A Day on Randoy

Remember that -oy at the end of a word means island, but last names can also have -oy dating back to when people just had a first name and the place they were from instead of a family name.

Ferries are much more a mode of transport here than in Seattle.  Everywhere I go in Western Norway, a ferry is part of the trip.  Today, the wind was blowing and it was stormy with white caps and water crashing against the rocks on the beach with a three to four foot spray.  I knew it was going to be an interesting crossing when the boat was noticeable leaning starboard as I was boarding!  It is an hour and 20 min crossing from Skudeneshavn on the southern tip of Karmoy to Stavanger, my new home for 3 days.  My cousin, David Slaattebrekk—same name as my grandfather—was there to take me to Hjelmeland, the home of my mysterious grandmother that no one seems to know much about.  A small island off the mainland from Hjelmeland called Randoy is the home of Grandfather’s second wife Marta.  Her maiden name was Marta Kvalvoy and she grew up on the island of Kvalvoy as the sole residents along with her parents and 7 siblings—guess they didn’t even bother to name someone—just gave them the island’s name as a last name!  I had also found a picture in my Dad’s stuff of a church that no one seemed to  recognize, so we also looked at churches as we passed through each little village and town.  Most churches seem to have the same architect, but the background scenery was two high mountains so easy to recognize.

  The southern fjords are stunning and rightfully deserve the distinction of being “the finest unspoiled travel destination in the world”.  We had to take another ferry to get across to the mainland from Stavanger to Tau or drive for a day around.  The Fjordvegen (Fjord Road) clinging to the steep hills are also amazing engineering feats.  We could see the work-in-progress new tunnel going under the mountain for 8 km. in an effort to keep the road open in the winter and prevent boulders that seem to hang precariously on the side of the mountain from falling on passing cars.  We found the church I was looking for, photographed it and wondered why it was important to my father, but unfortunately everyone who would know anything is dead.  Or so we thought.

During our lunch at the little town of Oleusnd on Randoy—you can’t really called it even a village since it’s a store, dock and café—David and I are talking about the marriage of our grandfather and he’s telling me about what a wonderful woman Marta, the stepmother, was and when my grandfather died in 1956, she returned to Randoy to take care of her brother, Halvord Kvalvoy.  Grandfather’s unmarried sisters, Tala and Maria, lived with grandfather and his wives as was the custom but they didn’t like Marta and they were always fighting about something.   My cousin and his mother and sister spent time in the summer with Marta at the house on Randoy but doesn’t remember Halvord.  He said relatives would talk about Marta after the kids went to bed and he knew there was some issue there. Cousin David asked some of the locals sitting with us at the restaurant if they knew Marta or her brother, Harvord.  They knew him but not her, but  told us there was a 90ish woman named Bertha Begoy near the cemetery where Marta was buried that might know something about them.

We found Marta’s grave at the tiny Sandanger Cemetery close to the house that Marta and her brother lived in, but not Halvord’s grave.  We started knocking on doors asking for Bertha and found her on the 3^rd try.  Bertha turned out to be a very sharp old lady and invited us in and David talked to her for a long time.  To make a long story short--  Bertha is the niece of Marta, knew Marta well, recognized our grandfather immediately and we heard high praise for both of them.   Apparently our grandfather had met Marta when she worked as a housekeeper before he married the first time in 1910.  Marta didn’t marry because she didn’t want anyone but our grandfather and he would rent a 40-50 foot boat in Skudeneshavn and go to Randoy (now that is no easy feat even today!) to visit prior to the war.  When my grandmother died in 1941, he and Marta married shortly afterwards and according to both Berta and my cousin, David, she had a very happy life with grandfather.  Where and when they married, my genealogy cousin, Oskar, has never been able to find out, but grandfather hadn’t waited the proper mourning time before remarrying according to the family gossip.  Harlvord was angry that she left him to marry my grandfather and move to the farm on Karmoy, and obviously grandfather’s sister didn’t like her being there.  She was kicked out of the house immediately after grandfather’s death and I’m sure didn’t have much choice but to go back to her brother.  According to Bertha, Halvord was never again civil to Marta and never forgave her for leaving him to marry—guess he had to do his own cleaning and cooking!  Bertha said no one understood why Marta would come home to Halvord when she was so happy being married to my grandfather and living on Karmoy.  When Marta died in 1969, she was buried on Randoy.  Halvord lived 9 more years and never forgave her and requested that he not be buried in the same cemetery.  On our way back, we stopped at the church in Hjemeland (the one my Dad had the picture of) and found Halvord’s grave.  We figured anyone who can hold a grudge that long must really be quite a guy! 

We laughed on the way home that Bertha Begoy and the entire island of Randoy will have something to talk about for weeks!  Whether it’s grandfather, first wife or second wife, all of these people certainly have become more interesting and real to me than the genealogy info of when they were born, where they lived, when they died.  I feel like I certainly have a much better picture of my grandfather and Marta, his second wife.  The picture is Bertha Begoy and  my cousin David.  Before I could take the picture, Bertha had to take time to fix her hair!