The Lumi mystery

I have a tiny old photograph of an old, old woman who wears a long peasant scarf on her head. It’s what my mother called a paabuska, what Russians call a babushka. My mother often wore a headscarf, which embarrassed me as a teenager because I thought she looked like a peasant. I used to beg her not to wear one for parent-teacher meetings.

The woman in this one inch by one inch black and white photograph is my great-grandmother, Leena Susi. When he gave me the photo shortly before he died, my father told me her maiden name was Leena Lumi. The word lumi means snow in Estonian, just as susi means wolf in some old Estonian dialects and in modern Finnish.

My Estonian cousin, the daughter of my father’s sister, drew up a family tree for me, and she too knew this ancestress as Leena Lumi before she married our great-grandfather Jaan Susi in 1878..

However when I began digging for more information as it became available online, I found that others had posted information on Geni.com saying that this particular Leena (or Lena) bore the maiden name Hammas (which means tooth). I found a copy of a church record posted online of the marriage of one Jaan Susi to one Lena Hammas on May 14, 1878, possibly in the town of Valga. But search as I might, I could never find any record of a marriage between a Jaan Susi and a Leena Lumi.

I put the matter aside for a couple of years. Then I went back to Geni recently and discovered links to parish records indicating that a brother of Lena called himself Jaan Hammas alias Lumi. This Jaan Hammas aka Lumi, and his wife Lotte Katarina Hammas-Lumi, as she was evidently called, gave all five of their children the surname Lumi.

And in another church record I found that Lena’s nephew Jaan Hammas, son of her brother Endrik, had officially changed his surname, and that of his wife , Elise Annette, to Lumi on november 3, 1938. Endrik’s other children Peeter, August and Minna all went by the last name Lumi.

The children of Lena’s brother Kusta Hammas, Adolf, Gustav and Albert, all  used the name Lumi.

So at some period of time in the early part of the 20th Century, or even earlier, various members of the Hammas family changed their name to Lumi.

It seems reasonable to conclude that Lena Susi decided to change her maiden name retroactively to Lumi as well, and that became the name handed down to her descendants.

Why?

I haven’t the slightest idea. Was there something bad associated with the Hammas name? In all probability, the name Hammas was originally bestowed on a family of newly freed Estonian serfs by their former German baronial masters between 1822 and 1835. Prior to the naming times, many of the peasants were called only by their first name and distinguished from one another by the name of the manor where they lived.  A serf named Jaan living on the Püsnikko manor might be called Püsnikko Jaan.

There was a second wave of name changing in the 1920s-30s when some Estonians with German surnames exchanged them for ones that were taken from the Estonian language, according to Professor Aado Must in his writing called Onomastika in the Estonian Folk Archives, at http://www.ra.ee/apps/onomastika/index.php/et

Onomastika unfortunately is in Estonian. But it has a neat little search tool whereby one can enter an Estonian name and quite often find the name(s) of the baronial manor(s) where it was first bestowed. The tool shows that the name Hammas was given to people in living on the Karste, Atla, Sääre and Roosna-Alliku manor estates. In my ancestors’ case, Karste was the most likely place, specifically Liivimaa kubermang (Livonian government) / Võru maakond (Võru county)/ Kanepi kihelkond (Kanepi village) / Karste mõis (Karste manor).

The change from Hammas to Lumi couldn’t have been related to the Estonianization of German surnames in the 1920s-30s because Hammas is not a German name as far as I know.

One nice thing about this research is that I have discovered a few relatives in the U.S., distant cousins with the surname Lumi. (Even if the name was originally Hammas.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Are we not Mehkas?

Discovered something interesting the other day. It turns out that my father’s ancestors lived in a teeny-tiny area in southeastern Estonia called Mehkamaa.  Which means Land of the Mehkas.  It consists of two villages called Saru and Mõniste (pronounced money-steh) and the area around them.

O frabjous day! Does this make me a Mehka too?

Not quite.

My brother might call himself a Mehka, but I would be a Hipp.  Really. And no smart remarks about that, thank you.

The men in Mehka Land are called Mehka, roughly the equivalent of our American catch-all nickname Joe, as in “Hey Joe”, when you don’t know the fellow’s real name.  In Scotland, the all-purpose mens name is Jimmy, as in “Pass the whiskey, Jimmy.”  Or “Hey, Jimmy.”  But Mehka can be a genuine first name. Several  of my ancestors were named Mehka. However I strongly doubt the name is used today.

The origin of Mehka is a mystery. It could be related to mehis or mees, which means man-like or man. One source claims that it might be a variant of Mihkel, which is the Estonianized version of Michael. Lots of words that are spelled one way in standard Estonian undergo a sea change in the Võro dialect in southeastern Estonia, acquiring extra  õ’s or letters such as q and y, which never appear in regular Estonian. Võro is spelled Võru in Estonian. The name Mehka appears only in one small area of Võro, and is not found in the rest of Estonia.

The origin of Mehkamaa, however, is a sad story.

Suffering serfs

According to the book “Võrumaa ja Võrulased”, edited by H. Kasesalu and published in 1986, which I acquired either from my late father or from my aunt in Estonia, the tale grew out of the extreme hardships experienced by the Estonian peasantry in the 17th Century.  Võro in those days was part of Livonia, which consisted of southern Estonia and northern Latvia, and included Estonians, Latvians  and Livonians under  the unwelcome rule of the Livonian Brothers of the Sword.

Livonia, called Liivimaa (Sand Land) by the Estonians, was home to a Finnic-speaking people and existed long before this military order of German “warrior monks” (What an oxymoron!) was created in 1202 by Albert, bishop of Riga to forcibly convert the pagan Livonian, Curonian, Semigallian and Latgalians who occupied the area.

These  Finnic and Baltic speaking tribes did not take kindly to giving up their belief in the Latvian and Lithuanian sun goddess Saule, or Estonian  gods such as Pikker, Peko, Uku and Ahti, not to mention the many earth, water, fire and sky spirits that populated their surroundings and guarded their homes.

Just 34 years later after they were founded, the Sword Brothers were nearly wiped out by the Samigotians of Lithuania, joined by Latgalians, Livonians and Estonians in the Battle of Saule, Saule being the aforementioned sun goddess.

Saule

In 1413, the Samigotians of western Lithuania became the last group of Europeans to be forcibly converted to Christianity.  The conversion, however, was not altogether successful. Lithuanians to this day maintain an active pagan faith called Romuva, a surviving folk religion practiced not only there, but in Lithuanian immigrant communities around the world. Saule is their principal goddess.

Estonians have two much less widespread pagan faiths, Maa Usk (Earth Faith) and Taara Usk, which centers on the deity Taara, possibly related to Scandivanian Thor.

As an aside, my paternal grandfather practiced Taara Usk during a revival in the early 1900s.

Publius Cornelius Tacitus, a Roman senator and historian, wrote around the year 45 that the Baltic peoples worshiped the mother of the gods, which may or may not have been Saule.  But more on Saule in another post.

Getting back, the surviving Sword Brothers joined the Teutonic Knights  in 1237 and proceeded to wreak revenge, conquering all of Livonia, Courland and Semigallia.

Meanwhile, in 1261, Estonia, which lay north of Livonia,  was completely subjugated by German and Danish crusaders, who imposed taxes and duties and built manor houses all over the place. The church demanded additional money from the natives and repressed their old folk religion.

Pagan rebellion

On St. Georges Night, April 23, 1343, the indigenous  (and thoroughly indignant) Estonian pagans rose up in battle against the Christian religion  and their hated Danish and German rulers and landlords.  Although initially successful, the pagan rebellion was quashed three years later by the invading Teutonic Order.  That year, 1346, the king of Denmark, Valdemar IV, sold the unruly Duchy of Estonia to the Teutonic Order for 19,000 Köln marks.  More information: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._George%27s_Night_Uprising

At any rate, the hapless Livonians subsequently got tossed back and forth for centuries among the Teutonic Order, the Swedes, Poles, Lithuanians and Russians. The country was finally split between the new nations of Estonia and Latvia after the first World War. From 1918 to 1920, both Soviet Russian and German troops fought against Estonian and Latvian troops to control Livonia, but were defeated.

But as usual, I digress.

The 17th Century was rough on the long-suffering Livonian peoples and particularly so in the Võro region, where two generations of warfare (1558 to 1629, the Swedish-Polish war), plague (1657), and massive crop failures (1695-97) decimated the peasant population even as oppression by the manor lords increased.  In Mõniste, there was only a single survivor, a man called Mehka.

Lonesome Mehka

The lonely Mehka wandered from farmhouse to farmhouse, calling out and searching for signs of human life, but finding none.  When he reached a nearby community called Saru,  his cries were finally answered. A woman’s voice called back.

The woman’s name was either Hipp or Hippõ (Hipp-uh). She and Mehka lived together in that empty land, and their descendants were joined by people from other areas to repopulate the region. The communities of Saru and Mõniste together are still called Mehkamaa, or Mehka land. A number of folk songs tell the story of Mehka and Hipp.

In 2006, there was a Mehkamaa family tree exhibition to mark the 620th anniversary of the founding of Mõniste, called Mendise (also Menzen), in 1386 by the von Uexkülls, a Baltic German family of nobles. It is believed  they took their own name from Ikšķile, a Latvian  town in Livonia.  That name comes from the Livonian word ükskül, or üksküla  in Estonia, which simply means one village.  It may mean the first (German) village.

My family tree searches turned up several Hipps and Mehkas on my father’s side, which is why the section in the book “Võrumaa ja Võrulased”, captured my attention.  I have no idea whatsoever if I’m descended from the original Mehka and Hipp who repopulated Mehkamaa.

To an American, these are very odd names.

But wait, it gets weirder. A not uncommon endearment for women in Mehka Land is Hipõkõnõ, according to the online Võro dictionary.  The Hipõ– is a variant of Hipp (of which there are many) and the -kõnõ is the Võro version of the common Estonian suffix -kene, which means little one, dear one, and so forth.  In other words, dear little Hipp.

My parents sometimes used the diminutives Anitakene or Kikukene, Kiku being a self-given nickname when I was too young to pronounce Anita. At around age 12 I threatened everyone with death if they ever called me Kiku again. Now I’d love being called Kiku.  Alas, nearly everyone who called me Kiku is long gone.

When my Aunt Aino in Estonia was going over the family tree with me some years ago, she said her grandmother’s name was Hip, not Epp as I had assumed. I’ve met Esto women called Epp, but had never heard of Hip or its variants. Born in 1853, her maiden name was Hip Rebbane or Rebane, the surname meaning fox, a common last name in that area.  Hip married Jaan Kalkun (which means John Turkey) and was the mother of my paternal grandmother, Emilie Kalkun Susi, who died eight years before I was born.

Okay, so where did Hip come from? I thought it was a version of Epp, which I thought was a short variant of Elizabeth, but apparently I was mistaken.  The Võro-Estonian dictionary, helpfully  defines the possibly related words hebo and hipi as edustaja, eputaja. Looking those up, I gather they mean, roughly, achiever and show-off. Hebo further means pirtsutaja, a fussy or picky person. Whether they are the roots of the name Hip, I don’t know.

This name also carries the variants Hebbo, Ebbu, Hipe, Hepp, Ipp,  Eppu, Epu and Ebu, Ebu being the version in Tartu County where my mother hailed from.

Epp= Joyful?

I’ve also seen Epp described as a very old Estonian name meaning rõõmsat (joyful) and possibly edevat (coquettish).

However Raivo Sepp’s fascinating book “Elavad Nimed” (Living Names), which I picked up on my last visit to Estonia, makes the claim that Hipp and its variants come from the Greek name Hippolyta, after the queen of the Amazons.  I cannot figure out how Estonian peasants got hold of a name like that.  Sepp says Eufrosiine, the Estonian version of Greek Euphrosyne, (Goddess of Joy,one of the three  Charites or Graces) gave birth to the Estonian names Ebu, Epp, Epru, Hebu, Hepp, Hipp and Ipp as well as Roos, which I thought was a version of Rose.  Greek Hippolytus, Sepp says, yielded the male names Hipp and Ipp.

Male names? I am definitely getting confused!

I grudgingly suppose the Greek names could have come north through the Orthodox Church, but it does not make sense that illiterate peasants would have even heard of them, let alone borrowed and shortened them.  There is an interesting theory that the Finnic peoples once inhabited most of northern Europe and ran a brisk trade in amber with the peoples of the Mediterranean, leading to cultural exchanges few today suspect.  But more on that another time.

My wild guess is that Epp may have distant  roots in Epona, the Gaulish goddess who protected horses. Inscriptions dedicated to Epona are found in the Danube region of Germany, throughout the Roman Empire and in Celtic countries. Her Roman feast day was December 18. Epona and hippus, the Greek word for horse, are closely related.  But I will keep searching to see if there is more to learn about the origins of Hipp, Epp, et al.

Mango? Peep?

During these  ramblings through the internet, I came across some names that used to be distinctively southern Estonian in 1840: Margus, Ebbo, Mango, Toots, Kaabriel, Albert and Jaak. Mango! I KNEW southern Estonians were an odd bunch.

Margus is a version of Markus, Ebbo is a male version of Ebbu/Epp/Hip, Mango stems from Magnus, aq Latin name meaning “great”, Toots (pronounced like Totes) is from Theodoric, Kaabriel is naturally Gabriel, Albert is Albert and Jaak is a form of Jacob.

Around the same time, the denizens of nearby Viljandi rejoiced in names such as Epp and Peep. These were not pronounced Eep and Peep.  Peep, pronounced like pape, is a short version of Peter.

And with this, my alter-ego Hipp, whose ancestors and ancestresses dwelt in distant Mehkamaa, signs off for today.