A Son of Ragnar or Singing with the Fat Lady

'A Son of Ragnar' or 'Singing with the Fat Lady'

Me unveiling my inner Ragnar

Like many around the world, my wife and I have recently begun watching the History Channel's ‘Vikings’. Based on the medieval viking sagas, the series deals with the life and times of the semi- legendary viking king, Ragnar Lothbrok. Drawn into this retelling are a variety of characters based on other viking notaries, such as Rollo, the ancestor of William the Conqueror and Floki, the first person to intentionally sail to Iceland. As a hardcore Tarzan fan, I initially became aware of the show due to its star, Australian actor, Travis Fimmel, who had played Tarzan in the 2003 TV series of the same name. But it was not until recently that I became a regular viewer of the series and thus familiar with the name, Ragnar Lothbrok. As is my usual tendency, I began to research the historicity of the characters as well as the accompanying mythology. I am a firm believer that if you truly want to understand what a group of people are about, you need to look at their myths and legends. It may play free and easy with the historical facts but it speaks volumes about the people themselves, their dreams and aspirations.

One day I was joking with my wife about the possibility of being related to Ragnar Lothbrok. I knew from my hint of Scottish heritage that I may have had a smidgen of viking blood flowing in my veins, as do  many  people of British descent. Being the geek I am, I decided to investigate. Now ancestry research is not something unfamiliar to my family. My father has been involved in family research for over twenty years, and with surgical accuracy, he has managed to discover much of our family history. With the help of my Mother, he continues to make new connections and discoveries. In contrast to this, if I was to uncover a link to our latest, favourite, TV character, I would need to take the sledge hammer approach to family research, the kind that avoids the finer details and goes for the ‘vibe of the thing’. The question was how could I roll back the years to the mid 9^th century, look a quasi-mythical Viking king in the eye and ask ‘are you my great (x roughly 58) grandfather?’ Barring a time machine, and a crash course in Old Norse, the chances were buckleys and none, until I hit on a brain wave. If I could pin point a notable ancestor far enough back, I may be able to track back closer to the blond bearded one himself. Upon reflection, I knew I already had a likely candidate, a gentleman called Olaf the Black, a thirteenth century  king of the Isle of Man and viking to boot. You see, legend states that Olaf the Black was the father of a certain Leod, who was the founder of the McLeod Clan. As it happens, my great grand mother’s maiden name was McLeod. Bingo, finally I had a lead. All I had to do now was wade into the McLeod family records and see what awaited me.

The internet is an amazing thing. With in minutes I had come across an official McLeod Clan genealogy, well one of several any way, which demonstrated Olaf the Black’s descent from one ‘Ivar the Boneless’. Ivar was one of the leaders of the ‘Great Heathen Army’ that invaded Britain in 865 AD, and most importantly, a son of Ragnar Lothbrok. ‘Eureka!’ my quest was now complete. Barring adoption, infidelity, fake names and the usual fudging of genealogies to fill in blanks, curry favour or legitimise status of notable personages and clans, I was a (very, very) distant son of the famous Ragnar, of whom songs were sung, sagas were written and Hollywood films starring Ernest Borgnine were made. I could now look my wife in the eye and say ‘ I am your husband Quentin, descendant of King Ragnar Lothbrok, scourge of Paris, the British Isles, slayer of dragons (evidently), descendant of Odin (or so he reckoned) and your latest favourite TV character. Long may his series be renewed!’

As sensational as this discovery was, there was still more for me to uncover that would make me more excited than the Pointer Sisters. Further research revealed that the mother of Ivar the Boneless was a woman by the name of Princess Aslaug, also on our favourite show, who was the daughter of the uber-legendary Siegfried the dragon slayer and Brünnhilda, the valkyrie and legendary shield maiden. These people did not just have statues, sagas and movies produced about them, they had a whole series of operas written about them, Wagner’s Classic Ring Cycle. When people say ‘it ain’t over till the fat lady sings’ it’s Brünnhilda, traditionally a buxom soprano in a winged helmet singing the final aria in the opera, they are referring too. If the ancient records are to be believed, my great (x roughly 59) grandmother was the original fat lady. This must be where I get my singing ability from and why I own my own plastic helmet with wings, amazing. Even more miraculous is that as a valkyrie, she carried warriors who had died in battle to Valhalla and I, as a Christian minister, perform funeral services, giving those who have passed on a good send off into the hands of a loving saviour. ‘Snap!’, practically the same job. She’s even a Marvel Superhero and by golly, I love my Marvel Superheroes. And then there is her husband Siegfried, a dragon slayer. Sadly there’s not much call for that around here but I have killed a few mice and spiders in my time and I can be lethal. One does not need to look too far to see the family resemblance. 

There is much to be said for this sledge hammer approach to family tree research. Besides being a lot of fun, it is a great way of learning about the life and times of those who have gone before us in the distant ages and the stories they wanted to tell about there families when facts were not something that needed to get in the way. Because of this, we learn more about how they saw themselves in the cosmos and what they wanted to pass on. We get to know ‘the vibe of the thing’ and not just names, dates and facts. For those of us with a taste for the mythic and fantastic, it rips open the curtain of reality and reveals the places where mythology and history collide. Who knows, maybe one day they will tell similar stories about us, and if they do, I hope I will be the dragon slayer and not the fat lady. I might sing but I don’t look good in a dress.