For Simon Petersen it was the cold and the hunger part of everyday life in Aappilattoq in the 1950s.
He grew up with his mother in a small peat hut. The woman who was actually his aunt, but who took him in as her own.
After her husband died during capture, she was left alone with the responsibility. Life was hard, and there was neither much heat nor food to give away.
Yet Simon remembers not only deprivation. He remembers a mother with an unwavering strength, a stubborn will and a love that carried them through the difficult years.
That strength followed him through life. From the cold peat hut, which today has entered the warmth of the shop. The door to Pilersuisoq opens and in, customers greet and the voice behind the counter is familiar. It’s Simon Petersen. 50 years after his first day at work, he is still standing in the same place – now with half a century behind him in the village’s shop.
Simon Petersen was born in Upernavik in 1957.
– Four months after I was born and after my baptism, I moved to Aappilattoq, when my aunt, whom I now call mother, adopted me, says Simon Petersen.
Since then, Simon has lived in Aappilattoq, about 20 kilometers northeast of Upernavik, on the edge of the Upernavik Icefjord. At the beginning of the year, the settlement had 158 inhabitants.
For Simon, Aappilattoq became the setting for his first encounter with the world. His earliest memory is the sound of the dogsled over the snow. He was driving with his father, a man he doesn’t remember, only as a figure. It is the sled and the dogs that stand out.
– I was so small. He died around 1959, and then it was just me and my mother, he says.
Right next to their cabin lived his grandmother, and Simon often went back and forth between the two homes. He has eight siblings from his biological parents.
His mother, who raised him, was called Dorthe Petersen, known as Dorthennguaq. When she got married, she came to be called Dorthennguaq Gabrielsen. She died today.
Teaching in a workshop
Simon Petersen began his schooling in Aappilattoq, where the teaching took place in the church. But a fire put an abrupt end to the familiar setting when the church burned down.
This meant that teaching had to be moved to more temporary conditions.
– I got to start school in a workshop. It was in 1965, and I remember that I really liked it, he says.
The simple setting may have been different, but for Simon it was still the beginning of his school life in the village.
When he was in the fourth grade, it was suggested that he should travel to Denmark to continue his schooling, as many other children from the settlements did at the time. But his mother put her foot down and said no.
– She said I should work instead, says Simon Petersen.
Schooling was short for Simon, who reached the fourth grade. In 1971, Simon was confirmed and his first job was in the municipality. Everything else pointed towards capture. The municipality gave him both tools and a kayak. But at home his mother made a different decision: He was not to be a prisoner.
– Because of my father. She refused to let me follow the same path as my father, he says.
This led to Simon getting a job in the municipality, where he collected fresh water ice in the winter. Back then, access to water was difficult, and in winter fresh water ice was fetched and dragged home to the household.
– When the summer came, I remember that Pilersuisoq was looking for young employees, and I started working there, says Simon Petersen.
What began as a seasonal job slowly developed. In the summer he worked in the shop, which was then called KGH, while the winter was still marked by ice.
But in the winter of 1976, something happened that changed the direction.
– I was collecting ice cream as usual when the village manager came up to me and asked if I wanted to be a permanent employee at KGH, he says.
A very happy Simon ran to his mother to tell her about the happy news.
– She told me that I should take good care of my work and be good at getting up in the morning. She told me that if it was possible, I could live my life as a worker, says Simon Petersen.
The words made an impression. From that day he began to seriously take responsibility, not only for himself, but also to help his mother.
Trained merchant
In the 1970s, work was different from today. There were no aids – the goods were lifted, carried and moved with the hands. It required strength and the days could be felt in the body.
– You used your muscles for everything. But it was nice enough when I was young, he says with a smile.
Simon showed up early and went to work in earnest. His boss noticed. He was stable, worked hard and could be counted on.
Slowly he gained more responsibility. The tasks became bigger, the trust grew and step by step he worked his way up in the company. In 1999, he began training as a merchant and graduated two years later.
– This year I also celebrated 25 years as a manager in the store, says Simon Petersen.
Over the years as a merchant, he has experienced both good and hard times. Not all days have been easy. There have been customers who came in with frustrations and let them out on him.
– It has sometimes been easier to be mad at the grocer, he says.
But that’s not what matters the most when he looks back. Because between the difficult moments, there have been many good moments, laughter over the counter, small conversations in the shop and a community with both customers and colleagues, which has made the work worth staying in.
Throughout his working life, Simon has not only sold goods. He has also stood in the middle of Aappilattoq’s development and seen the settlement change year by year, as part of the life he himself has helped shape.
– I also worked a lot with associations as a young person. In the 80s, I was among those who worked to get electricity for the settlement. It succeeded. Those were good times, he says.
Ten years ago, Simon Petersen was awarded the Queen’s Medal of Merit in silver in connection with his 40th anniversary at KNI A/S.
Next target
– I achieved my goal on 31 January this year, when I could celebrate 50 years in Pilersuisoq. I don’t think there has been anyone before me here in Aappilattoq who has reached the same milestone, he says.
When the municipality presented him with the diploma on the occasion of his 50th birthday, time stood still for a moment for him.
The thoughts found their own way back through the years, through the life that had shaped him. And there, in the middle of it all, she stood: his mother. The woman who had carried him through the quiet days and stormy nights of childhood.
The one who had given him everything. He felt a quiet gratitude mingle with longing, as if her presence still lived within him, deep and unwavering.
Now Simon has set himself a new goal. Next year he will turn 70. Maybe that will be the time when he says goodbye to working life and retires, but it depends on his health, he says quietly.
Until then, his days are still bound by the same fixed rhythms. He meets at seven o’clock every morning, and only at four o’clock – sometimes a little later – does he release himself from the day’s duties. The routine is unwavering, almost like an anchor in time, which has moved faster than he himself had anticipated.
The years can be felt in the body now. Not as something sudden, but as a quiet heaviness in the movements, a reminder that he is no longer young.
When work lets go, it’s the family that takes over. Together with his partner Mina, he has two children, grandchildren and now great-grandchildren, who fill their lives with special warmth and love.
