When Joachim Hvide Grieg and friends flew from Bergen to begin a short holiday in North East Scotland in spring 2019, little did they anticipate their few days’ trip would turn into a touching ancestral tour for Joachim. We asked our Honorary President, journalist and editor Johanne Grieg Kippenbroeck, to catch up with Joachim on his return to Norway. Here are a few excerpts from her fascinating article (first published in Norwegian, in Troldposten n2 2019 Bergen) which you can also read in full (på norsk) here.
When it comes to Troldhaugen, Joachim Hvide Grieg isn’t just any ordinary Grieg. Had Nina and Edvard Grieg in their time made Troldhaugen suitable for winter residence, then it’s quite possible to imagine he might have grown up there. Though, that’s not how things turned out.
In December 1918 ‘our’ Joachim’s great-grandfather, Consul Joachim Grieg, bought Troldhaugen from Nina Grieg, who at that time no longer had the means to keep the house – Bergen town council had said ‘no thanks’ to an offer to take over the home as a museum.
The Consul thought Troldhaugen might make a suitable home for his son Einar and family, and this pleased Nina, who was delighted to sell to a Grieg, ensuring as it did that Griegs would continue to live at Troldhaugen.
When the sale became a reality, Nina wrote to the Consul, Edvard’s second cousin, thanking him for taking it over, and hoping that his son would be ‘as fond of the place as we were’ and not sell it again, which, she added ‘I have no desire to experience’.
Two winters at Troldhaugen were, however, two winters too many for the family with their small children. The house proved unsuitable as an all-year-round home. Something Nina, of course, could have told them from the outset.
To make a long story short: plans were made to tear down the old wooden house and build a luxury villa designed by the well-known Bergen architect, Ole Landmark. Something, Nina probably never imagined.
But now the folk of Bergen woke up. There was a stooshie when it was learnt that the wooden villa was to be demolished, so that in the end, the Consul, who had given Nina a considerable sum for the residence, decided instead to donate Troldhaugen to Fana district council [Fana, a district of Bergen]. The Consul’s only condition for the gift was that Troldhaugen should be dedicated to the memory of Edvard and Nina Grieg.
Thus in 1928 the home was opened as a museum.
The VIP in the drawing-room
And this is how it came to be that the now 70-year old Joachim Hvide Grieg never lived at Troldhaugen. That he can’t be counted amongst its frequent visitors, either, is perhaps due to an early memory. As a youngster, he was privileged to attend, with his grandmother, a concert in the Villa, where, as the VIPs in the room they sat in the middle of the sofa in the drawing-room.
‘I remember, as a wee lad, sitting there listening to a lady who screamed in front of us’, he says with laughter. ‘I thought it was awful! Later on we went down to the grave site, and then grannie told me that grandfather had built the jetty down there. He was interested in boats and wanted to have a place to moor them. She told me all about how things were when they lived at Troldhaugen’.
Today he laughs at the memories from the concert experience, and has to confess that Grieg’s music still isn’t top of the list for him.
Last Grieg at Troldhaugen
Joachim paints a picture of his grandfather, Einar, and his father, Joachim, as two unusual, somewhat eccentric characters. ‘Grandfather was rich and knew how to spend money. Father was very unusual. In his later years he wanted to take a friend to the [Bergen] Festival, and sought tickets to the opening- and closing concerts’.
‘You can just forget about that’, came the message. ‘Everything is sold out’!
It was then Joachim’s father played his ace card: ‘I am the last Grieg to have lived at Troldhaugen’, he announced with weighty tone. And suddenly, out of thin air, came the tickets!
So there we have it – Joachim Hvide Grieg’s father, Joachim, was actually the last Grieg ever to live in the old house.
His son, so far, has not had any overwhelming interest for that bit of the family history. But, even so, he is the proud owner of his father’s kilt, tweed jacket, and sgian dhu. Rathen, though, has probably not been top of his wish list for places to visit until this spring, when he and his wife Gerd planned their travel with friends to Scotland. Then, of course, it was natural to include a trip to Fraserburgh and the nearby heritage-listed kirkyard at Rathen, where Edvard Grieg’s great-great-grandparents Anne Milne and John Greig lie buried.
Emotional meeting with the past
It was on a day of pouring rain, in May, when Gerd and Joachim Grieg were welcomed to Rathen by Dr Sally Garden of the Grieg Society of Scotland. They had brought tulips with them to lay at the grave of Joachim’s distant Grieg ancestors.
‘I thought it might be interesting to visit, but had never before been especially curious’, he admits. ‘It was really quite touching standing by this grave. The rain was pelting down, but it didn’t matter. Sally made it all very moving, she was so clued up about our family’.
And perhaps, there, in that moment, too, Joachim felt more keenly his distant blood ties. Even if music in the Villa still isn’t his first choice!
Author : Translated and adapted from an article by Johanne Grieg Kippenbroeck first published in Troldposten (n2 2019 Bergen)
Out and about in ‘Grieg country’, on a visit to the Parish of Pitsligo, Aberdeenshire, our Honorary Director made an exciting musical discovery – the existence of a musical instrument which may well have been heard by the composer Edvard Grieg’s ancestors, but whose function and manner of performance present us, today, with an intriguing mystery.
On a clear day, in the bright sea-lit air of Buchan in Aberdeenshire, you can just make out the first words of the Edvard Grieg ancestral gravestone at Rathen Old Kirkyard: ‘Here lyes the remains…’ it reads, announcing, in beautifully carved letters, the identity of the occupants of the burial beneath. What you can’t see, is that the gravestone resting on the ground was once a ‘table monument’ raised on stone legs, now sadly, lost.
Travel a puckle miles to the north west of Rathen, to the parish of Pitsligo with its two kirks, old and ‘new’ at Peathill, its ruined castle and once fine Renaissance gardens by the sea, and you’ll see plenty table monuments standing, today, just as they stood when erected in the eighteenth century. And what a remarkable story they tell, not just of the folks they commemorate, but of the forms and rituals and even the music of their lives. For in amongst the vividly carved ‘memento mori’ mottos that cover these Pitsligo stones – how can you not ‘remember death’ amidst such a tumble of monuments! – the unmistakable contours of a musical instrument begin to intrigue the eye.
Over and over it appears, the familiar, yet strangely unfamiliar shape of a bell. For it is no grand kirk-spire instrument you see depicted in these stones, but a small portable bell of ‘announcement’, a ‘mort bell’ with distinctive handle and visible clapper. A survivor from pre-Reformation times, the ‘mort bell’ or ‘deid bell’ was designed to be carried and to sound out its sweet but solemn tone whenever there was a death in the community. The property of the ‘kirk session’, out it would go through the tracks between croft, cott and castle, and onwards to the kirk and kirkyard where the beadle – the minister’s man – ‘jowing’ or ringing it ‘for and before’ the dead, would draw the community together, first by announcing the death, and then by leading the unfortunate’s funeral procession.
Stones may be silent, yet here, huddled between the two kirks, on this ‘peat hill’ once surrounded by its huddle of crofts sloping to the sea, they seem to resound with music!
Another bell, or rather, not the bell itself, which was ‘rent’ in 1797, but the intricately carved belfry which once housed it, strikes the musical imagination at Pitsligo. Erected in 1635 by Alexander Forbes, 1st Lord Forbes of Pitsligo, ostensibly to Dutch design, and with a delicate Italianate touch, it makes an elegant statement on the gable of the old kirk, which Forbes himself, as ‘laird’ or landowner, caused be built. Alexander, like many Scots noblemen of his time, was a man of learning, with merchanting and military links to continental Europe and Scandinavia. If he survived to hear the tolling of the bell in the splendidly cosmopolitan bellcot of his commissioning, then it was not by long, for he died but a year after its construction. His funeral was a musical affair too, marked, we learn from family papers, by pageantry and the calling of trumpets.
But if Pitsligo kirkyard and its old roofless kirk seem to echo with the music of the past, so too does the interior of the ‘new’, but now disused nineteenth century parish kirk which replaced it – as I was soon to see.
Guided by Douglas Tait of Friends of Pitsligo Castle, I was lucky enough to follow my little musical trail within. Through the door and into the gloom we went, past the fine nineteenth century organ with its silvery array of pipes, past the pulpit with its carved panels brought from the old kirk, until before us, and above us, set with unashamed magnificence into the wall of the kirk, loomed the wooden ‘laird’s loft’ – a deep upper gallery once the private pew area of the Forbes family during worship. Dating from the 1630s, and like the gravestones and old belfry out in the kirkyard, it too is carved, richly carved, and a source of music to the mind. For it was here, four generations of Forbes lairds and their household sat each Sabbath, joining the congregation in the singing of a psalm – a psalm almost certainly from one of the Aberdeen-published psalters of the seventeenth century, psalters with notation, which gave Scotland sacred tunes such as ‘Bon Accord’, still sung today.
In turn, on more secular note, perhaps we should be singing the praises of Pitsligo, for, as Douglas explained, the parish is not just famed for the physical heritage left us by the 1st Lord Forbes of Pitsligo, Alexander, but by the life and character of his great-grandson, the last and 4th Lord, also called Alexander. This Alexander Forbes was a Jacobite – a supporter of the Stuart dynasty – and a philosopher. He was active in both the 1715 and 1745 uprisings and fought at Culloden, after which he was attainted and his estate plundered and sold. His fate was the beginning of the end for Pitsligo Castle, as a residence, but as a place of reflection, perhaps only the opening of a new chapter?
Douglas has worked tirelessly, not just to try to keep grounds and buildings from further decay, but, with others, to re-envisage the site, centring on the ‘new’ kirk, as a place of education and enlightenment, a working museum of heraldry. Just looking round the castle and the two kirks, you can see why. There are some fine coats of arms to be seen, and passing glance at their armorial detail seems to make fitting conclusion to my musical trail, for it occurs to me: is it any wonder Edvard Grieg, whose ancestors toiled just 5 miles inland as the crow flies, was proud of his Scottish ‘family crest’, carrying it everywhere on his watch chain? But that’s a story for another day! And talking of stories, Douglas is reminded of an amusing anecdote attached to the parish placename.
Back in the seventeenth century, a local minister, frustrated at the frugality of the lairds of Pitsligo, Pitullie and Pittendrum – when it came to kirk repairs – is said to have dubbed their lands the three ‘pits of hell’! A biblical reference, and pun on the ancient placename ‘pit’, meaning a place of abode of the Picts who peopled the area a millennium and more ago, it is perhaps a ‘lang tale’, owing more to local humour than reality. But it’s a grand tale, and a grand measure of just how much tradition and heritage bring personality to a place.
I take one last look from the castle gate and its lost, grassed-over garden, back up the hill to the two kirks. If the ‘mort bell’ sounded for the castle after Culloden, and the old kirk after it was unroofed in the twentieth century, surely it mustn’t be allowed to sound for the ‘new’ dressed-granite kirk built only 1890 and kept in continual use for a century? But, as Douglas reflects, that’s perhaps a task ‘for another generation’. It’s certainly a major undertaking, but imagine if the bell now hanging in the ‘new’ kirk could ring out a note of celebration, announcing a new future for the building and the community around it. That would be something! Admittedly, the auld abandoned craws’ nest now damping its ‘ring’ would first need ‘dingin doon’ – not down to the ‘pits of hell’, but down to the ground amongst the ‘musical’ gravestones of Pitsligo!
Author: Dr Sally LK Garden (Sep 2019) With thanks to Douglas Tait, Friends of Pitsligo Castle, for recording in sound and image, the Pitsligo mort bell of 1742.
The Grieg Society of Scotland is pleased to announce the release of two special resources in support of its physical heritage project Monumentally Grieg! – a short documentary film produced and narrated by the Society’s Honorary Director, and a complementary online 3D model built by conservation experts Spectrum Heritage in exciting, cross-discipline collaboration with the Society. Together they tell the story of the Edvard Grieg ancestral gravestone at Rathen, Aberdeenshire, how it came to be erected, how the Society set about conserving it, and what it means today.