FINLAND IN THE CRISIS
By PAUL TAYLOR
[The writer left Westminster School last term, at the age of eighteen] WAS staying with a Finnish family on an island in the I Archipelago outside Helsinki. We learnt the news of the war from the local shop, which was the meeting place for the inhabitants of the surrounding islands. My hosts accepted the news a little glumly and sternly, but without the least sign of outward emotion. As usual we wandered down to the landing-stage, started up our motor-boats and made for our respective island homes. War seemed very far away, something in a dream that could not affect the people who lived so quietly in these beautiful forested islands. We continued our peaceful holiday life, bathing, boating, and basking in the sun, and the war was almost forgotten.
In the capital, Helsinki, as in the surrounding country, life went on for the next few days much as usual. But soon apprehension and worry entered the minds of the people. Their thoughts, hopes, and energies had for months been centred on one thing—the Olympic Games of 194o. These were to bring thousands of people to Finland who would see that Finland was not a backward country tucked away in the north, but a modern democracy with a standard of living and culture as high as any in the world. For many days the fate of the Olympic Games was dis- cussed by everyone, and filled much of the space in the papers. Soon this topic faded into the background. We began to feel personally the immediate effects of the war. Shortage of petrol became serious. Private cars disappeared from the streets. Bus services were cut down, and the harbour, usually full of chugging motor-boats, large and small, became still and silent. It was a real relief when the news came that an oil-tanker had arrived from Estonia that would carry us on for some time. Next the coal shortage was felt. There was coal for three months, we were told. Shortage in coal meant restriction in heating. There was great personal discomfort, for the whole population of Helsinki was only allowed hot water for baths and washing on Fridays and Saturdays.
As in other countries, the outbreak of war brought a rush to the grocers to buy up all available sugar. That caused rationing far more severe than ours. Families had to cut 75 per cent. of their sugar consumption. There was also a great rush for soap, for the Finns, remembering the last war, when soap was an unheard of luxury, were determined to be armed for their weekly bath. But soap, sugar and baths—or rather the lack of them—were soon forgottgn as the menace of war crept nearer. Russia was making her move towards the three Baltic States. The Finnish people assured me that there was nothing to worry about. Finland was one of the Scandinavian block, and Russia would not interfere with her. If Russia should have any designs on Finland she would surely wait until after winter. For Fin- land, with its thousands of lakes and miles of forests, is a difficult country to invade at any time.
But these hopes proved false. Security till after the winter was a myth. Moscow asked for a representative from Finland. The Finnish people were determined to show that they stood united behind their emissary. The Agrarian Government, they knew, was slow to move and obstinately Stubborn. There was a fear that it might plunge Finland in war before the vital questions had even been discussed. The older people, who had fought once against the " Reds," said that if the Government refused to negotiate it would be brave madness, ending in self-crucifixion. All that they had worked for in the last twenty years would be destroyed. But the Finns' hatred of Russia and their memories of the bitter- ness and cruelty which Tsarism had brought to Finland are so poignant that the Finns are always inclined to treat with deep mistrust any advances from the other side of the border. A Finnish sailor from the Aaland Islands expressed his country's attitude when he said: " We only want to be free."
And so Finland began to prepare with absolute calm. A nation which knew the suffering of many wars, which had been the fighting ground between Russia and Sweden for many years, and which had experienced the horrors of modern civil war, prepared itself for sacrifice. We saw the fine Finnish troops, who claim to be the best fighting stock in the world, marching to the station. There was something sinister in the silence as they made their way in their high rubber boots through the cobbled streets. We saw members of the famous White Guard, each soldier well equipped, walking to their rendezvous in twos and threes. Their wooden transport carts, waiting at the station, looked strangely out-of-date. Yet they are a most feared unit, well versed in the difficulties of their native terrain.
On the home front, as on the military, everything went forward smoothly. There were no large posters, no orders in the streets, no frantic directions over the radio, but every Finnish family seemed to know instinctively what to do, and how to do it, without unnecessary questions. Going about their business with absolute confidence, the Finnish house- wives prepared their families for evacuation. Within about five days of the beginning of the crisis the three large towns had been half evacuated and prepared against air attack. The anti-aircraft guns pointed all one way, towards Russia.
I left with some of the first evacuees and just missed the first black-out. I was very sad to leave Finland and its hospitable people, and to turn my back on a country that I had come to love, not knowing what its fate would be. A few weeks earlier I had met Finns who had fled from our country to their own peaceful land, and now I in my turn was seeking the security of my own people.
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