Nickname Rudjarl


Senile Member. Scandinavian Ambassadour of CaSLM
Løten, Norway
There is always a lot hiding in a nickname, and why shouldn't it be?... Having enjoyed a glass or two to much of wine I feel like sharing mine :)

Rudjarl is an ancient Norwegian name. It consist of the words Rud and Jarl. Jarl being a direct equivalent of the word Earl. Owner and ruler of a patch of land. And Rud, well it is a long story. Some 1200 - 1000 years ago Rud was the name given to farms that was created by clearing the forest by fire. Burn down the forest and plough it. The Rud farms was rich and bountiful producing some of our finest export stuff like the Vikings and such alike.
Now, why call yourself rudjarl you might wonder? I'm quite docile, friendly and (if I might say) a happy fellow. Like most things in life, there is a story to it:

When I was seven, and my middle brother nine we were out playing like kids are supposed to do. Our big brother (an old lad of eleven) had from experience learned to stay well clear of any vicinity vaguely attached to our whereabouts and was as usual far away doing big brother stuff. It was a sunny spring morning and we were having fun along the banks of a dried out creek that marked the border between civilisation and a dark forest we called the wilderness. The old river banks was covered with dry grass and a few sprigs of spring flowers. Snow was all but a rumour of a passed winter, and we were two happy kids playing in the sun. My brother had managed to get a hold on a box of matches. This naturally led to quite a bit of excitement as we investigated the virtues of the item at hand, naturally from a pure scientific point of view.

At first we were quite happy by just lighting a match or two. Marvelling at the colour of the flame and the sudden puff of smoke as it was extinguished by a gentle breeze. But as kids go, we were kids in the true sense of the word and as the slow tide of evolution evolves, evolution kicked in and we evolved... to kids... Soon the gazing wonder of the flames on a match turned to the gazing wonder of how much dried grass you could burn and still put the flames out. Naturally still being the scientific researchers nature allows kids to be.

After just a few matches the gazing in wonder proved futile in competition of the power of the flames. No matter how hard we patted the flames, or blew our lungs out, the crackling sound of a jolly fire just flat out refused to die. The jolly fire just grew and grew. In a matter of minutes my brother and I found it sensible to move away from the scientific experiment and regard it from a rather detached distance. In a matter of minutes the dense forest caught fire. Grass, shrubbery and trees was engulfed in flames. My brother decided that this was a great moment to do the magical vanishing act, grabbed my hand and told me to just shut up and play football at the neighbours. (I lost my faith in him that day as the neighbours was a run down shack that had not been occupied since the Germans was dismissed of their WW2 service.) When we fled the incidence, it was obvious that the whole forest was at peril. Flames reaching twice the height of the trees and the quite audible sound of the local fire brigade coming to witness the events.

In the end, our father, a quite reasonable man expressed his mild concerns over the whole scientific experiment. The fire brigade had left him a bill of 4000 Norwegian kroner (two month of dad's wages) and their admiration of the unfolding of things, particularly the creation of some 500 acres of new productive farmland that was produces before the fire was put out...


Vientiane, Laos
What a great story and wonderful language. I actually asked on your doorbell post about you nickname - now we have the answer -Al
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