It was often the subsequent – ​​characteristically – last-mentioned that removed the worst of the sting, when once in a while the king of the people turned on all the plugs and many of his subjects learned how useless and stupid they were.

Lackeys at the Castle received the king’s certificate for being less gifted. “Damn it, they never thought”, he could roar. Such statements often came as a reaction when an unlucky employee tried to defend himself with “well, I was just thinking…”.

In Tore Rem’s last volume in the trilogy, a lackey tells about King Olav from a large castle dinner, where the majesty was not satisfied with the progress of the serving. So he roared that the waiter had “damn it to bring the dish” – and this despite the fact that it put ministers and other high-ranking personalities between himself and the unhappy waiter.

Click here to subscribe to the newsletter from Norwegian debate

“Beautiful so well thought out”

Seilervenner tells in the book about how he could scold them in the most rude way, but end the cascades of insults with a pat on the head and an assurance to the unfortunate that it was «beautifully meant, you know».

In Tore Rem’s book, family members tell about several small charming aspects of the – outwardly – always smiling and friendly monarch, who in the Norwegian media (SO good) has received positive attention. His Brazilian grandson remembers one of his youth’s Christmas visits to his grandfather, who personally received at Fornebu with a complaint about the length of his daughter’s hair: “You look like a girl”, was the monarch’s greeting to the 17-year-old Haakon Lorentzen. To correct this point, that year a doll was given – i.e. a typical “young gift” – to Princess Ragnhild’s son.

Tore Rem documents Olav the Fifth’s fluctuating mood, referring to a number of sources, many of which belong to the absolute inner circle of the family. The outbursts came spontaneously and men often hit the heart of whoever was exposed to a royal fit of rage.

Here you can read more comments from Asbjørn Svarstad

Kneeling

In public, a striking personality trait would – later – mean more than anything else. If he didn’t become the Sun King, he at least became the “Gla’king”. Already on the American tour in 1939, as Rem points out in the first volume, he was called “Olaugh”. As it is described from youth, it seems to have started later as a nervous, not to say neurotic trait – simply an expression of deep shyness. But only occasionally did the fistula laugh lead to imitations and parodies. Nevertheless – the constant knegging is gradually becoming one of the king’s greatest resources.

His screeching – or should we rather call it “royal knegging in fistula” – became a trademark over the years. People noticed it and behind the scenes this move was used in more disrespectful hazing on local revue stages across the country. Tore Rem says that the knegging arose already when the king was young and that it was initially «a nervous, not to say neurotic trait, an expression of deep shyness. But the constant knegging was gradually turned into the king’s greatest resource».

Asbjørn Svarstad

Asbjørn Svarstad started writing in the local newspaper Dagningen, for some years was linked to VG. From 1987 Dagbladet’s stringer in Copenhagen. Since 1996 lived permanently in Berlin where he has worked for various Scandinavian media. Works mostly with historical feature articles, political commentary and is an authorized guide in Sachsenhausen.

My king

The undersigned met the happy king many times, because as the youngest man in the local newspaper Dagningen’s editorial office, it was usually my task to get up early on Easter evening to travel to Sikkilsdalen and photograph the ski race for the tourists at Setra – and the people from the royal cabin. Olav always leaned back casually on the ski poles and gave us the widest smiles any tabloid bastard could dream of.

One March day in 1978, colleague Rolf Dyrnes Svendsen and I were on call to Gardermoen. The government had just decided to send UN forces to Lebanon. So Rolf and I had to interview soldiers from Lillehammer and the whole of Gudbrandsdalen, when a helicopter momentarily came flapping in. Out came King Olav – wearing a general’s uniform but with foot-shaped shoes on his feet.

The explosion

He inspected the rain and stopped at every third man. “Where do you come from and why do you want to go to Lebanon?” he asked. It was just another photographer and me present – ​​completely unusual in such a context. So we got hooked and probably didn’t think about the fact that it might be practical to keep a few meters distance.

Suddenly I got an explosion in the middle of my face, when the king jerked off and screamed into my lens that «NO, I want to talk to the guys in peace». I had a feeling of being thrown into the air before I landed quite brutally a few meters further back. But it was probably just a feeling – and it was not made better by the fact that the outburst ended with the man’s characteristic squeal.

A few seconds later, little me was lovingly taken care of by staff from the Castle. “He didn’t mean anything by it”, consoled one. “The king hates such a mix-up between the civil and the military,” explained the other.

Tabloid bastards

It wasn’t the first time someone had accused me of a lack of respect and finesse, so I chose to take the whole step in good spirits. And we didn’t even write a word in Dagningen that the newspaper’s seconded employee had managed to get the king himself in the middle of the fleisen. Such was the custom back then. The Norwegian press did not write critically about King Olav. He was an icon – and more or less protected against both humorous exclamations and serious criticism.

The episode is mentioned in the book, along with a long, long series of other small and large anecdotes from reality. Here, from the sidelines, it’s just a matter of taking off your hat and bowing very deeply in respect for Tore Rem’s deep dive into hitherto untouched archives – and ability to get people close to the king to ease their veils. Also those who can’t remember just beautiful things.

To be completely honest, for all these years I was a secret admirer. When Olav came to Lillehammer in 1985 to mark the anniversary of the end (and beginning) of the war, I felt very safe as I followed him closely during the inspection of endless rows of elderly veterans of the resistance. The king wanted to know from each one where they had fought. The next day my pictures were on the front page of Dagbladet – and I sent him a kind thought.

Last journey

When the news of his death came on the cable in Copenhagen one January evening in 1991, my friends at Dagbladet BT came running and asked if I could write about the case. I would like THAT, even if it had to be written in perfect Danish – and be ready in 20 minutes at the latest. (No one found out that the Norwegian had prepared well. The king had been ill for several days, and I had long since finished the Danish script about the life and work of my happy king.) But there was not a word there that his mood could be . swinging.

That case also covered the entire front page. Our majesty was also mega-popular with the neighbors in the south – and that was due more than the close kinship to the super-popular Queen Margrethe.