«The formation of a Mongol army, the crowning of the living Budda as the emperor of Mongolia, the sending of troops south and east towards China, and many other things that happened around Christmas, made the two Norwegians, who then lived together, unknowable of what kind of Christmas we were going to have that year. However, things were relatively calm in Urga and we celebrated Christmas peacefully, if it cannot be said, that it was joyful, it was after all Christmas.

We lived in a small Chinese house with paper windows, with more air holes than preferable in 35 degrees below zero with wind. Our way of living was not elegant; we had a Chinese chef, who claimed he had cooked for the Russians for years and that he was the best chef in Urga, which might all be true, all though he fed us, as if we were pigs.

Under these conditions, the Christmas dinner did not turn out how one might wish. I believe the soup was thicker on Christmas eve, upon our request of course, we could then, as most other days, make sure we got something to eat without our chef’s gracious help. Back in those days there was a shop in Urga, that had a fairly good selection of canned food, sausages, ham and jam, and while also having a bakery, where we could find the most delicious kinds of Russian bread, we had enough food on the table on Christmas eve, and the rest of the holidays.

We started on our buffet before the chef was done with his mess, and when he finally came rushing in with a plate of meatballs in his one hand and the incessant bucket hanging on the hook of the wooden ladle in the other hand, we were satisfied with keeping the meatballs and sent the soup bowl to the stable boy, so that he could water the horses a bit early that night, it was, after all, Christmas eve. The dogs got the meatballs, we had enough anyway. »

Some years later, in 1914, Mamen travelled from Mongolia to Kalgan through the Gobi Desert right upon Christmas, in minus 50 degrees. He writes:

«Brr, what a trip! And then the long, mannered day marches! We got up early, around 7 am. The Mongols released their camels to seek for food on the snow-covered, dead grass, while we had a small meal. We then cooked a severe meat stew and had a real camel meal just before starting out, around 10 am, and as soon as we were done eating, the caravan started moving. The caravan moved non-stop without any breaks until 12 or 1 at night, sometimes until 2 am. That was long stretches without any food, so we hid some food under our furs, as our body heat prevented the food from freezing.

All was good until three parts of the journey was done and we encountered bandits, a severe situation. Quite a bit of shooting took place, most came from the bandits, we escaped the shooting somewhat safe and sound, all though we from here had to keep it going three days and nights without stopping. Both me and the horse I was riding doze off from time to time. I am able to, and have many times slept in much less pleasant beds than a saddle so I was not bothered; I did not want a bullet through my body for Christmas after all, so I stayed awake most of the time. I have never been happier or more thankful to reach a house, a home and peace any Christmas ever before, than I was when I reached Kalgan the 22nd of December.»

Next year, in 1915, he had found love and married Karen from Norway:

«After some time, I was released to visit Norway for about three months, and then it happened, that the following Christmas holidays in the East I was married and had a homelike life. Sometimes we celebrated Christmas in Tientsin, other times in Kalgan, Urga and one time in Fengeheng in Norhtern Shansi, but wherever we were, Christmas came with family and everything belonging to the holidays, just as it should be. It was often difficult to produce a Christmas tree, but we never came into such need for a tree that we would have to decorate a broom, oh no, the lowest we ever reached was a pot grown Thuja. Those were wonderful Christmas eves, even though I travelled for most of the year, I always came home for Christmas, whatever the cost might be. Well, one year I did not make it, and I had to sit up here. The last Christmas eves have neither been what you can call homelike, as they have been spent in hotels, which can never be compared to the Christmas, that can be spent in the poorest hut.»

Oscar Mamen has at the time of writing, been divorced from Karen for three years. This year’s Christmas, in 1927, he will spend alone:

«As Christmas is slowly drawing near, and I am sitting in a small Russian house in a minor, dirty street in the middle of Urga, my thoughts spontaneously start wandering. I am not thinking about the upcoming Christmas, which does not mean anything to me, as I neither have a family nor anything, that could make Christmas joyful this year. If I would have it my way, I’d rather spend Christmas while traveling or hunting, then I might miss it the least. As a matter of fact, I do not care, nobody celebrates Christmas here anyway, so it can never be joyful.

When my mind starts to wander around Christmas time, my thoughts almost always go to my comrades. Where are they now, those good, old fellows? Where are my faithful friends, who were there when distress and danger threatened? Where are those joyful and light-hearted men, whom I have ridden next to, knee to knee, dined with around the camp fire at night, and endured and shared all kinds of difficulties and joys together with?»

Mamen remembers his friends and writes:

«The other day a saw a photo, taken on a picnic in 1915, of a group of people who came together daily. One of the men from the photo is in America, another one is in Tientsin, me and another man are in Urga, twenty-two men are dead, whereas two died naturally, if sickness can be said to be more natural than bullets, sabres and bayonets.

It’s my friends from up here that I remember the most, and especially those who no longer belong to this world. Those departed friends often reach my mind together in groups. It is if like, they are all together over there on the other side, and they sometimes get the idea, that they would appear in my mind in large numbers, emerging clearly and saying: ´Do you remember that time, there and there, there were hustle and bustle, those where other times, do you remember?´ Yes, I do remember very well, and again and again I experience those same moments.»

Oscar Mamen do not want to think ahead. He concludes:

«Life is strange, often uneven, and from the outside, often unfair too. It is strange how little it takes to send us in full speed out of this world and into the happy hunting grounds. Well, it is little use to think about the future, not even as far, as from September to Christmas. Let it go, as it will, let destiny rule, and let us strive forward and take whatever we can get out of life and this world, while we are still here.

In a brief time, we have Christmas once again, how will my Christmas eve unfold this year? Where will I spend Christmas? Most likely somewhere in Urga, at least I should say in Mongolia, but it might also be other places, if I am not merely a memory to my comrades at that time, those whom I have ridden next to, knee to knee. Let the future be, let me calmly sleep in peace and dream about the past.»

Merry Christmas!»

Text and photos: Oscar Mamen (from «Thoughts by a traveller», a christmas letter to his former wife, Karen, written in 1927)

Text in italic: Maria Kartveit

Maria Kartveit is a phd research fellow at the Museum of Cultural History in Oslo. She investigates the Oscar Mamen collection.