St. Olaf's Day, St. Patrick's Day and Bad Press

I once taught with a great woman who was Irish to the core.  She had asked me when I was going to put up my St. Patrick’s Day decorations and, was appalled when I asked her when St. Patrick’s Day was.  I knew it was coming up in March, but could never remember the date.  Everyone agreed that not being Irish didn’t make up for my blatant ignorance. 

            This brings to mind a much larger question.  Why does the whole country celebrate St. Patrick’s Day (March 17, as it turns out) but nobody celebrates St. Olaf’s Day (July 29)?  I am mostly Norwegian (though on St. Patrick’s Day I am allowed to be Irish through the use of large amounts of green and/or beer).  I know a little about St. Patrick, and a great deal more about St. Olaf and I can think of no reason for the lack of celebration for one and too much celebration for another except, maybe, good press.

            Olafr Haroldsson (995-1030) was also known as Olaf the Fat, though now days he is called Olaf the Holy in honor of his sainthood.  He is also referred to as Norway’s Eternal King, and credited with bringing Christianity to the Viking hordes.  The battle axe on Norway’s coat of arms is there in his honor. 

Olaf was a typical Viking teen, in that he went on raids to England and did his fair share of raping, pillaging and plundering.  But young Olaf had bigger dreams than common marauding.  He came from royalty (pagan and fur-clad as it was) and wanted to unit all of Norway into a single country.  Around 1015, Olaf wintered in Normandy (France) with Duke Richard II.  This man was an ardent Christian, and worked his magic on Olaf the Barbarian, turning him into a baptized, believing Christian. 

            In that same year, he returned to Norway, declared himself King (always easier to say than to execute) and, in the true spirit of good Christian kings, promptly aligned himself with several Nordic tribes and went to war.  What followed could make up at least half a season on the Game of Thrones series.   The truth is that while Olaf fell in the grey area of both governance and piety, he has become—whether through dint of service or conspiratorial good press—the patron saint of Norway.  We celebrate his name day on July 29^th and everyone gets to wear red and drink beer.

            So why is the green thing (with beer) on March 17 all the rage and the red thing (with beer) on July 27 a snoozer?  Because the Irish have better press!  No one thinks of Norwegians as the, “Hail fellows, well met!” of the drinking crowd.  We are dour, serious, and long-faced, and no body likes a mean, depressed or belligerent drunk.  We don’t have rosy-cheeked singers and dancers; instead of River Dance we’ve got the Ride of the Valkyries.  Norwegians don’t have bonnie lasses.  We have dangerous women with axes in their hands.  We like cold, toil and pickled fish.  “The Irish Washer Woman” is a sprightly jig.  The best music Norway has produced is Edvard Grieg’s and his is heavy even on a good day.   St. Patrick’s Day has cute little leprechauns and four leaf clovers.  We have Munch and his paining of The Scream.  Let’s face it—no one wants to celebrate with a Norwegian. 

            This year, on March 17, I’m going to wear red and a big button that says, “Kiss me, I’m a Viking—or face the consequences.”

            Have a safe holiday, and keep the faith.