and I have some memories of that early period.
In a letter to my parents from my maternal grandfather, he recommended that my twin brother and I stayed a bit longer in the hospitals to move into the flat in good order. We were two months old before we were admitted to come home as we were born prematurely. Henry, my husband, has made a post on this issue too based on letters between my grandparents and my mother.
The living room my first home
We were hardly ever allowed in the living room, but I remember having been held up in the window and looking out to the building at the other side of the road. Our doctor had his office there. The furniture was collected at my parents’ wedding in 1948, and they were very strict on us not making any mess in this room. The cupboard was made of nut-tree and is now in my brother’s basement. The round big leather cushion on the carpet was bought in France on holiday in 1949. I have later sat on that listening to children’s programs on the radio in our next home, a real house.
My aunt Else and my mother Ruth bargaining on the Moroccan floor cushions in Cannes
The small picture on the wall is a church where my maternal grandfather was working as a parish clerk. He worked as a school teacher as well. My mother was very attached to her father.
Our mother had a fight in keeping curious people away
In the kitchen, we had an ice cupboard. My mother got the ice in big blocks from a fish shop, and it was brought home lying under the twin pram. I have a memory of that and of our last trip in the pram where we sat on the bare mattress. The pram was sold and exchanged with a toy cart that would serve as help when my parents took us to a park nearby.
The last year with the pram in a park in Copenhagen 1954
The only memory I have of the kitchen is a drawer with kitchenware we were allowed to play with. We played in the bedroom where our parents had a bunk bed. A gate had been put up between the door and the rest of the small flat. In a letter from my mother to her parents, she describes how my brother one day jumped over like a little lamb, and she is uncertain on how she shall cope with us being able to get around unhindered. Our father knew a professional photographer who came home to take pictures a few times in our lives. (Six months, one year old and at school start.)
Above pictures from our six months “anniversary.”
Above pictures from our one year’s birthday
1954 before we moved. The situation was staged I believe I remember it
My mother once fell down from the upper bunk. She needed to turn me around in my bed, and she had forgotten that she slept in the high position. My mother hurt herself immensely, but she convinced her parents in a letter that she was able to manage the housekeeping after some days. Our mother had told us this incident already then because I know that it happened when I was about three years old. Most likely the year after this picture beneath.
We have a custom in Denmark in February called “Fastelavn”, (Shrovetide) from before the Reformation. Children dress out in different costumes, then everything was homemade like “An old Vagabond” or a “Princess” a “Chinese” and children stand in a long line and are allowed to beat on a barrel with a stick to let break. The one who beats it in pieces becomes “The Cat King”, and the one who gets the last little part down is a “Cat Queen”. We were out walking in the snow with our mother, and we saw these long lines of children in a neighbouring yard. We didn’t belong there so we couldn’t attend. When we came home, our mother put up a cigar box in the doorway between the bedroom and the hall, and we beat it down with a gymnastic stick.
We never celebrated Halloween here, but from the 1990s the American custom has made its way to Denmark.
My father worked as a foreman at a radio factory not so far from our flat. He left home early in the morning on his moped. Once he would take drive a circle in around the playground beneath the bedroom window so that we could see him.
The yard was full of children in the daytime, and I have a memory of hitting the ground on my head falling from the swing. If we got some playground equipment, it would soon be stolen when we turned our back to the sandbox. Once it was gone, it couldn’t easily be replaced. I do remember the shapes of the red and green metal shovels for children. It’s rooted deep in me that things are precious and you don’t just throw them away.
Categories: Biography, Family history
From one Heart to Another 
Fascinating memories, Maria. It’s lovely that you have so many photos from that time – most of ours have gone missing over the years. But I have a few, so maybe there’s a post in there somewhere…..😊
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I would love to read one on your first memories. Our childhood was nearly at the post-war poor period where material things were hard to get
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I was born in Dover in 1953, and there were reminders of the war all around us. Maybe I’ll have a go – my home town has a lot of history apart from me!
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Please do write this piece
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I’ll try to do better than the last time you said that to me!
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We inspire each other
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That’s such a sweet thing to say, thank you!
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How wonderful to have a twin! Are you still close as adults? Thanks for sharing such lovely photos.
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Thank you for commenting on this post Stevie. My father died in 2007 and my mother in 2008. I had a close relationship with my mother but unfortunately not with my father who had been treated with sedatives after episodes during the war. He couldn’t stand noises. Writing about it has helped me
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It affected soldiers in different ways. One family member of mine who had served in the war couldn’t go anywhere near the sea or a lake. His ship had sunk and he’d spent days on a liferaft until he was rescued.
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And children rescued from the blitz would never forget the horror. My father was nearly sent to kz camp but was freed as he was only a fire guard and not a policeman. They were taken by the Germans September 1944
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My mother remembered writing a letter in her front room and then a bomb dropping and all the windows being blown in. When she looked out into the street, many neighbours’ houses were gone.
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No wonder if it made a huge impact on her. At a wedding in Denmark I once met a man from London. He said: “My home was bombed twice”!
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She still talked about it 70 years later.
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I misunderstood you. Yes we are still close
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How lovely.
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He also writes his memoirs but only on paper 📝
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I loved reading this Maria and your photographs are fabulous. I have sisters who are twins – an unexpected surprise. Those snow suits remind me of similar ones we had in Scotland. I wish I had more old photographs…
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So kind of you to tell me this. My mother had to get clothes for us at a shop where mothers exchanged clothes for children. I remember the long rows of hanging clothes in a big room
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Maria, your childhood post is almost as fascinating as is the discussion between you and Stevie. So glad I am able to read your post a eavesdrop on your conversations.
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Love you Bernadette 💐
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Lovely post. Your pictures tell a story all on their own. Thanks for sharing.
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Thank you Joel for your response
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What wonderful photos. This post has inspired me to dig out a few of my own from the same-ish era.
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I am so glad you tell me that. I “collected” your baby photo. If I ever use it, it will have your name on it. You see that I have baby photos too
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Expect some more on my own blog during the next couple of weeks. It’s a case of when I can find time to search for them and scan them.
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I will look for that. Is so fun to have our childhood documented
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I absolutely loved reading this post and the pictures were amazing and nostalgic
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Dear Noel! You really made my evening (here in Denmark it’s evening). Thank you so much. I will take a look at your blog ❤️
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🙂 thank you…its just moving into evening here on the east coast (u.s)
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