FUNERAL FOR A FISHING BUDDY

Harry was a fabulous guy, a good comrade and a great friend.

He could seem a little distracted, and several of his fishing buddies had a tacit agreement to keep an eye on the fact, that he always also had everything with him and got everything with him again – for example on the plane. One incident is that he got on the plane, and sits and rummages through his bag and looks around confused and then exclaims: "I forgot my PC with all my customers and all my files – so I have to go back and find it in the departure hall" --- whereupon the major told him that he should just take it easy, and then starts looking around in his bag (where Harry had just looked) and then right away finds his PC,  which Harry had put in the back compartment of the bag – and not in a computer bag by itself, as he probably thought.

Another story comes from the early fishing in Skjern-å, where several of the comrades have arrived at the fishing spot, from where they see a cloud of dust down the gravel road at a speed that is not exactly suitable outside Copenhagen, then there is a real bang and the dust cloud gets bigger - but does not move. It turns out to be Harry who comes thundering down the gravel road in his Golf GTI, and does not expect that a West Jutland puddle, in fact, is a West Jutland puddle – and he then has to conclude that the bottom pan is no longer where it should be, and that the gravel is saturated with black oil; but "What the heck?" says Harry: "Now it's time to fish!"

Harry had no fine sensations, and was not as concerned with the branded products as the rest of us "idiots" who run around by the fishing waters. He didn't mind – no, on the contrary appreciated – sleeping in a tent by the river... Even though everything was completely soaked in water from both above and below. He was used to winter swimming – and he continued to do so by the rivers where he came fishing – from northern Norway to Arctic Canada.

Harry was good at going to bed early – because he usually wanted to get up and fish early in the morning; so the last sips of whisky that Harry had contributed to, we had to share among ourselves after a good day of fishing. Harry had an amazing patience with the fishing and didn't give up before any of us, in fact he never gave up – one day as he had fished a long stretch through, where you had to wade deep into the cold water, he was observed getting out of the water and immediately starting some of his karate exercises.  Probably to get the heat back in his body – you can almost imagine it: waders, wade jacket and his beloved vest and hat – but heavy wading boots were kicked up more than 90 degrees from the other leg.

One day I said to him, now I'll take you to Risøra, and then you'll get a salmon. On the way there, I put him fishing on a corner where two currents meet, and where the fish usually just want to take a little break and decide which current they would take. The weather was fine and Lau and I sat down on a rock and watched how he was doing – I had told him to use short casts to begin with, and then extend the line by half a meter at a time. As said, so done, and when he had about 15 m. of line out – we rarely fish with such a short length – Lau and I said for inscrutable reasons and completely at each other's throats: "Now it takes!" – and then it happened! Harry caught a nice grilse and was as happy as it is possible to be, he beamed all over his face, and cheered as if he had a chance to get into the +10 club (a club for those who have caught salmon over 10 Kg.). It was almost a meta-physical experience for all of us! There are, by the way, MANY good pictures of how happy he was when he got a salmon...

Harry was always positive, smiling and happy – and then he had his own “bible” with him, which to my great regret (as a man of the church) was a book about salmon fishing AND additionally by a Swede, a book he had probably read as many times as I have read the Bible. Then he relaxed – then he was on his fishing holiday: he appreciated that immensely, and you would see him sitting there and squinting diagonally over the edge of the book with his cunning smile! That was Harry!

My intro to the speeches at the funeral

Harry was a spouse, brother, brother-in-law, father, father-in-law, and grandfather to those of you sitting here on the first benches – he was a colleague, sports buddy and fishing buddy with a large part of the rest of us.

Now, so suddenly and surprisingly for everyone, we have lost him – that's why our thoughts, we who were more peripheral, go first and foremost to his loved ones in this difficult moment!

Harry was born at Rigshospitalet, but his mother took him and his younger brother home to Lofoten but after a few years they came back and moved to Vigerslev. And when he went to school, they stayed in Valby, but he later went to Christianshavn Gymnasium, from where he began studying to become a dentist and specialized in Maxillofacial Orthopedics.

His first workplace was on Kastruplundgade, and it was also during this time that he met his future wife, Sia in 1973, and they married in 1975, and eventually had their 6 children, whose upbringing was on Hovmarksvej in Charlottenlund. Harry then opened the clinic with orthodontics at Kronprinsessegade 46 and became self-employed, and he also became involved in a clinic in Holbæk where he was in charge of the orthodontic treatment a few days a week. Good colleagues also helped him to a contact in Italy, more specifically Turin, where he worked with orthodontics for a few years from 1993 and of course also had to learn Italian.

But when he and Peter Jerlaug and John Orloff started Hausergården in late 1994 with a reception in February 1995, he had to concentrate on the large and extensive work with orthodontics there, to which his PhD helped him well on his way – a workplace that he has kept now for 30 years.

In 1999, Lykke comes into the picture, and they had Samuel together in 2003, and after many and difficult years for everyone around Harry – not the least himself - Harry married Lykke in 2013. But the year before, the family had unfortunately lost Harry's eldest son Nikolai – which for everyone in the family was a huge loss and an incurable wound.

I could say a little about squash, fishing and karate, winter bathing and traveling out into the world, but I will now leave the floor to some of those who were closest to him:

1.       Lykke

2.       Oliver

3.       Mathias

4.       Samuel

I read this poem at the funeral, because I knew from own experiences, how it was to grow up in Copenhagen with a single mother and low income; and also, Harry and I had the same experiences of breaking the patterns of social entanglement.

THE STREET OF CHILDHOOD

A poem by Tove Ditlevsen (1917-1976)

I am the street of your childhood - I am the root of your being

I am the throbbing rhythm

In everything you long for

I am your mother's grey hands

And your father's worried mind

I am the earliest dreams

Light, misty webs

I gave you my great seriousness –

One day you were wildly abandoned

I sprinkled a little melancholy into your mind

A drifting rainy night

I once knocked you to the ground

To make your heart to be hard

But I gently raised you up again

And wiped away all your tears.

I'm the one who taught you to hate

I taught you harshness and mockery

I gave you the strongest weapons

You need to know how to use them well

I gave you your watchful eyes

On those you should be recognized

If you meet someone with the same gaze

Should you know he's your friend

I'm the street of your childhood

I'm the root of your being

I gave you the watchful eyes

On those you should be recognized

If you meet someone with the same gaze

Should you know he's your friend

And do you hear purer tones

Tuned to a most beautiful song

Should you long for my voice's

cracked and awkward sound

Did you fly so far across countries

And did you outgrow your friend?

I am the street of your childhood

I always recognize you again

I'm the street of your childhood

I'm the root of your being

Gave you your watchful eyes

On them you should be recognized

Do you meet someone with the same gaze

Should you know he's your friend

Yes, I am the street of your childhood

I am the root of your being

And I am the beating rhythm

In everything you long for

Did you fly so far over countries

And did you outgrow your friend?

I am the street of your childhood

I always recognize you again

The funeral took place at Nordre Kapel, Vestre Kirkegård, Vestre Kirkegårds Allé 15, 2450 København.

Friday 1/11-24 at 1 PM.

"REST IN PEACE, DEAR HARRY FJELLHEIM"