“Last winter the café shut down and I believe they’ve now turned it into a pub. Where you play darts and drink beer.
“The café was closed on Sundays so on the Saturday we would sit up a bit later. We never went out. We were happy at home. It seemed obvious, while the kids were still living with us. We used to sit and have our tea and listen to the radio before there was TV. They had family programmes like ‘20 Frågor’ and ‘Snurran’. Sometimes there was some detective story. And then we got TV. Every now and then on a Sunday I’d go to watch football with my boy. He was keen. Still is. I never really cared for it, but I went for his sake.
“As they were growing older, the kids started to go out and we’d be sitting up waiting for them to come home. But none of them ever got into trouble. Elvira and I often said so to each other. We were grateful for that.
“When Elvira passed away, my life became very lonely. I tried to keep everything as it was before. I still looked after the flowers, I watered them, but somehow it felt wrong. I didn’t change anything. When I’m out here a neighbour does the watering.
“Neither of us ever believed in God. I suppose we were afraid of him when we were children, like everyone else in those days. But when we became socialists, God disappeared. We had a priest for Elvira’s funeral, but that was different. None of our children was confirmed. I’m sure they wanted to be. They liked the idea of the presents, same as the others. But we said no. They didn’t go to Sunday school either. On the other hand, they all joined the scouts. They thought that was fun.
“Now in the winters I mostly play Patience and watch TV. There are plenty of good programmes. Sometimes I watch all evening long and have the feeling that I’m learning. Last winter I also switched it on during the mornings, for the school programmes. I enjoyed picking things up.
“I once found an English book in the rubbish room. I tried to read it, but I didn’t manage.
“As we grow old it’s easy to envy the younger generation. We want to live, let’s face it, and be part of it all. Many who complain about young people probably do it because they wish they too were young again. You have to sympathise with that. It’s natural. Nobody wants to get old and be put out to grass with gammy legs and a heart turning somersaults in your chest. There’s an old couple living on the floor above me. They have jars of medicine standing in every room in case they get taken sick in the kitchen or bathroom. They never go out. They were missionaries in Africa. I’ve never spoken to them. In the olden days, the elderly were neglected by society. Now they’re neglected by both society and their families. It’s bad to grow old. But people have always been growing old.
“I’m actually very scared of dying. Especially at night before I go to sleep. Then I sometimes get the idea that I’m never going to wake up again and it’s horrible. But when I wake up in the morning, it’s no longer on my mind. When I was twenty, I used to believe that there was nothing after death.
“Nothing. We turn into earth and grass. Ten years later, I thought there might be something else. And then I was persuaded that we’re born again as another person. It’s been changing the whole time. Right now, I’m thinking that living isn’t so fantastic that one would want to do it all again. But that too may change, of course. And then I have the children and somehow one lives on through them.
“Elvira and I only ever went on one single trip. It was in 1950.
“It was a coach trip to Austria. I don’t know why we went. It just happened somehow. We were to be away two weeks in June. Elvira and I were the only two who were working class. The others were different. We didn’t mix with anyone. But it was nice to get out that once. You could still see the signs of war and people were very poor. I think we gave away most of our spending money to beggars. In Vienna we visited a palace which was beautiful. We went and ate out and had a good time. Elvira wasn’t afraid. Neither of us understood the language, of course, but she could always explain what we wanted. And she laughed all the time. We bought lots of postcards during the trip. Elvira also made notes in a diary. After she died, I was going through some drawers and found the diary and the cards. I read the notes. Then I threw away the lot of them. It was just too painful to keep it all. It felt sad. The only thing I still have is a photograph of Elvira and me standing in front of a church somewhere in Germany. A photographer took it and said he’d send it to us. We paid in advance and we must have thought we’d never get it. But it arrived in the autumn. It was good of him not to cheat us. The picture is starting to look a bit funny now. It’s beginning to fade. But I’ve still got it. What I remember from the trip is how tough people’s lives were. Let’s hope there were some socialists down there too.
“Apart from that we never went anywhere. We couldn’t afford it.”
“Even though both of us worked, all our money was spent on the children. We wanted them to have everything they needed. Elvira once said that what the two of us earned in one month was only half of what many mediocre singers were paid for an evening in an amusement park. It made both of us angry. But by then we were old. Had we been young I’m sure we would have kept up the struggle.
“The Social Democrats’ greatest outrage was to have turned socialism into some sort of organisation for unnecessary civil servants to line their pockets at the expense of the workers. There’s a way into this society and a way out, but no-one knows what there is in between.
“It’s all gone wrong. Terribly wrong. And it can’t be put right. Young people have realised that, and therefore I’m confident that sooner or later they’ll introduce socialism. Or it may come from outside. It’s become clear that what’s happening in the rest of the world will force change to happen here too. It’s inevitable. Every time there’s a revolution somewhere, it makes me happy. Then I sometimes lie on my bed and dream that I’m a part of it. And in some way I am too, obviously.”
In 1962 Oskar writes a letter to one of the local newspapers. He argues for pensioners’ getting a higher state pension so that they can lead a decent life. The letter is clear and concise. Oskar sets out his name and address underneath. He is one of the few to do so. That day he is the only one.
“Once I went into a bookshop and bought a map of the world. I sat for many days looking at all the countries, one by one. It turned out that there were several I’d never heard of. Since then, I always have it in front of me when I watch T.V.
“I’ve read Moberg’s books. They’re good. They’re like history books, only more exciting. Absolutely gripping. His characters were not in any way remarkable. They were like all the others. But you get to see how much happened in their lives. There ought to be more books like those. Throughout all the centuries, ordinary people have only been allowed to speak in murmurs, yet they were the ones doing all the fighting and being beaten. More ought to be written about things that folk have only been able to talk about in murmurs.”