Ana vann stuttsøgukappingina í fjølmentanarvikuni

Í samband við Fjølmentanarvikuna varð skipað fyri stuttsøgukapping við evninum Heim. Áhugin fyri kappingini var sera stórur, og 74 rithøvundar sendu søgur inn.

Vinnarin varð avdúkaður, tá Fjølmentanarvikan varð sett í Norðurlandahúsinum fríggjadagin tann 20. oktober.

Søgan Home eftir Anu Holden-Peters vann kappingina. Um Home sigur dómsnevndin: “Á ein einfaldan og beinraknan hátt lýsir søgan Home ófrættakenslur, ið kunnu fylgja við, tá ein flytur til eitt annað land - men eisini, at alt ikki altíð er soleiðis, sum fyrsta inntrykkið vil vera við. Søgan er mentanarliga inneftirlítandi (sjálvreflekterandi ) og gevur eina fatan av, hvussu tann føroyska mentanin kann upplivast av fólki, ið flytur hendaveg.”

Av tí at áhugin fyri kappingini var sera stórur, og nógvar áhugaverdar og góðar søgur komu inn, hevur dómsnevndin gjørt av at býta annað og triðja pláss millum fýra rithøvundar.

Søgan Heim eftir Riu Tórgarð og søgan Tvístertur eftir Rannvá Næs Hoydal gjørdust nummar tvey.

Return eftir Noemi Garðshorn og Home eftir Luné Heimistovu gjørdust nummar trý.

Vinnarin fær tíggjutúsund krónur.

Søgurnar á øðrum plássi fáa fimmogtjúguhundrað krónur, og søgurnar á triðja plássi fáa túsund krónur.

Fyrireikararnir siga, at nógvar góðar søgur komu inn til kappingina, og vóna tí, at tað fer at bera til at geva søgurnar út.

Í dómsnevndini vóru umboð fyri Tórshavnar kommunu, Tórshavnar býarbókasavn og Rithøvundafelagið.

***

Vinnarasøgan

Vit hava fingið loyvi at leggja søguna eftir Anu á okkara heimasíðu:

HOME

It was the first night in my new home. It was 3am and I was still wide awake. There I was, over 1000 kilometres from home, lying in bed in an old wooden house in a tiny village, miles from the nearest police station. Every few minutes I would glance up at the rope. As the hours passed, it seemed to somehow become more menacing. 

You have to sleep, I am sure it is nothing to worry about. I was trying to calm myself. I had my first meeting with the Management Team the next morning, and I was presenting my plans to them. I had only been in the job for a week. I had to sleep to be sharp for it.

But I couldn’t take my mind off the rope. There it was, hanging above my bed, what was it for? Why hadn’t I noticed it earlier? 

The wind was howling outside. This was a terrible idea. What was I thinking? Leaving my life in London and taking a contract in a country I knew nothing about. I had heard of the Faroes – they came after the Fair Isles in the shipping forecast my father listened to when the cricket was on. And they normally came with a gale warning. 

A few hours earlier I had met my landlord for the first time, we agreed a price, shook hands and by the afternoon I had moved in. The house was an original farmstead and I later learned that it was thought to be haunted. It was his family’s summer house and he had restored it beautifully to resemble the old way of living. He was so kind and made me feel so welcome. 

He said the Faroe Islands means sheep islands. There were less than 15 people in this village and his brother lived next door. It wasn’t long until my neighbour charged in without knocking. He was carrying a knife, a stinking leg of lamb and some bread. “I’ve already eaten thanks.” This was typical food he said, I had to try it. We talked for some hours - I was impressed with how worldly and intelligent the Faroese were. He made me feel good about my decision to make this remote picturesque village my new home. 

In the wee hours of the morning, my mind travelled back to the encounters and I analysed everything they had said. They had both been incredibly friendly, I thought. Had I given away too much? They seemed to be asking so many questions about me. Was I a spy? That one made me laugh. I had told them I was there alone, and he had definitely made a point of saying that no one locked their door in the Faroes, that I could leave mine open. 

By then, my mind was running wild. Did he tie his victims up before torturing them? Would he strike on the first night? Yes, why else would he leave the rope there. Was that someone on the stairs?

That’s it. I will take a photo and send it to Ian. He will still be awake, and he will know what it’s for. I’m sure it will make perfect sense and we will both have a good laugh about it. Ian had thought my plan to move to the Faroes was great. He was one of the few people that knew about my growing feeling of unease with life at home. 

I had been living the high life in London. I’d bought a large flat in a leafy street in SW12, I was working in my dream job at a large bank, and with all the means, energy and curiosity needed, I was enjoying the very best the city had to offer. I was in my mid 30s and by then had lived in more than five countries, but never made one my forever home.

Ian and I had spent a week together on a leadership course and had become close friends; we talked about everything together. He knew I had struggled to start a family. He knew I was restless, and I was searching for something. He knew I was on a journey. It had started with a bucket list. I took up study, became a yogi, travelled to Bali, surfed, hiked the three peaks, got my motorcycle license and even biked solo in Bhutan. He said I was brave when I told him about my latest plan. I trusted him.

All of a sudden, a gust of wind interrupted my thoughts and almost blew the roof off the house. How would the sheep survive a storm like this? A message came back from him: “That’s a bloody noose!” Oh my god. Maybe he didn’t torture his victims. Maybe he just hung them immediately.   

What a sad way to go. I’d had so much hope for my new adventure. My first week in the new job had been wonderful, full of contradictions but I was fascinated. The office looked like the set for a James Bond film, but people were walking around in woollen socks. Everyone worked hard, but after 4pm the office was empty. I had been looking forward to a new life without stilettos and time to enjoy my new hobbies. 

There are key moments in life that stand out. Meaningful moments when you just know your life is taking a turn. Lying in bed that night, I was visited by the worst of my fears, past and present. This was a test, and if I could surrender this paralysing fear and just trust, I would find my way home.

Sleep must have overcome me. When I awoke the wind had settled and dawn had broken. The rope was still hanging above my head. I looked outside and saw a fold of sheep huddled by my kitchen window. We had all survived the night. 

I took the rope down, put it in the cupboard. I grabbed the bull by the horns: “What is the rope in my room for?” I texted my landlord. A few hours and a bleary-eyed presentation later I got a response “It’s an escape ladder, in case of fires. What did you think it was for?!”