Thorfin!

You never know when the most insignificant interaction is going to have profound effects on the other person.  While in York, I took the kids to the magnificently-cheesy Yorvik Viking Centre tourist attraction.  It’s an archaeological museum/ride that’s aimed at telling kids about York’s Viking past.

First, you descend a staircase with the historic stratigraphy labeled on the wall.  Then you stand on tempered glass floors over the street remains they found.  Labeled maps show you where to find the Viking comb, knife, amber, hearth and cesspits.  Then you hop on a slow moving 12-minute ride through the center of Viking Coppergate—a street that conveniently shows you market, manufacturers, new and old style Viking homes and “Grandpa” using an outhouse (with accompanying sounds and scents, even).  After the ride, you pass by three skeletons, two demonstrators and a few display cases of artifacts.

If you take the time to read and listen, there’s a lot to be learned.  If you are on the kids-only itinerary, you can rush through the boring stuff and have fun looking at the wax figures on the ride.  Grandpa grunting and farting is, sadly, a highlight.

We arrived for our first visit at about 4 PM.  As soon as we got downstairs, the kids were being overly cautious, not wanting to step down onto the glass over the reconstructed archaeological site.  A portly gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a shirt of chain mail, came over and announced, “Take care, ladies.  I hear there are costumed characters roaming about.”

What struck me particularly hilarious is that the kids had no idea what that meant!  I laughed and translated into “American” for them.  Olivia was enthralled from the get-go.  Helena, younger, did her typical hide-behind-Mom’s-hip maneuver.

Our Viking friend introduced himself at Thorfin and launched into a terrific explanation of wattle and daub house construction.  With plenty of references to “poo” and “rubbish”—which I had to translate.  Helena came out of her shell, Olivia positively beamed.  Since there was nobody else around, he spent about 15 minutes with us, explaining the site and pointing out interesting finds.  He told us how many Vikings would live in a house, what they ate, how they valued combs, how the site was found and even gave us “don’t miss” advice for the second half of the museum.

What I particularly loved was that he looked the girls right in the eye the entire time.  I don’t think he lifted his gaze to me at all.  It wasn’t necessary because I was watching them.  It was such a pleasure to see their eyes light up with understanding.  This also helped me to see the furrowed brows of confusion that I needed to address occasionally.

After saying our goodbyes, we went on the ride, listening to the kids commentary and having all the appropriate “wow” and “ewwww” moments at the right times.  When we got off, Thorfin was again waiting for us.  He took us over to see the demonstrator striking Viking coins—a little money-maker for the museum, but for 1.50 Pounds, it was worth it to give the kids a memento.  Thorfin and the coin guy joked about us Vinlanders (North Americans) and told us about what the colors of our clothing would indicate to Vikings.  Helena’s purple coat marked her as royalty.  Olivia’s pink coat and red pants marked her as a boy who was ready to fight, respectively.  The girls didn’t quite believe, or didn’t know what to make of, the claim that Viking children began drinking beer at age three.  Their sewage practices being what they were, I understood that it was the safest thing to drink back then.

Thorfin, whoever he was, turned what could have been a 20-minute rip-through-it-and-hit-the-gift-shop trip into an hour-long learning experience that had the kids asking to go back.  I’d bought a pass for four historical sites that is good for a year, so I was happy to take them back a few days later.  In the interim, they’d talked about Thorfin amongst themselves often.  They told anyone at any historic site that they’d met Thorfin, shared trivia he’d taught them and asked if the staff knew him.  Thorfin became the mascot of York.

It’s a great reminder that even our smallest interactions can be profoundly significant to someone else.  No, I don’t the kids lives were indelibly changed by Thorfin.  I’m not that delusional.  I’m not over-stating the importance of our interaction with him to that great a degree.  But I do think he fanned the flames of their early interest in history.  I’ve certainly encouraged the kids to funnel their natural curiosity into math and science—history and archaeology being particular favorites of mine.  Thorfin helped them feel that first spark of recognition that ancient people were just like us.  They had the same issues and answered the problems in the many of the same ways we do.  Nattering on about Viking poo, combs and sheep bones made that connection for them.  As much as he inspired them, he earned my gratitude. 

So thank you, Thorfin, for making history come alive for all three of us.  Sorry I called you portly earlier, but, in my defense, I am trying to be as accurate as I can in this blog.