This writer was born during the first Soviet occupation. Thus I was just three and a half in September 1944. However, some moments of our departure from Hiiumaa in a small sailboat are still in vivid memory. Others segments have been patched together from my parents’ stories, repeated over the years.
After a rough two-day passage over the Baltic Sea, we landed in Sweden and were placed at a refugee centre in the gym of a Stockholm high school. Some 100 families were thus given their own space within sheets hung as walls from ropes criss-crossing the gym.
No grumblings or complaints from any who had been able to flee from foreign soldiers, known for their unrepentant brutality. My parents found out much later that our family home, a large building beside Käina’s town hall, was destroyed by explosives, detonated by the Red Army some days after we left. It had been a meeting place for the local self-defence forces.
That fall 78 eight years ago was especially significant in understanding the desperation and plight of Ukrainian refugees searching for shelter and a welcoming community in Europe, in fact all over the world. The Swedes in 1944 instantly extended a compassionate hand to us, help without any contingencies. We were located in refugee centres for a few months, compared to the thousands in war-ravaged Germany who had endured in camps for some years.
We all had lost our homes, close relatives left behind, all that we owned, including our homeland. It felt as if nothing of our life from the past still existed. We knew that Estonian soldiers, who hadn’t fallen or been captured fighting the enemy on Estonian soil, were still on the battle front elsewhere in Europe.
We also knew that numerous small units of Estonian “Metsavennad” had engaged the occupying Communists in firefights – a determined resistance that took an overwhelming Soviet force and several years to contain. Somewhat similar to various predictions of pronged conflict (hopefully misplaced) for Ukraine.
Estonians at the refugee centre were not caught up with the anticipation of holiday celebrations during the weeks before Christmas. It was the full expectation of returning to a free Estonia in the very near future that had grabbed the hopes of everyone. Even well-known public figures were convinced of this certainty and gave speeches of British-led initiatives to liberate the Baltic states.
But the Christmas spirit, although not a dominating factor, was still present and we were able to adapt with the meagre resources available. An evergreen was placed inside the gym with a few candles as adornment. The aroma of the pine needles and burning candles harkened back to Christmases at home in Estonia.
On Christmas eve someone read the Christmas Gospel. Everyone joined in singing “Silent Night” and “Sõitsid saanid, sõitsid reed”, the song that usually ushers in Jõuluvana.
Jõuluvana, a skinny fellow with the mandatory white beard, did indeed distribute a little gift to each child. The price for us was still the old ritual of reciting a verse or song. This terrified some, other kids thrived on it.
Each one received a little package of gingerbread cookies. This modest gift meant more than a new soccer ball or doll and was enough to spark some Christmas cheer. For Estonians, a short distance across the Baltic Sea, Christmas had been banned.
A short speech by a school teacher stressed that our circumstances here in the refugee centre were only temporary, that we would be back home very soon. It was a dream that faded when Swedes placed us in found permanent quarters in a few months.
A feeling of resignation had not yet taken over, That Christmas in Stockholm was mixed with hope and falsely placed expectations. Our parents were convinced that the West would quickly acknowledge and counter the Soviet repressions imprisoning the Baltic peoples.
It was an illusion that we cannot allow to be repeated. This year, Ukrainians are still determined to recognize the promises that a Christmas spirit brings, We cannot let Ukrainians depend on any promises of Western support that may prove to be hollow.
