[those scotch-soaked english] in iceland

Nannaa

I suddenly caught this picture but then, when I read the article, it was a chuckle to read an Icelandic version of England [not Britain or America but England - the poor lass can be excused, being Icelandic] in World War 2, just as I enjoy hearing the Russian version of it. Here is a sample:

There is a little nugget of truth you might not be familiar with: Iceland was invaded by the English on May 10, 1940, and remained occupied till the end of the war.

The story begins one dark and gloomy day in Copenhagen when German troops invaded the colorful and cozy capital with fancy guns and excess numbers. Denmark gave up after two whole hours and submitted to German rule (and they call the French surrender monkeys, outrageous).

As soon as Iceland caught wind of this, Althingi, Iceland’s parliament, met up and declared the King of Denmark unfit to rule us as a colony and thus claimed its independence. As we were on a roll we figured we would declare ourselves a neutral country too, what with the war going on thousands of miles away.

But the Allied Forces had other plans. In the name of neutrality we politely told the English to please go away and that we would not be joining their army “as a belligerent and an ally”. Little did we know that in London, Mr. Churchill himself met up with the War Cabinet to discuss a potential invasion of our little country.

The scotch-soaked icon himself explained how strategically crucial Iceland was and should it fall under the hands of the Germans the way its former rulers did the Allied Forces would lose the North Atlantic territory completely.

So it was agreed that Iceland should be taken over.

I mean one day you’re celebrating your independence going about your business tending to crops and sheep and the next thing you know an army descends upon you and all you have to protect you are a measly gang of 70 policemen.

Outraged Brits should note though that Nannaa admits the Brits not only [generally] kept their word to leave at the end of the war but [some] intermarried with the Icelanders - that would indeed have to be a super-race.

Defend England, anyone?

Another version of the story is here, presumably by Egilsdottir, as the Iceland Review writers have this quaint habit of not putting their names.