ICELAND GIRLS

Auckland Star, Volume LXXII, Issue 281, 27 November 1941, Page 10

ICELAND GIRLS

WORRIED POLICEMAN NATIVE SWAINS JILTED

(By THOMAS R. HENRY)

REYKJAVIK, Iceland. Tough, genial Josef Kofold-Hansen, once Iceland's champion wrestler and now Reykjavik's chief of police, is having plenty of girl troubles these days. By some curious quirk of heredity the 40 per cent Irish strain in Iceland's blood seems to have been passed on chiefly in the female line. Girls who, leaving the ordinarily flaxen hair out of the picture, might have arrived only yesterday from Cork or Kerry, can be seen on every street corner. Many are exceptionall pretty colleens. The men, on the other hand, are rather typically Scandinavian in appearance.

Now the sons of the Vikings have come far from their wild, lawless ancestors of a thousand years ago They are probably the most lawabiding people on earth. It is 20 years since there has been a murder on the island, The criminal, promptlv hanged, was an Iceland boy who had been to the United States and fallen into bad company. In ordinary times Chief Kofold-Hansen can lock up his office almost any time he pleases and go duck hunting, his favourite sport, in perfect peace of mind. Iceland men are prosperous, isolated, contented.

Stirred An Escape Urge But during the six-months-long winter nights, when Reykjavik is wrapped in fish-smelling fog, flaxenhaired Kathleen Mavourneen has been dreaming wild dreams of faroff fairy lands. She has seen Hollywood movies. She has read English novels. These have stirred a powerful escape urge in her heart, but up to a few months ago it was as futile as any urge to fly to the moon.

Then came the Canadians. Many were handsome. romantic fellows, especially the blue-uniformed aviators.

Iceland's Kathleen Mavourneens promptly lost their hearts to the strangers. On the heels of the Canadians came the British, talking just like the heroes of English novels. And now the Americans who look and talk as if they had just marched out of a movie.

As a result scores of Reykjavik swains have been jilted and engagements broken. The Iceland boys sit disconsolately drowning their sorrows in 1 per cent beer as they watch their erstwhile sweethearts cavorting on the ballroom floor with navy ensigns and marine second lieutenants. Or they stand glumly with downcast eyes on street corners as the city's prettiest maids saunter by on the arms of kilted British corporals.

Up to this point the picture is essentially the same as that of any other city occupied by the military in friendly fashion. And the behaviour of Canadians, British and Americans has been exceptionally correct. Any unwelcomed advances are subject to strict discipline and Americans are given stern warnings before they land.

Tears Instead of Temper

But the jilted Iceland boy instead of trying to keep his girl friend by his own initiative goes to Chief Kofold-Hansen and, literally, weeps as he pours his sad story'into the kindly policeman's ear.

The chief has had to dry the tears of smne pf Reykjavik's most dashing swains in the past few months. Even a jilted husband, they say, would express his emotions in tears instead of getting mad. But there is nothing Chief Kofold-Hansen can do about it. Iceland has no law which prevents a girl from falling in love with whom she pleases. Sometimes the chief would like to see a few black eyes, instead of tear-stained faces.

"It's the darn Irish cropping out in the girls," Icelanders say philosophically.

The boys simply cannot understand why anybody should be willing to trade the peace and security of fog-washed Iceland for the effete life of London or Hollywood where —they have it on the authority of the best American movies—most men are gay deceivers and the poor working girl has a hard road.

Chief of Police Kofold-Hansen is stack for aii answer.—Auckland Star and N.A.N.A.