“Lead me, God, on life’s path” is the opening line of a hymn by the Faroese hymn writer Mikkjal á Ryggi. “You took my hand,” sings Døgg Nónsgjógv about her father, who guided her into the world. In Faroese, leiðast means “to be led” – to walk hand in hand. We shake hands when we greet each other, and it’s always good to receive a helping hand. Lovers walk hand in hand along the path of love. Walking hand in hand signifies kindness and presence. Hands connect us.
Many have held someone’s hand on their final journey beyond this life, and there is a Faroese saying that goes: “It is comforting to feel the warmth of the hands of those who let go,” - from those who came before us. The warmth of adult hands that once took our small hands and safely guided us onto life’s right path. The same hands that gave us hugs and gently comforted us when something – big or small – made life difficult. Hands can speak and often say more than words ever could.
There was little separation between loving and working hands. They were the same hands that swept the floor, milked the cow in the barn, skinned the fish, baked the bread, and put food on the table when the family gathered for meals. They were also the same hands that prepared a slice of bread for hungry children, so they could take it with them and continue playing outside. Even the bread knife in hand could be a sign of love.
Fathers were often far away at sea, so it was often the grandfather who taught the young boy how to handle the peat spade or to grip a scythe properly when the grass needed cutting. He was also the one who taught the boy how to hold a knife and use it correctly, how to handle a fishing rod and bait the hook properly.
It was considered wrong to sit with idle hands – even when visiting others. Even grown men might bring wool cards and a bit of wool with them when they visited, so they could do something while chatting. The grandmother on her little bench not only told stories, but also taught her grandchild to knit with knitting needles. Most people back then wore hand-knitted clothes from the inside and out. These hand-knitted sweaters – often mistakenly called “Icelandic sweaters” – could be sold to the local shopkeeper, as they were highly sought after outside the Faroe Islands well into the 1960s and 70s.
The adults’ work was not far removed from the children’s world. Children were well aware of what the adults were doing and observed them. The boundary between the children’s and adults’ worlds was regularly crossed, and children learned to incorporate the adult world into their play. Even when the mothers were working with dried fish at their workplace, the children could come to them. Usually, the mothers had a piece of bread to give the hungry children when they passed by.
This crossing of boundaries between children’s and adults’ lives now belongs to a bygone and distant time. But it remains vivid and alive in the memory of the elderly, and both the loving and the working hands have found expression in art. Especially the artist Sigrun Gunnarsdóttir paints large, loving hands, giving them the space in time they deserve.
The significance of hands has taken new forms today, but it is still common to see women knitting – even outside the home. There are still parts of the old village life that continue almost unchanged, especially in relation to sheep and sheep farming. The sheep are gathered at specific times, and the slaughtering season in the autumn remains an important time in many families’ lives.
Old social customs still live on, and there are probably few places in the world where so many people gather for funerals as in the Faroe Islands. It is still customary for nearly everyone to walk up and lay a hand on the coffin lid as a final farewell to the departed. It is also still taken for granted that friends and acquaintances contribute home-baked cakes for the gathering afterwards.
Jóan Pauli Joensen
