Two Poets | Ragnar Þór Pétursson writes

Teacher Ragnar Þór Pétursson.

In early April, sometime before the turn of the last century, it was cold and Pastor Mathias could not make it to his home in Akureyri for dinner. This was unusual. Mathias did not usually miss meals (as you could see from him). Moreover, it was his youngest son’s birthday. After trying in vain to get the man to look up from his desk, his wife decided that she and the children would eat alone. They did. After a long while, Mathias finally appeared in the living room, smiling, clean and tired. He had spent the previous hours in the happy sunshine, what he later called the “poetic picture” of Skagafjörður.

From his beautiful vantage point, Matthias bathed Skagafjörður in sunlight.

I once had the privilege of being my grandmother’s companion on the way from Akureyri to Reykjavík, and then I discovered that she and my grandfather had developed this tradition, no doubt a remnant of the days of horse-drawn carriages, of numerous stops along the way to have time for lunch, to rest. They always stopped at the monument to Stephan G. It was a tradition. If the weather was good, you could put yourself in Matthias’ shoes and admire the mountains. If there was a lack of views, it was possible to recall some of the countless stories that still exist in the memory of this country. The story of Solveig, the fire of Flugumyr, the demons and desperadoes of Drangey, or the bloody battle of Orlygsstaðir. Or, as I sat with my grandmother at the monument, chewing a sandwich, thinking only of the fate of Stephan G, the poet who sat by the highway and cried when he saw the son of a better man riding by on his way south to school.

I thought of all this when I was surprised to see one of Skagafjörður’s political leaders recently jump on the hay wagon of the people of the north and declare that Skagafjörður’s school may not be good enough at all. At least it cannot be trusted. He felt that he had heard the long-lasting alarm bells, and now the city’s schools needed to be connected to all the measuring equipment in the world as soon as possible to check whether they were available. Ideally, it would be necessary to bring in outsiders to evaluate them, or even bring in school operations from other cities so that the schools could be shared with the residents. A man who rode over from the south and was educated in factories.

Now, I know little or nothing about the current atmosphere in Skafjord, but anyone interested in education must be living under a rock not to know that the schools in Skafjord are the most spectacular “introduction to the countryside” that Skafjord has had for the past decade or so. And nothing has been done to counteract the negative image of the city being mired in special interest groups that dominate and argue with the living and the dead.

The positive publicity that Skagafjörður’s school issues have generated, both nationally and internationally, would be worth billions of dollars if it could be purchased. However, it cannot be. It is the result of the honest, professional work of many people who get up every day and do their best for their community. In the hands of people with a genuine interest in and awareness of educational matters, the city government’s traction on school matters could provide an important advantage at a time of growing teacher shortages and other challenges. You would think that those holding the scepter of power would realize this.

But no. A certain Christopher ruled there. I don’t remember ever seeing or hearing about this person in discussions about school issues, either in Skagafjörður or elsewhere. I never saw him when I visited the schools in Skagafjörður, which were then open to anyone interested in education. All I know is that this Christopher decided to lock himself in his house on a sunny July day and refused to come to dinner. Until he finally showed up, with his new poem, depressed, grey, and sullen, he had turned off all the drizzle in his mind to cover the Skagafjörður sun, and was almost soaking wet.

The news that followed him – that all the alarm bells in Skagafjörður were ringing, that all school operations there needed to be thoroughly dissected and remeasured – had done great damage to the municipality. In the blink of an eye, Skagafjörður went from being a model for other cities in terms of education to a popular place to get to know and learn, an exciting place to work, and one of Iceland’s most fertile growth-driven societies, declared a fraternity by its own rulers.

If the political representative chosen by the people of Skagafjörður as their leader were to get involved in tourism and claim nationwide that Grätislåg is likely to be cold and full of fecal bacteria (at least in the autumn) and that Örlygsstaðir is nothing more than a field where you can easily break an ankle, I’m afraid voices would be heard from the corners. Such a person, naturally, would be considered a fool. Nevertheless, Christopher decided to become the spokesperson for the school issues in Skagafjörður.

Those of us who see things from an outside perspective must conclude that he has spotted something very much missing in the schools we ourselves have watched and even admired for more than a decade. He must have spotted serious flaws in internal assessments, deficiencies in school development programmes or the collapse of metrics such as Scolapursi. For otherwise this man would not have behaved in the way he did.

It is very possible that “Skín vi solu Skagafjörður” is a bit of an exaggeration, and it is not always sunny in Skagafjörður. That is not why the people of Skagafjörður have preserved this poem. Sometimes it is important to highlight things that are done well and draw attention to them. Although there is no other way to do that except to encourage people when a storm is coming.

I would say that the schoolchildren of Skagafjörður take it very seriously (and more than that) and draw positive attention to Skagafjörður with a passion, professionalism and creativity that is unique in Iceland. I would also like to point out that Christopher the Sly Poet owes the schoolchildren of Skagafjörður an apology for wading in his own way (not as a parent or resident of Skagafjörður, but as the political confidant of the city’s residents’ choice to guard the golden eggs of education).

I hope the schoolchildren of Skagafjörður do not lose heart and would like to end this column by thanking them for being one of the guiding lights of our education system during a time of great upheaval and uncertainty. You probably know that while some of those closest to you may not appreciate your contribution, there are many more (dare I say the majority of educated people) who respect and honor the work you do.

Ragnar ol Petulsson,
teacher