How peculiar it was that at this time, and in these circumstances, I should meet two young schoolmates who were Mormons. A few months had passed since Mother had moved, so I was beginning to make friends at Hindagal, the school I was attending. Among those friends were Hilda and Oscar Winkler, who lived only a block from our home. They were attractive children, near my own age of twelve.
On Sundays Mother worked at the hospital, and my job was to empty the toilets in the building where we lived. There was no indoor plumbing, so they had to be emptied daily by hand. It was not a pleasant job, but it had to be done. After I finished my chores I would be quite alone; so when Oscar and Hilda invited me to visit their Mormon Sunday School, I was happy to go.
The Latter-day Saints met at Krystalgade on the second floor of a little building inside a court yard. We walked through a portal to get to the yard inside. There were many steps to climb, but at the top was a hall full of children and young people.
After I heard that first lesson I wanted to go again and again. Every Sunday I would hurry to complete my duties by ten o'clock so that I would be ready when my two friends called for me. My Sunday School teacher, Mrs. Thor Nielson, was a convert. I liked her, and we became good friends. Of course, I learned a lot from Oscar and Hilda. Mother was working, so I usually spent the whole day at their home, and we would talk about the morning's lesson. I will always be grateful to my two young friends. But the overall change that eventually took place in my life would never have occurred had it not been for the concern that Elder Willard Hansen showed for me.
He was not the only missionary in Copenhagen, but he was the one who held my interest. He was a young man of about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years. He spoke poor Danish, having never mastered the dialect even though is parents had [p. 20] come from Denmark. He once showed me pictures of the two wives who waited for him in America. The first one had five children--big boys, almost half grown. They lived in Utah. The second wife lived in Colorado with her baby.
It was not easy to be a Mormon missionary in Denmark at that time. Street meetings were not permitted, so the missionaries did door-to-door tracting. They could not have entered any [p. 21] house in Copenhagen had they not believed in the Bible, and even then they knew better than to go to a certain group of people. These had already made up their minds against the Mormons. My mother and her family fell into this classification, but after I had been to Sunday School a few times, Elder Willard Hansen came to our home to talk with Mother and me.A Whole New Life
My ears and heart had been opened by the messages I had heard on Sundays in the humble hall at Krystalgade. The Mormon faith brought a whole new life to me, even as a child. The missionaries spoke from the Bible; that is what really converted me. I know what the Bible said, and Mormon elders proved [p. 22] the truth of the gospel from the Bible. Fortunately, I had not yet reached the years of schooling where a child is taught the Lutheran interpretation of the Bible. During the two years before a child reaches the age of fourteen, he prepares to meet the Lutheran priest. During this "priest period" a student learns those scriptures and interpretations that he will be called upon to recite before the priest, promising to forsake the devil and all his wrong doings and thereby becoming a confirmed member of the Lutheran Church.
At twelve, I was the right age to hear the gospel. I had never learned the lessons or doctrines of the Lutheran Church or any other church but I had learned the lessons of the Bible. I knew that everything Elder Hansen taught Mother and me was true.Preparing for Zion
That spring brought a beautiful Easter morning, and I, as usual, was on my way to Sunday School. I had finished my chores and had to run to get there by ten o'clock. I was singing all the way. After Sunday School I saw Elder Hansen, and out of the clear blue sky he asked me, "How would you like to go to Zion with me?" From all the events of the past weeks and all I had learned of the gospel, I felt this was a direct call from God to be gathered with his people. I knew the chance would never present itself again. It was not going to be easy, but I was determined to persuade Mother to let me go.
Elder Hansen had undoubtedly made an investigation into our circumstances, because shortly after he invited me to return with him to Zion, the mission president, Niels C. Flygare, hired Mother to cook for the elders in the mission home. She was given a maid's room and was allowed to have me with her. It was a wonderful situation for her. The five mission officials lived on ordinary, decent food, and she was able to save enough money for little things she needed, including a set of artificial teeth. These circumstances softened Mother's attitude toward the Mormons; but she was still not converted to the gospel nor to the idea of my going to Utah.
At spring conference President Teasdale came and spoke. His words were inspired. To me the spirit bore a marked interpreted message. I was fully converted to every truth he spoke. I talked [p. 23] with the elders and was not a bit frightened when Elder Hansen baptized me in the waters of "Langelinge."
But I had a hard task ahead of me. I begged Mother every day and tried to make her see how important it was that I go to Utah. I would listen to no argument from her. I would tell her she didn't know what she was talking about. I'd make her come and kneel down with me each morning before she went to work.
I had really never had anything so important to pray about before as this object now in view. Oh, I had had my small everyday wishes, but never a need so great that it required more than just a few minutes of prayer. This was different. I constantly asked my Heavenly Father to help Mother see the truthfulness of [p. 24] the gospel. It was the truth. I knew it was. It was a gift from God. I couldn't have been more convinced of anything in my life than I was of that. And God was calling me to Zion. I preached all summer to my mother, my schoolmates--anyone who would listen: "he who is not willing to leave father, mother, for my name's sake, is not worthy of me." This was the scripture I quoted to substantiate my point of view. So many children didn't have a chance to go, and I did. Somehow I knew that I would go and that Mother would know it was the right thing for me to do.Persecution
After six weeks of prayer and meeting and talks with Elder Hansen, Mother gave her consent. After that, all the King's men couldn't have stopped me from going. Our neighbors thought it was a shameful thing for a mother to allow her daughter to do. All the people who had not cared at all if we had no food to eat or clothes to wear now shook their heads in horror at the thought of my leaving with those awful Mormons.
The schools offered me a scholarship if I would stay. Of course, I turned them down. All it amounted to was a course in home economics. "That poor little Mormon girl," they would say. "And she's such a good student." I did ask my teacher if I could have my character book to take with me to Utah. (That word Utah was a terrible thing to mention to anybody.) She wouldn't give me the book; instead, she set me up before the class and told them I would soon be entering into polygamy and all the other shameful things in the Mormon society. I felt like a heroine. The whole family thought Mother had lost her mind. Karl and his wife, a fine girl from Dresden, came to Copenhagen when they heard I was going to Utah. Aunt Amalie came down from Middlefort. Both of them offered me homes with them if I would not go with Elder Hansen. They could not understand. Had I been looking for a better home I'm sure I would have enjoyed Germany or the Danish isles, but I was about my Father's business.
One day the police knocked on our door and served Mother with summons. She and I went to the police court to be questioned. I was so frightened my heart stood still. Could they [p. 25] stop me from going? They tried. They asked us many questions and attempted to show that I was not my mother's child. No one could believe that any mother would let her youngest child leave home on such a incredible journey. But there was nothing they could do once Mother have indisputable proof that she had given birth to me. I'm sure it was my relatives who instigated the police investigation. But they couldn't stop me. Karl even refused to shake hands with me when he left, and the disgust of the rest of the family amounted to more attention than they had ever shown before.Farewell
I shall never forget the last Sunday School. All the children sang "Farewell." I bore my testimony full of spirit. My eyes had been opened. I knew Christ lived and with the surety of this knowledge I would ever be obedient to his teachings.
I crossed King's Square in Copenhagen that August morning, going toward the harbor where the ship lay on which I would [p. 26] leave in a few moments. Wearing a thin dress and a little black jacket that I had bought with my postal savings, I kissed my mother goodbye at our home while I still had the courage to do so without weeping. I walked down to the harbor alone. I was frightened, but I felt deeply the ultimate triumph of good over evil. I saw clearly how the way had been prepared in the first twelve years of my life for this spiritual adventure. It will always seem miraculous to me how one situation built upon another until that day of departure: the death of my father, the foster homes, hard work, scripture study in the Danish schools until I was twelve, Oscar and Hilda taking me to their Mormon Sunday School, and finally Elder Willard Hansen from Brigham City, Utah, picking me out of several hundred children to return with him to Zion--it had all been preparing me for this day.
Now the glorified moment for which I had fought and struggled had arrived. Yet mine was still the power to choose between the flesh and the spirit. I was still with my mother. I still could stay with her. But I would not falter now; only a coward turns back. It was a decision of immense importance.
I swung myself up the gangplank amidst the waving handkerchiefs of my schoolmates who were bidding my goodbye.
I remember standing still, holding on to the railing as the boat glided out into the wide, soft darkness. I stood my ground without a tear until I saw a sweet, tear-stained face come into view. It was my mother. As she squeezed through the crowds, the heat and confusion almost overcame me. I remember whispering through the dark and the stillness, "Oh God, be with us that we may meet again in that land out West, as thou hast promised those who are faithful." It was a child's prayer, and through the whispering of the spirit I felt complete consolation. I was assured that I had done God's will. [p. 27]
Seasickness
At last I was on my way to America. I realized that now everything would be changed. Behind me was my mother, and each movement of the ship told me I was floating further and further from her. I felt seasick. I found my way down a steep narrow stairway into the bottom of the boat. There I found rows of bunk beds on either side and a long table down the center where the immigrants were to eat.
The air was stifling, and there were all kinds of confusion and noise. Little children were crying while mothers were preparing scanty meals. The idea of food made me feel worse. I made my way to one of the bunks, took off my little black jacket, and crawled in. There was little light. At the small windows all I could see was water. I looked around at the darkness and felt the return of bitter reality. But much of the best in life blooms out of its necessities.
I spent every minute of that two-week voyage on my back. I ate nothing because I was so seasick. I saw Elder Hansen only once during the crossing. He brought me a fresh orange, but I couldn't stand the smell of it. I lay among saints from Sweden, Norway, and several other countries--all heading for Zion. I told myself that, uncomfortable as the situation was, it was only a stepping stone to bigger and better things. I tried to remind myself that it was a return, a spiritual reevaluation, a contrast of temporal things in the light of things eternal. I resolved not to regret my decision to leave my mother and my country. But at the time, none of these thoughts made me feel less homesick or less seasick.
I was frightened at times by a rowdy group of Jewish immigrants on the other side of the boat. They were loud and coarse. Often in the morning one of the saints would find something missing and suspected that the Jews were responsible. One night my little black jacket was stolen. It was the only covering I had for my body. I had saved so long to buy it that I was heartbroken. [p. 28]
What little fat clung to my bones was gone before we reached New York. Two weeks of seasickness, coupled with an intense longing for my mother, had reduced me to a living skeleton. On the last day of the voyage I finally climbed out of bed for the first time and pulled myself up the narrow stairway. I found myself clinging to the same railing I had clung to on the day of departure.New York Harbor
When the ship glided into New York harbor, a gentle breeze was blowing. Looking up, I saw the morning sun gleaming on the outstretched hand of the Goddess of Liberty. She was wonderful to behold--so big, so glorious. I saw her as my new mother welcoming me to America, the land of my new birth. It was a sight I shall never forget. Suddenly, I felt less homesick, and tears of gratitude to God and my church dimmed my eyes.
I saw my first glimpse of America when we landed at Ellis Island. Believe me, I couldn't see much except the hundreds of immigrants who were all bigger than I. Jostled by the crowds of people shoving past me, my only thought was to hang on to my belongings. Elder Hansen, who did not have to go through the immigration procedures, had made me responsible for a purebred canary in a bird cage. It had been a gift from the saints in Denmark, and I had promised to carry it safely to Utah. I held the cage in one hand and a two-handled wicker basket containing everything I owned in the other. I must have made a pitiful picture standing alone with my braids hanging down my back. I waited in the din and confusion of the immigrants until my turn finally arrived to be processed.The Train to Utah
Elder Willard Hansen did not leave New York with me. He had reason to stay in the east for several weeks. But Jacob Hansen, another missionary I had known from Copenhagen, was taking the same train to Bear River, Utah. So Elder Willard Hansen gave me little change for food and put me on the train with his companion.
The train itself had the worst accommodations imaginable. Two long wooden seats ran the length of the car on either side. [p. 29] They were bare, dirty, and devoid of sunlight. There I sat alone with my basket and my bird cage, awaiting the thousands of miles yet to go. I had never given the slightest thought to the distance between New York and Utah. My struggle had been to reach America. The idea of any journey I might have to make once I arrived had sailed right past me. Nevertheless, I spent six days on that train. My belt grew larger and larger because I didn't have much to eat. We made occasional stops, and other passengers would scurry into a station for a sandwich. But I was careful. I never knew for sure how much time I'd have, and I didn't have much money. Besides, every place we stopped was so dirty I was afraid to eat the food. During those six days, I grew terribly hungry.Brigham City
Strangely enough, I never saw Jacob Hansen after leaving New York. I wasn't afraid. I knew I was to get off at Brigham City, and that's all there was to that. But when the train finally reached its destination and I stepped on to the station platform, there was no one to meet me. I had no idea where to go, so I walked to the nearest house and asked a man, "Where does Willard Hansen live?" I spoke in Danish, but, at that time, Brigham City was full of immigrants. Luckily, he understood me. In no time I had climbed on the man's buckboard and was on my way to the Hansen home.
Elder Hansen's wife, Maria, was holding a quilting bee that day; and when I arrived, still carrying my wicker basket and the canary, she was preparing to serve dinner to the ladies. By that time I was so starved I hurt clear through to my back. I asked Maria if I could have just a crust of bread. She could see how hungry I was, and she fed me. All I ate was a piece of bread and some milk. She would have given me more, but that's all I wanted. It was enough to stop the hunger. I have never been as hungry before or since, as I was that day.
Being a child, I had not known what to expect when I reached Utah. I had fought to come and had been anxious to arrive in my new home; but I had never seen an American city or town and had no idea what to expect.
My first impression of Brigham city was wonderful. It was beautiful. Every home had a little reed organ. To me that was grand. No matter how poor the family, or how bad the adobes looked, the songs of Zion could be heard drifting out of the little houses. . . . [p. 31]
BIB: Wheelwright, Lorin F., Valborg: An Autobiography of Valborg Rasmussen Wheelwright as told to her son Lorin F. Wheelwright (Salt Lake City: Pioneer Music Press, 1978), pp.22-31.
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