CLAUS THØGERSEN - MY PERSONAL MEMORIES FROM MY LIFE 1966-2023

 

CLAUS THØGERSEN

My Memories – Written by My Father After My Death in

 CLAUS' MEMORIES FROM HIS LIFE 1966-2023

 

At the photographer in Copenhagen in 1988

 

I made my entrance into this world on Saturday, July 2, 1966. It happened at 7:30 a.m. at the maternity clinic at Østergade 26 in Aarhus. It was the height of summer. My father had just taken the first part of his political science exams four days earlier—and had started his summer job at the Municipality of Aarhus. Later that same morning, Dad and my maternal grandfather came to visit. They said afterwards that I looked completely yellow. It was jaundice. It is perfectly harmless and goes away on its own.

After a few days, I came home to Emiliehøj in Højbjerg—and was, naturally, the apple of the family’s eye for a long time to come. I was baptized at Mårslet Church, south of Aarhus, as early as July 31, 1966. The minister, Jens Yde, was Karen’s uncle—a truly kind and interesting man. Incidentally, he and his wife, Grethe, had previously hosted my parents' wedding at the parsonage. My baptismal luncheon was held that same day with the family at home at Emiliehøj 7. While the adults enjoyed the lunch indoors, I was placed out on the balcony in my pram 😊

My birth certificate 1966

Why was I named Claus? Because my parents liked this old name. Not because anyone in the family bore it. The name comes from the Greek *Nikolaus*, meaning "conqueror of the people." Incidentally, that is also the origin of my father's name. I was not given an additional name or a middle name.

After the summer holidays, I was placed in private day care. My parents needed to attend to their work—my mother as a secretary at a social institution in Aarhus, and my father at the university. That same summer, he also began working as a part-time teacher at Herning Folk High School.

 

Initially, the private day care was provided by a woman married to the haulier Frode Laursen. They lived in Skåde—just over a kilometer away from us. My parents soon realized that the woman was not kind or pleasant. And when my father dropped me off one morning and the woman immediately shook me, that marked the end of my time there. After a couple of good day care experiences nearby, I was in 1967 placed with a married couple, Grethe and Valdemar Petersen, in Ryslingeparken in Holme. They had children of their own around my age. It was a wonderful place to be. Valdemar was a mail carrier. During that period, I was treated like royalty in everything we did together as a family. I stayed there until 1969.

Mum and me in 1967

My next stop, starting in 1969, was the "Mosegaarden" kindergarten on Hørhavevej in Højbjerg—not far from where we lived. I stayed there until 1972. It was a lovely place. The only mishap occurred one day when my best friend was swinging a large shovel—and hit me right in the eye ☹. Fortunately, it didn't hit the eyeball itself, but just next to it. It hurt. It hurt a lot. But I recovered quickly. I was left with a small scar near my eye from that experience for the rest of my life.

Back home at Emiliehøj, I was often visited by my maternal grandmother, Gerda. I called her BOBO—even before I could actually speak. And MOFA—what I called my maternal grandfather—also visited often.

 

We spent our first Christmas at my grandparents' farm in Grynderup. The journey there turned out a bit differently than planned. We were driving our red Volkswagen. The roads were slushy and a bit slippery on Highway 10, and snow was falling. Suddenly, a stone came flying from an oncoming car—and BANG. Our windshield shattered. It was freezing outside, and I—little six-month-old Claus—was lying in my "box" on the back seat. We drove on and found a garage in Randers that could quickly replace the smashed windshield. Everyone was relieved. We were then able to continue to Grynderup to celebrate Christmas Eve together—including gathering around the Christmas tree. We have photos of my proud grandparents and little me, eyes full of curiosity, trying to take in everything that was happening!

Time passed. I learned a great deal from Grandpa. For instance, we always went for a nice walk in the area around Emiliehøj. He taught me the names of all the cars—both when we saw them from the front and when we saw them from the back! I remembered them for years—much to everyone's surprise. He also used to read me lots of stories. "Just one more," I kept saying to him. And he would indulge me. Almost every time. Eventually, he would go into the living room to have his evening coffee with Mom and Dad. And they could always hear me saying to myself: "If only I could read..."

 

Over time, I read the books so many times that I knew them by heart. And—mind you—I recited them with a distinct Aarhus accent! Among them were the stories of "Karius and Baktus" (I called them *Kaktus* and Baktus). Just listen to this: ...

My mom and dad also taught me a lot of new words. In one instance, however, it wasn't such a good thing. They taught me to say *Takofler* instead of *kartofler* (potatoes). I kept saying it that way for years, even after I started school. Whenever the teacher or the other children tried to correct me to *Kartofler*, I would say in a loud voice: "It's called *Takofler*, because that's what my dad says!".

Back at Emiliehøj, I had a sweet friend who lived in the next entranceway. Her name was Bettina. We played together a lot.

I actually attended a proper dance school, too. It was held at the Østergades Hotel in central Aarhus. Bettina went along as well.

1971 at the photographer’s

 

My first trip abroad was in 1971. I was five years old at the time. We flew to Rhodes, Greece. When we arrived in the evening, I immediately exclaimed at the airport: "Oh, look there—a real *palm*!"

Plural words can be tricky! We had a lovely trip and spent time with nice people from Denmark. I felt like the center of attention 😊

The time came to start school. At age six, I entered the reception class at Skåde School. It was located a couple of kilometers from Emiliehøj. My mom or dad walked me there every day—partly because, every now and then, some of the "big kids" would try to tease me on the way to or from school! I really loved school and learned a lot. So, it was a bit sad when my parents told me we were moving to Zealand. I walked up to the school with my dad to say goodbye to it. We have a photo of that, too.

While we were still living in Højbjerg, I actually got a little brother. It happened on Monday, April 2, 1973. He was named Lars Kristian—though he was always called "Lasse." It was wonderful to have a little brother. Partly because I knew I would always be the oldest—the big brother!

My father had already started working for Europe in Copenhagen back in March. Naturally, however, he came home for the birth. We also held the christening later that month. As usual, the minister was Jens Yde from Mårslet, and the reception was held at Årslev Kro, west of Aarhus.

The time was soon approaching for our move to Zealand. Dad had found a lovely courtyard house in Nivå, about 25 km north of Copenhagen. Mum, Claus, and I took the train to Copenhagen to see the house. In fact, Lasse almost didn't get to see it at all! When we arrived at Copenhagen Central Station, Dad picked us up in his car. As we drove off, Mother suddenly shouted, "But where is Lasse?" In the rush, Dad had accidentally put him—and his carrier—into the car's trunk along with the luggage ☹. Lasse didn't notice a thing; he just slept. But we all breathed a sigh of relief, and Dad received a few stern words of advice!

We moved from Emiliehøj to Nivåvænge 20-2 in May. By Sunday, May 13th, we were fully settled in North Zealand.

About a week later, we bought a dog! We bought it from the parents of a good friend of ours, Agnete Fischer. They lived in Borup, north of Randers; her father was the village grocer. They had six retriever puppies for sale. Naturally, we chose the cutest one—I think I was the one who got to pick! He was SO cute. It was a male dog. We named him Hamlet—presumably inspired by the fact that he—and we—would now be living near Shakespeare’s Hamlet’s castle, Kronborg. But Hamlet was a bit confused by everything that was going on. When we brought him home to Nivåvænge, ​​he immediately started digging large holes in our lawn ☹ Since our home was a courtyard house, the garden was enclosed, so the dog had nowhere to run off to. But after a few days, our beautiful lawn looked like a battlefield ☹ Dad tried to curb his urge to dig a little by taking him for bike rides, hoping he would be tired after the long trips. It didn't help at all.

Hamlet

But it was fun and delightful to have a little brother, a new house, and Hamlet to play with.

And school? I didn’t start school until August, so I had a lovely long summer holiday that year—from mid-May to mid-August.

Before long, we also had a sweet maid in the house. Her name was Gitte, and she lived with her parents nearby. She stayed with us for a couple of years and brought great joy to us all. She left when she got a trainee position with our local dentist, Jesper Hamburger.

Soon, another addition to the family was on the way. It turned out to be a girl. She was born on Wednesday, October 23, 1974, at the Ullerød Maternity Clinic in Hørsholm. She was named Cecilie. Just the day before the christening, my parents decided she should have *two* names (like Lasse). So, she came to be named Eva Cecilie.

I remember that when Mom and Cecilie came home from the maternity clinic, Hamlet was *very* curious. "What on earth is this?" seemed to be written all over the dog's face. But he grew just as fond of the little girl as the rest of us.

Cecilie’s christening took place at Nivå Church on Boxing Day. The whole family, along with a few friends, celebrated the occasion at Kystens Perle, south of Helsingør.

My father’s parents, Jenny and Alfred, and my maternal grandmother, Gerda, came over from Jutland for the christening. My maternal grandfather had passed away the year before.

1974 – TV is attractive in Nivå

I generally really enjoyed my time at Nivå Central School. Partly because the school was just a few hundred meters from our home, and partly because I had good, skilled teachers. I have particularly fond memories of Grethe Eriksen, whom I liked very much.

Mom and Dad would travel occasionally, but that didn’t matter. "Bobo"—my maternal grandmother—would happily come over from Aarhus to look after me, the house, and Hamlet.

We had a special summer holiday in 1975. We had rented a lovely holiday home at Henne Strand on the North Sea coast. It was perfect for all of us. The house was situated right among the dunes—very close to the sea. We also took a trip to Legoland in Billund. It was a wonderful summer.

 In fact, we rented the same house the following year, in the summer of 1976. Why? Because the owner—a prominent merchant from Varde—wanted to swap houses with us. We could use their holiday home for two weeks in exchange for him and his family using our house in Nivå for one week. It was a great deal. And we enjoyed West Jutland together once again!

In the summer of 1977, we got even more adventurous. We drove to the South of France with close friends—specifically to Carnon, right on the Mediterranean coast, about 10 km south of Montpellier. What a trip! We brought along our young au pair—ours was named Lisbeth at the time—and our friends brought along our lovely friend Charlotte to look after their children. One of the main purposes of the trip was for Mom and Dad, along with our friends, to take a French course at the university in Montpellier. Mom and her friend Kirsten attended the course for the entire month. Dad and his friend Poul went to the university for just one day. They decided the course was too easy for Dad and too difficult for Poul. So, they played backgammon all month instead 😊 — and went swimming and on excursions with us 😊

Back home in Nivå, plenty was happening, too—and not just out in the sunshine. I decided I wanted to be a Scout, so I became a very active member of the local "Wild Swans" troop. I had many wonderful experiences and went on lots of trips with them over the years. Eventually, I was even promoted to patrol leader. For instance, I went to a Scout camp on the island of Samsø. Even though it rained quite a bit, I had a lovely time. We did a lot of walking during my scouting days, too. One time, for example, we had to hike 50 km to earn a special badge. We accomplished this by walking along Strandvejen all the way to Charlottenlund—and back again!

Lasse and Cecilie also joined the same Scout troop a few years later.

For a few years, I spent my summer holidays in Nørager with my paternal grandparents. It was wonderfully relaxing. My grandfather worked part of the time at the local nursery, Fruekilde. When he came home from work, I would often walk out to meet him. And then, sure enough, he’d treat me to a big ice cream from the bakery 😊 I certainly didn’t mind that 😊 I also had some really good chats with both my grandmother and grandfather. That way, I got to know them well—and they got to know me, too! I really felt that they liked me a lot!

Naturally, Lasse and Cecilie came along to Nørager whenever we visited for the weekend—or even just for the day. One time, things didn't go so well. I was playing soccer with Lasse outside their house on Anlægsvej. Suddenly, Lasse had an absolutely desperate need to pee, so he sprinted toward the house to get to the bathroom. He made it halfway there. Then he fell—sprawling full-length—and struck his head with great force directly against a sharp, iron-reinforced corner. The result: a large, bleeding gash on his head—on one side of his forehead. We rushed to the hospital in Hobro, where they stitched him up. He took it all with remarkable calm—especially after being promised a big ice cream afterwards. Ah well—that’s just part of growing up as a boy. I couldn't help but think back to the time a friend of mine in kindergarten hit me right next to the eye with a sharp shovel ☹

Time passed. And it wasn’t all fun and games. My paternal grandfather died in May 1978 at the age of 76. Naturally, I attended the funeral. I decided to go into the chapel at Hobro Hospital to see him lying dead in his coffin. It was the first time I had ever seen a dead person. I clearly remember the profound impression seeing him made on me. It was my grandfather, of course—and yet, it wasn’t. In a way, he seemed very different to me. And, of course, he was.

That same year, I also had the chance to get a taste of military life. Well, not quite. But I spent a week at the Navy’s Artillery School at the Arresø Camp in North Zealand. I was there with about twenty other schoolchildren, mostly from Copenhagen. It was an exciting experience, too. I particularly remember being shown how to handle a fire. We also took part in exercises out on Lake Arresø. And we were each given one of the Navy’s side caps to keep for good; I wore mine often afterwards.

I also went on a trip to London with my dad during the summer holidays. We traveled with Spies and stayed in Kensington, in West London. What a trip it was. We saw a lot of the city. One day, however, Dad was too sick with the flu to go sightseeing, so I went on my own. After all, I was 12 years old and perfectly capable of looking after myself when part of a group. We took a bus tour to visit Windsor Castle. That was a fun experience, too.

1978 was also the year my parents decided to divorce. Needless to say, that wasn't fun for us children. And it wasn’t easy for us either ☹. But fortunately, they arranged it so that Dad came to Nivå every Wednesday evening to have dinner with us. And on weekends, he would either come over again—or we would go into the city to see him. After all, Mom needed a bit of a break now and then, too! At first, he lived in a small apartment at Skindergade 42—right across from his office. Then, from December 1980, he lived in a lovely warehouse apartment at Toldbodgade 38 C, down by Copenhagen Harbor. It was nice visiting him there, and we did a lot of things together on those weekends.

In May 1979, Dad bought a summer house in Veddinge Bakker in Odsherred. We spent many lovely weekends there, down by the sea or exploring the unique moraine landscape. We even celebrated Christmas there in 1979—all three of us children, my paternal grandmother, Dad’s friend Kit, her daughter Eva, and her aunt Helga. Yes, it was fully booked that Christmas!

Things were happening in my mother’s family in Aarhus, too. Our great-grandmother—Mom’s maternal grandmother, Anne Marie—passed away in 1975. I remember going to visit her with BoBo. When we arrived, she was lying there, near death. I was hastily put in the care of another tenant in the building, and I clearly remember the strange feeling of watching the ambulance drive away with her.

 

A few years later, it was BoBo who fell ill. She became paralyzed and passed away in 1983. I was deeply saddened by this. She had meant a great deal to me throughout my life—both when she visited us (often to look after me) and when I—or we—visited her.

My maternal uncle, Suller (whose real name is Hans Ulrik), was also a very important part of my life as a child. For a time, he and his girlfriend Eva lived with us at Emiliehøj. They were both studying medicine and eventually became doctors. They were always cheerful and lively. Their two boys—my cousins ​​Sofus and Tejs—were the same age as Lasse. We saw them whenever we visited Aarhus. Sadly, Eva became seriously ill with cancer and passed away at a young age a few years later.

Then came the time for my confirmation. It took place on Sunday, May 24, 1981, at Nivå Church. The whole family was gathered for a party in Nivåvænge. And I felt really grown-up 😊

Me as a confirmand 1981

 

Shortly afterwards, my father invited me to Berlin. This was still the era of the Berlin Wall and communists in the East. We visited all the sights—it was thought-provoking—even for a big lad nearing the age of 15!

 

In June 1982, I finished at Nivå Centralskole. I received my school-leaving certificate from Vice-Principal Jørgen Villadsen. I was very pleased with the results. For instance, I achieved top marks (13) in Danish, conduct, and arithmetic. I also received excellent grades in English, German, and physics/chemistry (10 and 11). So, I was ready for the next step.

 

That step was High School (upper secondary school). I was accepted at Rungsted Statsskole, where I attended for all three years. The principal at the time was Leo Bresson. He was unconventional—and a fine man. He served as principal at Rungsted from 1976 to 2001 and passed away in 2010. However, he wasn't exactly one of my favorites ☹. I continued living at home with my mother in Nivåvænge. It was about a 7-kilometer bike ride to the school; a dedicated bicycle and pedestrian path along the railway line led straight there. Most of the time, however, I took the train or the bus to school.

I have a particularly vivid memory of the very beginning of my time at the High School. Towards the end of the summer holidays, we spent a week on Bornholm. We stayed at the Dansk Folkeferie holiday center near Hammershus. It was fun. The only problem was that I was due to start school a couple of days before we returned home. Consequently, I was sent home by plane to Copenhagen and then by train to Nivå. It all worked out. Incidentally, that was the first time I had ever flown alone! But it wouldn't be the last. Overall, I had a good time in high school—great friends and wonderful experiences. However, as the priest noted at my funeral many years later, I evolved into something of a "hippie" type during those years—in terms of both my attitude and my dress. That didn't detract from my experience of the classes, though. We also went on some interesting study trips; the trip to Rome, in particular, was fascinating. In 1985, I graduated from the mathematics stream with an average of 8.6—though the exam average itself was 8.5. I received a 9 in the vast majority of subjects—for both my continuous assessment grades and the final exams—and even a 10 in Danish and written mathematics. I struggled a bit more with subjects like geography (7) and physics/chemistry (also 7). Still, it was a good and satisfying set of exam results! We held a big graduation party at the school, and in the days following the exams, we rode around in a decorated truck to visit many of our parents. That’s something you don’t easily forget!

High school graduation

Me, Cecilie, Lasse, and Grandma – Nørager, 1985

 

My father invited me on a trip to Paris—a journey of cultural enrichment and discovery—to celebrate my high school graduation. Just the two of us. We flew with Spies to Beauvais, north of Paris, and spent a lovely week together. I was particularly interested in seeing sites in the city associated with the Napoleonic era, as well as the Reign of Terror during the early stages of the Revolution. We sought out many such places—and found them. We even gained access to locations that were normally closed to the public. That trip sparked my special interest in France and its history.

 

In Paris, 1985

Next, I had to figure out what I wanted to study. Among other things, I had completed a short internship with a stockbroker. I found the work quite interesting. I was involved in much of the—extremely—hectic activity, both at the office and, not least, on the trading floor, where I learned a great deal about the mechanics of trading. I was struck, in part, by just how busy they had to be to succeed; they would practically run from the office to the stock exchange. In retrospect, however, it seemed too grueling a lifestyle, so I decided that wasn't the path for me after all.

Instead, I got a job at the Danish bank Bikuben. My father knew the CEO, Børge Munk Ebbesen, who was a very friendly and dynamic man. I started out at the Gladsaxe branch and later moved to Bagsværd. As the youngest member of the team, I quickly became involved in a wide range of activities. Nice people—but it still wasn't for me. I wanted something more independent, something more creative.

During those years, I also had a part-time job at Gallup. My task was to call people and question them about all sorts of things. It was a highly developed operation where computers selected whom to call, and we would ask exactly the same questions—questions that naturally depended on which clients Gallup was working with at the time. Very often, the questions concerned political views, though there were many other topics as well. The head of the entire Gallup operation back then was Rolf Randrup—an exceptionally pleasant man whose only issue was a severe stutter. I worked at Gallup for several years and was eventually promoted to a supervisory role, ensuring everything ran smoothly. Incidentally, Cecilie also joined Gallup later on.

In the meantime, I had decided to study at the Technical University of Denmark in Lyngby. I wanted to become an engineer. To qualify for admission, I had to take some supplementary upper-secondary courses in mathematics. I did so, and they went well.

Then I threw myself into my studies with great enthusiasm. It was exciting but also challenging. The mathematics, in particular, was unlike anything I was used to. Yet, I enjoyed most of the subjects—everything from linear algebra to thermodynamics, electromagnetism, energy planning, and introductory chemistry. I tackled them all in the required order.

But eventually, it all got the better of me. The mathematics, in particular, completely overwhelmed me. Things were starting to look increasingly bleak. I remember one Christmas when I was going up to the summer house with my dad and Liselotte. I hadn’t spoken to them about my struggles before, but they could sense that something was seriously wrong—partly because I looked so pale and unhealthy. Up at the summer house in Veddinge, I finally confessed that DTH wasn’t the right place for me. I don’t know what kind of reaction I had expected, but my dad was incredibly understanding and said immediately that I should quit. We needed to look at other options! That realization instantly shifted my outlook to something much more positive. Still, it hadn’t been easy to say it out loud. ☹

 

Before I reached that point, I had moved out of my family home. While I was still attending DTH, I moved to the Vesterbro district—specifically to Enghavevej. I lived there in an old apartment at the very top of the building with a friend from high school, Anders Grønlund. The toilet was out in the hallway. Down on the ground floor, there was a café that occasionally attracted noisy patrons, and Copenhagen’s main Prison was located diagonally across the street. We had a good time and made it work, though our landlord was something of a notorious character, so we were a bit unsure about the security of our tenancy. In September 1988, my father moved from Copenhagen to Brussels, and his girlfriend, Liselotte, went with him. That meant her lovely apartment by the Lakes became available. It was located in the "Kartoffelrækkerne" (Potato Rows) area, facing the lake. The address was Øster Søgade 52. Initially, she rented it out to Jytte Olsen, a business college teacher from Frederikshavn. She lived there for about a year—and really enjoyed her time there. She taught at Niels Brock in Copenhagen.

Afterwards, I was allowed to rent the apartment starting February 1, 1990. I paid 1,200 kroner a month. Dad helped me pay for it. 😊 It was a really lovely address—close to everything imaginable. And the apartment had all modern amenities. I lived there for four years. Unfortunately, I probably wasn't very good at taking care of the apartment, so when I moved out in 1994, quite a few things needed repairing. ☹ It was a shame for the apartment; it needed painting and various repairs. The total cost was 12,000 kroner. And it was a shame for Liselotte, because she was the one who ended up paying for the repairs! Afterwards, Liselotte sold the apartment for 500,000 kroner.

During this period, I also went on several wonderful trips—especially abroad. After the post-confirmation trip to Berlin in 1981, we headed to England in 1984. Together with Dad, my paternal grandmother, Lasse, and Cecilie, we went to visit my uncle Hans and his family in Cambridge. At the time, he was working as a microbiology researcher at Cambridge University. After visiting them, we traveled on to London (in scorching summer heat) and from there to Wales. We visited various places, including spots along the west coast. Later, we visited the floral town of Buxton in the English Midlands, then traveled to Felixstowe on the east coast, and from there took a ferry to Belgium. It was a lovely trip. And we did all of this—five people plus luggage for a two-week holiday—in Dad’s rather small but reliable 1979 Colt!

In 1985, as mentioned, I went to Paris on a school trip. Then, in 1987, Dad invited the three of us rascals on a week-long trip to Cyprus. We stayed at a lovely hotel in Ayia Napa, right by the sea on the south coast. We saw quite a lot, though it was incredibly hot in that region that year. We still managed to play plenty of badminton outside the hotel, though!

The next major trip for all of us was in August 1988. Dad, Liselotte, Lasse, Cecilie, and I drove to Northern France—specifically to the D-Day landing beaches from 1944. We saw a great deal of history from that era; it was truly interesting. On the way home, we also visited Verdun (famous from World War I), Luxembourg, and Brussels. One of the purposes of the trip was to find a place to live for Dad, Liselotte, and Lasse, who were moving to Brussels together that September. It worked out—at 29, rue Souveraine, almost in the city center—convenient for my dad, who had to go to the EU Commission every day, and for Lasse, who had to go to the European School in Uccle every day.

Time passed. I held various jobs, including continuing at Gallup. We had long discussed the idea of ​​attending a folk high school. Both my paternal grandfather and my father had done so—though the latter had served as a teacher for four years at one in Herning. In the end, Lasse and I enrolled as students at Brandbjerg Folk High School, west of Vejle. We spent four months there, from January to May 1, 1993. And as we have both said: it was the best time of our lives! It was a wonderful place—an old manor house that had become a dynamic folk high school, led by an excellent and highly respected principal, Ebbe Lundgaard. We spent some lovely months there and made many good friends. At the same time, we had the opportunity to learn a great deal and participate in the practical life of the school. For instance, I was one of the people responsible for the school’s red bus called "Brandbussen"— that took us to various locations; naturally, it had to be kept clean and tidy. My dad and Liselotte also visited us while we were there; they already knew the principal.

Here is the proof of those four wonderful months at the folk high school:

 

In the meantime, Lasse and I had decided we wanted to study history. We were admitted to Odense University (now the University of Southern Denmark) starting in September 1994. We shared an apartment at Pantheonsgade 9 in the city center. It was a brand-new apartment in a new building, owned at the time by CODAN. The apartment was spacious enough for Cecilie to live there as well; she was going to study Business English at the university. That way, all three of us began our studies at the same time.

Things didn’t stay that way for long, though. For one thing, Cecilie wasn’t happy with her studies; they didn’t really interest her. For another, she was dissatisfied that Lasse and I didn’t share her views on keeping the apartment tidy. "Why don't you just get started yourself?" we’d tell her whenever she complained. Naturally, it all became too much for the young lady, so in February 1995 she moved away from Odense—only to begin studying at Exeter University in England later that same year.

Something important happened for me, too—beyond my studies. I landed a student job at the Odense City Archives! They needed exactly the kind of person I was. It was the friendly city manager, Bjarne Christensen, who arranged my hiring—initially for a few hours a week, and later for more. That way, I had some spending money of my own.

Studying history as my major and literature as my minor suited me well. I felt I had found my true calling. I also enjoyed the company of pleasant fellow students—especially Niels Valentinussen, with whom I stayed in close touch for many years. He later became a teacher at a school in Odense.

My passion for writing came in handy during my studies, too. In fact, that interest had started back in high school—or even as early as primary school. I once wrote a book! When my father asked, "What’s it about?" I replied, "Everything!" I even submitted it to a publisher, though it wasn't accepted ☹. In 1983, I co-authored a thesis in Danish with my classmate Anders Grønlund; it was titled *Johs. V. Jensen – or Jensen for Everyday Use*. On my own initiative, I also produced a short piece I called *Whither Europe? A Non-Paper*. At university, I had to complete various assignments. One of the first, from 1995, was about Rome: *Roman Power Struggle – From Sulla to the Rubicon* (covering the years 78–49 BC). I wrote it together with my brother Lasse.

The next one was on historical method in May 1997. It was titled: *Iran-Contra*.

In the field of literary studies, written assignments also had to be submitted. One was titled: *A Heroine – An Analysis of Karen Blixen’s "Storms".* Another focused on James Joyce: *Paralysis in Dublin – On the Theme of Paralysis in James Joyce’s "Dubliners".* I was also introduced to the works of the French poet Charles Baudelaire. Yes, there was certainly plenty to keep me busy!

Just before I finished my history exams at the university, the Danish National Archives in Copenhagen advertised a position that appealed to me enormously. So, I decided to apply for it.

And I even received a glowing recommendation from my boss at the archive, archivist Jørgen Thomsen.

I was very proud of that excellent recommendation. Yet, I didn't get the job after all!

Naturally, I didn’t know back then that this would become my life’s work. I was later quoted as saying that I had no intention of being an archivist for the rest of my life! But that is how it turned out, as the role evolved significantly over the years. When I finished my history studies in 2002 (along with a minor in the history of literature), I was hired as a permanent archivist with my own specific responsibilities. As our department head, Jørgen Thomsen, once told me: "The goal now is to handle your tasks in such a way that no one else can figure them out!"

Over time, I also took on many tasks outside the City Archives—attending numerous meetings at the National Archives in Copenhagen and at local archives across the country, particularly in Vejle and Aalborg. I also served as the City Archives' photographer. Equipped with a high-quality camera, I was tasked with taking many photos—for instance, for the annual *Odense-Bog* (Odense Book) and for our active online presence.

I would like to add that, even before my final university exams, I applied for a very interesting position at the National Archives in Copenhagen. That was perhaps aiming a bit too high, but why not give it a try? My dad had secured his first permanent position at the Aarhus School of Business by applying for a job before he had even completed his degree in political science—and he got it! So, I wanted to try my luck as well.

I also asked my department head at the City Archives, Jørgen Thomsen, to write a glowing letter of recommendation for me. In it, he described me as a "rock-solid employee" whom the City Archives would gladly hire if they had a vacancy. I didn't get the job, though. My master's thesis in history set me off to a very good start. Its title was: Digital Preservation and Technological Obsolescence. 2002. 94 pages.

My conclusions in the thesis were as follows:

I received the top grade for my thesis. I later learned that the examiners had debated whether to accept it as a history thesis or classify it as an engineering project. Fortunately, they chose the former. For me, this proved that my initial years at DTH had certainly not been a waste of time. They had provided the background I needed to produce precisely that thesis—work that hit the mark regarding what public (and, for that matter, private) archives were clamoring for. You could say it became my career for the rest of my life!

 

In 2003, I secured a permanent position at *Historiens Hus* (The House of History), the City Archives in Odense.

 

Time passed—and things went well. I lived with my brother Lasse until 2007. However, he spent 2004 in Brussels, first as an intern at the European Parliament and subsequently looking for work for a while. In the autumn of 2007, he moved permanently to the Belgian capital for a job. Since the spring of 2008, he has worked as an archivist at the Permanent Representation of Denmark to the EU. From that point on, I lived alone at Pantheonsgade 9 for the rest of my life. I made the place my own—installing a proper waterbed (holding 800 liters of water!), setting up a library, creating a living room that also served as my workspace, and arranging a separate bedroom. My father would drop by occasionally to visit—and to help me haul items to the recycling center in North Odense or pick up new furniture and the like that I had purchased.

The only major downside to the apartment was that, after a few years, the municipality began allowing large, noisy concerts to be held in the courtyard below—sometimes lasting well into the night. That’s why I had to buy hearing protection—just to get some sleep!

During this period, our family also went on many exciting and fun trips—to places like South Africa, New York & Washington, Ireland, Spain, Paris, London, and the Canary Islands. I have included a list of the most significant ones at the end of my memoirs. It was also a wonderful way to spend time with my widely scattered family!

In April 2007, my family and I were invited to Provence in the south of France. We were going there to celebrate Liselotte’s 60th birthday together. The day before we were due to leave, I developed terrible stomach pain—and it kept getting worse. Eventually, I had to call an ambulance in a great hurry; I left so quickly that I completely forgot to bring my shoes. It turned out I had a hernia! Upon arriving at the operating room at Odense University Hospital, I told the doctors, "I am so glad to see you!" The surgery was performed quickly, and I was soon ready to go home. I assumed my trip to France was ruined. But no. The doctors said that as long as I had someone to carry my suitcase, the flight and the stay would be perfectly fine. So, Lasse immediately stepped in—first by fetching the shoes I’d left behind, and then by handling my suitcase all the way to Provence!

In April 2014, trouble struck again, unfortunately ☹—and it was much worse than the last time. This time, it was my heart that was in serious trouble. That turned out well, too. Afterward, I wrote an account of the entire illness. It was titled: *When the Grim Reaper Came Knocking*.

 

 

 

Here is my account:

When the Grim Reaper Came Knocking

 

By Claus Thøgersen.

I felt moved to write about the events surrounding April 16, 2014—events that were quite dramatic. This is the story of how I spent three weeks walking around with a blood clot that almost completely blocked my left coronary artery.

 

1. Pneumonia

On Friday, February 28, I left work early, saying, "I’m going home—I’m not feeling too well." I felt weak and dizzy, and it turned out to be a much longer period of absence than I had ever experienced before. For the past four years, I had been doing cardio and strength training four to five times a week—about two hours per session—at the local gym. But in the days that followed, my fitness level plummeted. I reached my maximum heart rate of around 150 increasingly quickly, and I had to gradually lower my ambitions on the exercise bike until I could no longer use it at all.

 

The doctor—whom, as far as I recall, I had never visited before—listened to my lungs and declared that I had walking pneumonia. So, it was off home to stay in bed. I was prescribed antibiotics and had blood tests taken so he could monitor my infection markers. Yet, interestingly enough, my blood pressure was never checked.

 

My appetite, previously voracious, dwindled to nothing. Anything I put in my mouth tasted like ash. Surprisingly, the only two things that retained their normal taste were green Granny Smith apples and Pepsi Cola. Pepsi would probably be pleased to hear that. Otherwise, I drank bucketloads of hot green tea, which soothed the pain in my throat. But naturally, my weight plummeted. Over the following weeks, I went from 93 kilos down to about 82 kilos.

 

At first, I felt so unwell that I was content to stay home and watch TV all day—interrupted only by unpleasant but necessary trips to the store. I usually went to Føtex, located about 350 meters away, but walking there eventually became so difficult that I started going to Super Brugsen, which is 150 meters away.

As the weeks went by, however, I felt better, and I gradually grew bored of being at home. In early April, I started visiting my workplace, and I arranged with the municipality’s sickness benefit department to return on a reduced schedule. My doctor approved, but a blood test revealed a low hemoglobin count and—as he put it—that my "liver was affected." Consequently, he ordered some tests at the hospital (OUH). I managed to undergo an endoscopic examination of my stomach and duodenum, which showed nothing unusual. Before the procedure, the process was explained to me by an incredibly beautiful and sweet nursing student—someone I could have listened to for days. The doctor said the medication would make me lose all memory of the event, yet I remember *her*!

 

At work on Tuesday, April 15th, my colleagues were somewhat concerned to see me sitting at my desk, out of breath. My stamina was non-existent that day, and I had to move quite slowly whenever I walked anywhere. At the end of the workday, a colleague offered to drive me home, and on the way, she suggested taking me to the emergency room instead. But no, I insisted I was "fine." The instinct for self-preservation makes you believe the best about your condition, even when you have one foot in the grave. My colleagues have since told me that I was ashen-grey that day—something I hadn't noticed myself.

 

That evening, I went to the SuperBrugsen supermarket to do some shopping, and it was only then that I began to realize something was seriously wrong. I couldn't bear walking more than a few meters down the street before I had to sit down on a doorstep or a transformer box—whatever happened to be nearby. Once I made it into the warmth of the supermarket, I was fine walking around inside, but outdoors it was difficult.

2. The Ambulance

 

On Wednesday, April 16th, I woke up at 6:30 a.m. with a profound sense of unease in my body. My pulse was high—around 120—and I began having episodes every fifteen minutes where I hyperventilated and my legs gave way beneath me. I also went to the bathroom to vomit a few times, though nothing actually came up since I wasn't eating anything. That was when I realized I needed outside help. My doctor was on vacation, and the out-of-hours medical service wasn't an option until after 4:00 p.m., so I had to call 112. The friendly "healthcare professional" at the emergency dispatch center asked what was wrong; I could only explain that I had a low red blood cell count and was suffering from episodes where I couldn't stay on my feet. He said he would send an ambulance without using the siren.

 

The ambulance arrived after ten minutes. I remembered to put on my shoes—I’d forgotten them during my last hospital admission, which had caused problems! I also grabbed a bag containing the essentials: phone, keys, and so on. There were three paramedics: a team leader, a driver, and a trainee. They were all in their twenties. The team leader was completely in control of the situation, checking my breathing, skin, and eyes while we were still on our way down in the elevator. Once I was inside the vehicle, we sat at the curb for about half an hour while he checked my pulse and blood pressure and performed an ECG. He noted a slight irregularity in my heartbeat—as if the heart was occasionally skipping an extra beat. However, he said this was quite common and nothing to worry about. I was also given an oxygen tube under my nose, which felt wonderful. I felt that I could suddenly relax, and the incident commander confirmed that my body seemed to settle down. After that, we headed to the hospital—a short, eight-minute trip.

3. The Hospital

 

Something interesting happens when you are admitted to the hospital. After a period of anxiety and pain (though there was no pain in my case), you find yourself surrounded by professionals who can set things right. A weight is lifted from your shoulders when the responsibility is no longer yours alone. You let them stick needles in you, examine you, and do whatever they please—just as long as they fix the problem. That’s how I felt.

 

At the OUH emergency department, I was wheeled in to see a male nurse. I immediately sensed that he was a stern, authoritative man who knew exactly what he was doing. He took my blood pressure and remarked that the reading "looked strange." He had to double-check with the ambulance crew to see if it could be correct. I never found out exactly what was strange about it, other than the fact that the pressure was high. Very high. When he drew a blood sample, he noted that the blood was spurting out faster than he had ever seen before; his vial filled up in less than two seconds.

 

After that, the room began to fill with people. There were nurses, doctors, medical students, and some onlookers whose identities I didn't know, until there were probably 12 to 14 people in the tiny room. A young doctor sat by my bedside, explaining what was happening as things unfolded. He said they still didn't know what was wrong, but added, "It’s a good thing you came in!"

The stern nurse turned out to have a heart of gold. At one point, he asked for a phone number so he could call my next of kin (the word "survivors" crossed my mind when he said it). He got the number in Nivå, then went out to make the call—to my sister Cecilie, as it turned out. She and her family were visiting from Birmingham, and my mother was also currently hospitalized, suffering from her own case of narrowed blood vessels. When the nurse returned, he said, "I told her: I know you’re in Nivå, but I think you should come anyway."

 

An explanation for my condition didn't come until a cardiologist arrived—a Korean man, accompanied by a "colt" (a trainee). It is a teaching hospital, after all. He performed an ultrasound scan of my heart; I couldn't see the screen while he did it, but he explained what it showed to the trainee as he went along. It was a strange experience, given that I still didn't know what was wrong. When he finished, he explained the situation. I had a blood clot in a coronary artery, and I would soon be taken up to the cardiac ward. I was surprised by the news—not exactly shocked, but oddly enough, more relieved that they now knew what the problem was.

 

While I lay there surrounded by so many people, the receptionist came in with a mobile phone and said, "Your father is on the line." So I spoke to my father while they were pulling at me, sticking needles in me, scanning me, and doing all sorts of things. I was reminded of the Marx Brothers film *A Night at the Opera*, in which countless people crowd into the brothers' tiny stateroom and go about their various trades completely unperturbed.

 

A fair amount of medication had already coursed through my veins by the time I was wheeled up to Ward B2, "Karma." Consequently, the ride on the gurney felt almost like an amusement park ride, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. My spirits were high following the diagnosis, so I took the time along the way to thank the ambulance crew and wish them well in their work.

"Karma" is the acute cardiac care unit at OUH. That was where I was to spend the next few days. However, that particular day was marked by the fact that I was still having my episodes. They occurred roughly every 15–20 minutes and consisted of hyperventilation and intense physical agitation. It was just like a sneeze: once it started, it was impossible to stop. The other patients in the room and their relatives became alarmed, as it could easily sound as though I was about to kick the bucket. But I learned to reassure them with hand signals as it happened.

 

I tried to do the same when Cecilie, Nikos, the girls, and Dennis suddenly showed up—to my great surprise—right in the middle of one of my episodes. It didn't last long, though, and Cecilie managed to prevent the girls from seeing it. For my part, however, it was wonderful to see them. I knew that my planned trip to Nivå would have been the last time I saw them before they left for Australia, and that trip had now, of course, been cancelled. The girls were in good spirits, though Anna Maria was a bit wary of the IV drips I was hooked up to. Unfortunately, I don't remember how long they stayed—that was the effect of the medication again.

 

The staff believed my episodes were panic attacks. I can't rule that out 100%, but I didn't feel afraid at all—not even when I was wheeled into the operating room that same evening. The episodes continued there, much to the annoyance of the senior surgeon who was to perform the procedure. The nurses tried to calm me down, but, as I said, it was completely impossible to stop them. However, it seemed as though the medication eventually began to take effect, causing longer intervals between the episodes. They treated them only later that night, and to this day I have no idea what it was. A nurse called it "atrial fibrillation" but was unsure if that was correct.

 

4. The Operation

The most remarkable thing about my time on the operating table was the sense of calm I felt and the total absence of pain. The surgeon had a bank of monitors displaying everything, and these screens were wheeled around and repositioned as needed. They were right next to my face, yet due to the angle, I couldn't see a thing. At one point, however, one of them nearly hit me in the head. It felt very sci-fi, and I was completely fascinated. In the midst of it all, the surgeon said, "You have a blockage in a coronary artery. It’s 90 percent blocked. You also have another one that’s been completely closed for years." Since there are three coronary arteries, that meant only one had been functioning. Then he asked, "I can fix the one with the blockage. Shall I do it?" I replied, "Yes, please!" So, I underwent balloon angioplasty and had a stent inserted—and that was it.

 

5. Recovery

Contrary to what patients usually experience, I didn't feel any drastic improvement immediately after the operation. That came later, back on the "Karma" ward. High blood pressure was apparently my primary issue, as the medication I was given made a huge difference. I slept better that night than I had in years. However, I was woken up in the middle of the night to find four nurses standing at the foot of my bed, looking at me. That is the only detail I recall, but I gathered I had suffered one of my attacks. They must have done something then, because I haven't had any attacks since that night.

 

After that, I spent a few lovely days on the "Karma" ward. It was just like a tropical holiday—minus the sun—because I was completely removed from the petty worries of everyday life and had to focus only on getting well. On top of that, the sweetest nurses bustled about around me. They did stick me with needles every morning at 7 a.m., but that was something I could live with. The food was surprisingly good, and I felt calm and relaxed. My father—also surprisingly—showed up that very evening, and we enjoyed each other's company for a couple of hours each day. He lent me a small radio that I could listen to with headphones, and I want to say a big thank you to Leif Wivelsted for the excellent music during those Easter evenings. I am infinitely grateful to my father for his support during those days.

During rounds, I was given a clear picture of my condition. As mentioned, I had suffered a blood clot. It might have been caused by years of high blood pressure and high cholesterol. In any case, my heart was now pumping at only 20 percent capacity (a healthy heart pumps at 60%). This is known as heart failure, and there was no guarantee it would ever improve; that depended on whether my heart had sustained damage from the incident. To this day, I am still waiting for a measurement of any progress, but I feel healthy.

 

My regular nurse also mentioned that my liver—which my own GP had been concerned about—was now practically like that of a long-term alcoholic. The readings showed that the liver marker used to assess liver function—which should fall within the 10–70 range—was at 1,042 in my case! However, they were reassured by the fact that the number was trending downwards.

 

At one point, a man from Aarhus, aged around 60, was admitted to the bed next to mine. Both he and his family were loud and irritating. He had the entire staff scrambling to find a charger for his mobile phone, and once they succeeded, he began calling everyone he knew, loudly recounting his ordeal—telling the same story every time: "I was out in the garden, and suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my left side and collapsed... I’d had a HEART ATTACK!!" To myself, I thought, "Just calm down. We’ve all had one." He spent the rest of his time at OUH trying to get hold of nicotine gum. Fortunately, he was transferred to Skejby after about a day. I was discharged myself on Monday, April 21st—Easter Monday. My brother Lasse had arrived by then, which I was really happy about. It meant he could walk home with me and help with the shopping. It was a lovely day for the walk home—the sun was shining from a cloudless sky, and the city was very quiet. My fitness wasn't great, so I had to take a few breaks during the roughly two-kilometer walk. Even so, I still had the energy to go straight to the bakery afterwards and buy some cake!

 

6. Epilogue (I hope)

Since then, things have steadily improved. I am taking medication—currently about 16 pills a day—and my blood pressure is staying suitably low. The doctors are pleased with the progress, and I feel healthy myself, even though I do get a bit dizzy now and then—a side effect of the medication. I realized just how hard the ordeal had been on my body when I visited my gym for the first time since rehab the other day. During strength training, I can only manage about a third of what I used to do. On the other hand, my cardiovascular fitness has actually improved compared to before—likely thanks to the excellent rehabilitation program I’ve undergone over the past nine weeks.

The depression I’ve been warned about so many times never materialized. On the contrary, I am grateful to be alive; so, even if it is a cliché, it is true that you come to appreciate everything more. I can’t help but miss the lovely people at OUH, though I’d ​​prefer to stay away for the time being.

Here is a photo from my time at OUH. My father took it while visiting for a few days. He was relieved by Lasse, who also came up from Brussels.

 

The day after the surgery

I remember my father giving me a bit of a shock at one point when he said: "It’s a good thing, after all, that you received treatment so quickly. Otherwise, we might have been attending your funeral this Saturday." Yes, it was very serious. But as the Korean-Danish cardiologist said in a loud voice in the room when he stopped by: "You’re going to survive!"

Liselotte was at home in Rixensart – and sent the following message to Claus:

 

 

 

Dear Claus!

It is so wonderful to see that latest photo of you with a big smile. Please know that I am thinking of you a LOT, and I am so grateful to know that you are now in good hands; I am especially glad that the doctors were able to get your condition under control so quickly. But it really was a close call! After all, you were in a truly dramatic situation that could have ended very badly. It is unsettling to think about what might have happened if you hadn’t taken action yourself!

Fortunately, your father keeps me well informed, and it was good that he left right away to check on you. I know from experience that visits from loved ones mean a great deal when you are seriously ill, as you are. I gather that your every ailment is being attended to, and it is wonderful to hear that the food is good and agrees with you. I would have liked to visit you myself, but someone has to hold down the fort, and I also think it’s good for you and your father to have some private conversations.

But Claus—yes, there is a "but"! You absolutely must take better care of yourself in every way. You can make life pleasant for yourself every single day. Make sure to eat delicious, healthy food—REMEMBER your fruit and vegetables. And then, the hunt for a partner needs to be pursued in earnest. You have experienced firsthand lately just how heavy, difficult, and inconvenient it is to be alone. You need to change that, so I wish you a successful hunt with all my heart.

I’m writing this email instead of a text message. I’m not very good at short messages, and I wanted to send you a slightly longer note. I truly hope Karen gets over her illness soon, too. She has really been hit hard, and I know she has poured a lot of energy into caring for you. She has been incredibly worried, so it must be a huge relief for her as well to know that you are in good hands.

I wish you all the best and a speedy recovery—so keep smiling.

Hugs, Liselotte

 

Other reflections:

After going through a serious crisis like the one in 2014, you start to think more deeply about things—including what might happen when you die one day. A couple of years later, I had a good conversation with my dad about precisely this. I asked him: "What do you think happens when you die? An eternal, deep, dreamless sleep?" Dad didn't think so. "When you're dead, you're dead!" as he put it. I don't agree! There is obviously so much we don't know that it is quite conceivable (indeed, almost probable!) that something completely different awaits "on the other side"! We are familiar with only a handful of realities. Scientists have demonstrated that there are at least 11 realities "out there." In my opinion, it is very possible that we transition into one or more of these realities. No one knows what lies there. If it were something wonderful and good, and people in this world knew about it, many would opt out by taking their own lives to move on. And that is, of course, very, very impractical. That is why nature is designed so that we know nothing. And there is no communication back from the other side!

Claus has watched a serious TV series from National Geographic. It is called *Cosmos: Possible Worlds*. A serious book of 383 pages has also been written on the subject. It looks like this:

I am firmly convinced that these scientific theories are correct. Consequently, I expect that one fine day I will end up in one or more of these worlds. I also know that my brother Lasse expects to meet me there someday.

On a more casual note, I actually discussed death with my sister Cecilie as well. I told her: "I’m not afraid of dying. Just as long as I don’t get eaten by a tiger!"

Incidentally, I also suffered a detached retina in 2022. It was successfully treated with eye surgery—followed by about a week of recovery with Cecilie and her family out on Lindeallé in Odense.

I also began to dabble in investments. I have a decent income from the City Archives and no major ongoing expenses, so there is room to let my money grow. I already knew quite a bit about investing, and I now spent a good deal of time familiarizing myself with the intricacies of that world. I made my investments through my bank, Nordea, but I handled everything myself. That made it significantly cheaper—and more fun. I bought many shares on the US market, including securities in high-tech and in companies developing artificial intelligence products. I kept it very low-key; there was no reason to involve anyone else. And it actually went quite well. In some months, I’ve actually earned more from securities than from my salary! It’s a wonderful feeling. Of course, you have to keep up with what’s happening, while also avoiding panic when prices drop. You always have to remember that you only "take" a loss—or a gain—when you actually sell the shares.

What about my home? Why not invest in a home? I have rented my homes all my life. So far, I have lived in only five places: Aarhus, Nivå, Enghavevej, Øster Søgade, and—since 1995—Pantheonsgade in Odense. I actually had my eye on a lovely little house near Odense city center. It was the right size and had a small garden that would have suited me perfectly. The price was reasonable, too. But with my methodical nature, I also wanted to know something about the site where the house stood. So, among other things, I gathered information about the soil conditions around the house. And—oh, the horror!—it was riddled with all manner of waste materials from past activities. That was the deciding factor. That was certainly not a place I wanted to live. So, unfortunately, the purchase never happened.

And what about girls? What about finding a life partner—perhaps a wife? It would be completely wrong to claim I wasn't interested in them; I certainly was, and still am. Over the years, I’ve actually been on quite a few dates after meeting a girl one way or another. But almost every time, things just didn't work out. They didn't understand my sense of humor—something I’ve said many times. There was one occasion, however, when sparks flew and a real fire was kindled in this archivist’s heart. It happened during a summer course at Krogerup Folk High School in Humlebæk. I met a lovely girl there, and we really hit it off. Unfortunately, nothing more came of it ☹. Partly because we didn't exchange email addresses. And perhaps mainly because she was already married. But as my father always says: "You’d have to be a lazy pig not to manage to chase another pig away from the trough!"

Many of my friends and acquaintances made well-intentioned efforts to help. But, of course, the decision is ultimately yours: is a particular opportunity good enough to bend over backwards to try and win a girl's favor?

Other activities occupied more of my time. Fitness, for instance. For many years, I’ve worked out in my spare time—often on weekends, too, when there weren't so many other people around. Sports as such have never really interested me, but fitness suits me well. And my doctors have said that, given my situation following my heart attack in 2024, it’s an excellent way to stay in shape.

So, what is truly the most important thing to me? What plays the biggest role in my life? I would mention two things—together, they are certainly the most important: The first is the City Archives and my fantastic colleagues. It is a pleasure to go there every day—working alongside both the permanent staff and the many volunteers who drop by now and then to lend a hand. And the second is my family. They have always held a special place in my heart, even though we are spread across great distances. My mother, Karen, in Nivå means a great deal to me. It is a joy to visit her and her lovely husband, Dennis. That is why it felt completely natural for me to go over and be with my mother—and help her out—when Dennis suddenly fell seriously ill in 2020 and was hospitalized for an extended period. This was during the COVID era, so I was mostly working from home. However, I immediately received my boss's permission to go to my mother’s place to be with her while Dennis was sick. We had a wonderful time together.

                                                                                   Dennis and Mum

My brother Lasse, who lives in Brussels, also plays a wonderful, significant role in my life. We are in touch almost every day—often multiple times via email—even while we are working. We discuss and thoroughly hash out all sorts of matters, big and small—including politics. We also spend as much time together as possible, whether in Denmark or Brussels—like in July 2023—or on our many trips together. Distance doesn't matter all that much; we are, in any case, very close.

With Lasse in Venice in 2018

 

And then there’s my lovely little sister, Cecilie! I’m very close to her, too—even though the physical distance between us has sometimes been vast. She first studied in England and later got a job there, eventually marrying Nikos in Birmingham. Fortunately, that led to many wonderful trips over there. Then, when they moved all the way to Perth, Australia, in 2014, I was—to be honest—almost angry that my only sister was moving so very far away! Luckily, I managed two wonderful visits there—what amazing experiences. And when they returned to Denmark in 2021, it was pure joy—especially since they moved to my city, Odense! It’s been a wonderful time, and we see each other often.

Cecilie and me in the garden in Odense

 

And it was especially wonderful because their two sweet daughters—my favorite nieces, Anna Maria and Zoe—came along, of course 😊. It felt almost as if I’d had children of my own. We have such a lovely time together—it’s as simple as that! Next summer, Anna Maria will graduate from the IB program in Nyborg; I believe she wants to be a doctor. Meanwhile, Zoe is working hard at the International School in Odense. She and I have established a near-tradition: every Friday, after school and work, we meet at a special café in the city center for a tasty treat—always a muffin for Zoe—and a good chat about the week gone by. It’s delightful. Often, I go home with her afterwards to join the family on Lindeallé.

 

Anna Maria and Zoe in 2021

 

And last but not least, I naturally have to mention my dad! He has meant a great deal to me throughout my life—even though we haven’t lived together since 1978. He has always been there for me when I needed him. Both during my childhood—...and later on—especially after he bought his summer house in Veddinge Bakker in May 1979. We spent many wonderful times up there, both on weekends and during holidays. We also went on many vacations together—sometimes just the two of us, and other times with the whole family. For instance, I remember that after Grandma died in 1993, Dad set up what he called "Grandma’s Education Fund." It was funded by her inheritance and covered expenses such as getting our driver's licenses. I did get my license, though if I’m honest, I think I’ve only used it once—the time Dad practically forced me to drive his car home from a trip to the Ardennes. Phew, I was sweating bullets! But it went fine.

He also paid for Lasse and me to attend the folk high school at Brandbjerg in the spring of 1993, for example. And over the years, he treated us to trips to places like Cyprus, Normandy, Tenerife, New York, and South Africa. That was wonderful, of course.

We also had many good discussions over the years. Politically, we saw eye to eye on almost everything—especially regarding Europe and related issues. I would surprise him now and then, too—like when I’d walk around talking what he called "gibberish." It wasn't gibberish at all; it was Ukrainian! My interest in and support for the Ukrainians in their struggle against the Russians was so strong that I taught myself quite a bit of Ukrainian using Duolingo. In recent years, I’ve also made a point of buying gifts that originated in Ukraine in some way. We have an unspoken rule that we always have a good chat on Sunday evenings. It’s a good time to take stock together of both the week that has passed and the one to come!

Claus and Dad – 2022 in Rixensart

 

 

CLAUS THØGERSEN – pictured front and center

Electronic photo album from my life

 

EPILOGUE:

Following Claus’s death in December 2023, his manager, City Archivist Johnny Møllekær, wrote the following tribute on the archive’s website:

During the night of December 11, 2023, our dear and well-liked colleague Claus Thøgersen passed away. At just 57 years of age, his passing came far too soon. Claus had been a fixture at the archive for as long as most of us can remember. In the summer of 1995, as a young history student, Claus first joined the City Archive as a student assistant—a position that was subsequently extended several times. Claus soon realized that the archival world faced significant challenges regarding IT archiving, and even as a student assistant, he became involved in several of the City Archive’s ongoing IT matters. When it came time to choose a topic for his master’s thesis in history, he selected IT archiving—a subject that was certainly not common in the early 2000s. Upon obtaining his master’s degree, Claus was hired by the City Archive as our first IT archivist. He helped establish Odense City Archive’s digital archiving operations and is a key reason why we have a well-functioning digital archive today. Claus possessed an unflagging dedication to his work and a willingness to always offer guidance and assistance whenever the Archives Act and GDPR regulations seemed complex or obscure. He was always among the first people we encountered at the office in the morning; in nearly 30 years, there were only a handful of times he did not greet us with a friendly "good morning." We will miss your consistently rock-solid professional insight

We will miss your help and meticulousness

We will miss your creative input

We will miss your insightful comments

We will miss your witty remarks

We will miss you, Claus!

 

May his memory be honored

 

Sincerely,

 

Johnny Wøllekær

City Archivist, PhD

 

They also marked Claus’s passing and paid their final respects by cancelling their annual Christmas gathering. On the day of the funeral—Thursday, December 21—they closed the archive and all traveled to Nivå to attend the service.

 

Funen’s largest newspaper, *Fyens Stiftstidende*, published a major article a few days after Claus’s death. It read as follows:

 

Headline: His heart stopped while Claus slept.

Claus Thøgersen of Odense has died. He was 57 years old.

Claus Thøgersen had made preparations for a Christmas Eve celebration with close family members at his apartment in central Odense. A trip to visit his father and brother in Brussels, a two-week trip to Thailand with that same younger brother, and the celebration of a niece’s 18th birthday in March—everything had been carefully planned and arranged. That was until the Monday when Claus failed to show up as usual at the City Archives in *Historiens Hus* (House of History). The otherwise meticulous IT archivist did not appear on Tuesday morning either, and alarm bells began to ring.

He was found dead in his bed. By all appearances, it was an entirely undramatic event—a quiet, peaceful departure from the world. His heart simply stopped while he slept—a heart that had caused trouble nine years earlier, requiring the insertion of a stent and a regimen of medication. On the plus side, Claus made sure to stay in good shape through frequent workouts.

A piece of good advice.

Claus grew up in Nivå, north of Copenhagen; he graduated from Rungsted Gymnasium and completed four years of engineering studies at the Technical University of Denmark before heading to Odense to study history at the University of Southern Denmark. It was an unusual combination of fields, but in the summer of 1995, the young history student began working as a student assistant at the City Archives, located next to Odense Cathedral.

Claus soon discovered that the archival world faced major challenges regarding IT archiving; even as a student assistant, he became involved in several of the City Archives' ongoing IT issues, says City Archivist Johnny Wøllekær.

Wøllekær’s predecessor as head of the archives, Jørgen Thomsen, offered young Thøgersen a particularly good piece of advice in his own cheerful manner: "You need to develop your skills to a point where the rest of us can't figure them out. That way, you won't risk getting fired!"

"Digital Preservation and Technological Obsolescence" became the title of Claus’s history thesis, paving the way for a position as an IT archivist. Only he truly understood what he was doing. Yet, no one doubted that IT would play a role in the future of archiving—just not exactly what that role would be.

He helped establish the digital archiving system at the Odense City Archives and is a key reason why we have a well-functioning digital archive today. "Claus possessed an insatiable dedication to his work and a willingness to always offer guidance and help whenever archival laws and other regulations seemed opaque," says Johnny Wøllekær.

He was always among the first to arrive at work in the morning, in high spirits; in nearly 30 years, there were only a few times one wasn't greeted with a friendly "good morning"—along with professional insights, wise comments, and amusing remarks.

Family.

The archive was one half of Claus’s life—to such an extent that he hesitated somewhat when the topic of retirement came up. The other half was his family: his mother’s family in Nivå, his father’s in Brussels, a younger brother in the same city, and a sister and her family in Odense.

Claus and his sister’s daughter would meet every Friday at a café in central Odense for coffee, muffins, and a chat about the week’s events. Conversations with his father covered life in general but also Danish and European politics—and one had to be well-prepared, for Claus always thoroughly researched the issues. Traveling the world together was another shared activity for father and son.

In this way, he left his mark on the family and served as a unifying force—a presence that is now sorely missed.

A couple of years ago, he discussed the afterlife with his father. He remarked that, based on the views of various researchers, he believed there were at least eleven realities awaiting us after death. And he considered it likely that, one day, he would become part of one of them. The family now mourns the "wonderful, intelligent, engaging, cheerful, and deeply caring son, brother, uncle, and family member" described in the obituary.

Claus Thøgersen is survived by his mother, father, a sister, a brother, and two nieces.

The funeral will take place on Thursday, December 21, at 11:30 a.m.

 

 

CLAUS THØGERSEN

Timeline 1966–2023

Created together with Claus

 

                2 July 1966:      Born at the maternity clinic, Østergade 26, Aarhus

                31 July 1966:    Baptized at Mårslet Church. Pastor Jens Yde.

                                               Baptism luncheon at Emiliehøj 7

                1967–69:           Daycare with Grethe and Valdemar Petersen,

                                              Ryslingeparken 64, Holme

                1969–72:          Mosegaarden Kindergarten, Hørhavevej, Højbjerg

                Aug. 1972:       Kindergarten class at Skåde School

                13 May 1973:  Moved from Højbjerg to Nivåvænge 20-2, Nivå

                Aug. 1973 – June 1982:    Nivå Central School

                June–July 1975: Family summer holiday in a holiday home at Henne Strand

                July 1976:         Family summer holiday in the same holiday home as in 1975

                July 1977:         Holiday in Southern France (Carnon, Montpellier, etc.)

                May 1978:        Paternal grandfather passed away

                July 1978:         Summer holiday week with the Navy, Arresø Camp

                July 1978:         Trip to London with Dad

                May 1979:        Purchase of a summer house in Veddinge Bakker

                20 May 1981:  Confirmation at Nivå Church

                1980s:               With the "De Vilde Svaner" (The Wild Swans) scouts, Nivå

                July–Aug. 1982: Family holiday on Bornholm

                                          (Dansk Folkeferie at Hammeren)

                May–June 1981: Trip to Berlin with Dad

                Aug. 1982 – June 1985:    Rungsted Gymnasium (Upper Secondary School)

                July 1984:         Holiday in England (staying with Hans and touring with Grandma)

                Aug. 1984:        Purchase of timeshare apartment no. 36 at Jeckels in

                                               Gammel Skagen

                June 1985:        Graduation from Rungsted Gymnasium

                Aug. 1985:        Trip to Paris with Dad

                Summer 1985 – Feb. 1986:   Bikuben (bank) in Gladsaxe and Bagsværd

                1987 or spring 1988:       Moved from Nivå to Enghavevej in Copenhagen

                1986–90:           DTH, Lyngby – engineering studies

                June 1987:       Holiday in Ayia Napa, Cyprus

                The 80ies:        Gallup interviewer

                July–Aug. 1988: Family trip to Normandy, Verdun, Luxembourg,

                                              and Brussels

                Sept. 1988:     Dad, Liselotte, and Lasse move to Brussels

                Feb. 1990–Sept. 1994:   Living at Øster Søgade 52, Copenhagen

                                             Liselotte’s apartment

                July 1990:        Holiday in Colmar and Riquewihr, Alsace (new car!)

                July 1991:        Holiday in Lüdenscheid, Germany

                Feb. 1992:      Holiday in Tenerife

                Jan.–May 1993: Brandbjerg Folk High School

                Aug. 1993:      Liselotte and Dad’s wedding in Aalborg and Skagen

                Oct. 1993:      Grandma passes away

                Dec. 1993:      Holiday at Club La Santa, Lanzarote

                Sept. 1994:     Moved to Odense – Pantheonsgade 9, Odense C

                                              (together with Lasse and Cecilie)

                1994–2002:     University of Southern Denmark in Odense – History and

                                              Literature

                Jan. 1995:         Dad’s 50th birthday at Château Limelette

                Jan. 1996–Feb. 2002:    Student assistant at the City Archives in

                                              Odense

                July 1996:          My 30th birthday trip to Oslo, Norway, with DFDS

                Oct. 1996:         Cecilie moves from Copenhagen to Exeter

                Nov. 1996:         Visit to Cecilie in Exeter

                Aug. 1997:         Liselotte’s 50th birthday at Dragsholm

                July 1998:           Holiday in Eastbourne

                Oct. 1998:          Holiday in New York and Washington (via Amsterdam)

                July 1999:           Cecilie’s graduation in Exeter

                1999–2000:        Family New Year’s in Rixensart (turn of the millennium)

                July 2000:           Holiday in France – Futuroscope in Poitiers, Orléans, etc.

                April 2001:         South Africa!

                2002:                    Master’s degree (Cand.mag.) in History

                Feb. 2002:          Permanent position as an archivist at the City Archives

                March 2002:      Visit to Cecilie in Aberystwyth in Wales

                July 2002:           Visit to Trier (with Lasse and Dad)

                April 2003:         Celebration of Lasse’s 30th birthday in Dinklage, Germany

                July 2003:           Holiday in Wales and Bristol. Cecilie’s graduation in Bristol.

                2004:                    Lasse in Brussels – intern and job hunting

                Sept. 2004:        Cecilie and Niko’s wedding in Birmingham

                Oct.–Nov. 2004: Celebration of Cecilie’s 30th birthday in Benalmádina, Spain

                Jan. 2005:          Dad’s 60th birthday at “Røverstuen” in Rebild

                March 2005:     Dad retires 😊   Claus and Lasse present at his

                                                Berlaymont reception

                July 2005:           Holiday in Goslar, Harz Mountains

               March 2006:       Became an uncle to Anna Maria 😊

               July 2006:            Celebration of my 40th birthday in Svendborg

              July–Aug. 2006: Kos (Anna Maria’s christening)

              April 2007:           Hernia surgery in Odense

              April 2007:           Liselotte’s 60th birthday in Gattières, Southern France

              Nov. 2007:            Lasse moves from Odense to Brussels

                July 2008:           Holiday in Celle, Bergen-Belsen, and Rixensart

               July 2008:            Holiday in London with Lasse and Dad

               March 2009:      Holiday in Rixensart, the Somme, and Versailles

              June 2009:          Visit to Aachen (Charlemagne, etc.)

              July 2009:           Birthday celebration at Rudolf Mathis in Kerteminde

              July 2009:           Family holiday in Dunmore East and Dublin, Ireland

              July 2010:           Birthday celebration in Rudkøbing, at Langelandsfortet, and

                                              on the sailing ship "Mjølner"

              Aug. 2010:        Became an uncle to Zoe 😊

              Aug. 2011:        Kos (Zoe’s christening)

             April 2012:        Holiday trip to Bremerhaven and Rixensart

             July 2012:          Rebild Festival 100th anniversary

             Sept.–Oct. 2012:  Mediterranean and Atlantic cruise (Genoa,

                                            Malaga, Lisbon, Casablanca, Barcelona, ​​Genoa,

                                            Milan)

              Dec. 2012:       Family Christmas in Bournville, England

              Mar.–Apr. 2013:  Lasse’s 40th birthday celebrated in Rixensart and

                                            Brussels

              July 2013:        My birthday celebrated in Odense

                                           (Odense River, The Funen Village, etc.)

              April 2014:      Emergency admission to Odense University Hospital ☹

              May 2014:       Tour of Southern Jutland with Dad and Lasse

                                          (Rømø, Ribe, Mandø, Esbjerg, Højer, Tønder,

                                          Møgeltønder, Gallehus, Bov, Hærvejen, Fakkelgaarden,

                                          Dybbøl, Sønderborg, Fynshav, Frøslev, Padborg)

             July 2014:       Cecilie and family move from Birmingham to Perth

             Dec. 14–Jan. 15:   Family holiday in Perth in Western Australia

            June 2015:       Waterloo: Bicentenary of the battle

            July 2016:        Surprise birthday party in Veddinge: 50 years old!

            July 2016:        Family holiday on Kos

               Dec. 2016:    Family Christmas in Rixensart and Durbuy in the Ardennes

                                          ( Hotel Sangliers des Ardennes )

               Mar. 2017:     Nostalgia trip to Aarhus and the surrounding area (with Dad and Lasse)

              June 2017:     Holiday trip to Freiburg, Vaduz in Liechtenstein, and

                                          Bernkastel-Kues on the Mosel in Germany

              Sept. 2018:   Holiday in Venice

              Sept.–Oct. 2018: Cruise in the Adriatic and the Greek islands

                                          ( with Lasse )

              Feb. 2019:      Visit to Ypres in West Flanders

              Dec. 2019:     Family Christmas in Nivå, Helsingør, and Hillerød.

            

              2020:

              May–June:     Claus spent 6 weeks with Karen in Nivå – during Dennis’s

                                          hospitalization and the coronavirus epidemic

              July 4:              Joint celebration of Claus’s birthday in Nivå

              July 25–26:    Claus in Veddinge

              Sept. 19:        Lunch at Klosterkroen in Odense ( NJ + LL )

              2021:

              Spring:           COVID-19 restrictions everywhere

               July 2:            Celebration of Claus’s birthday at Restaurant Gio Va in Vig

               Aug. 21–28: Claus at Jeckels – including Karen’s birthday

               Oct. 8:            Claus’s 25th work anniversary at the City Archives in Odense

               Oct. 29–Nov. 1: Claus, Karen, and Dennis visiting Rixensart

               Nov. 12–15:  NJ trip to Copenhagen with Claus, Lasse, and Cecilie

               Dec. 23–27:  Family Christmas in Odense

 

               2022:

               April 1–5:        Claus, Karen, and Dennis in Rixensart

               April 14–18:    Claus in Nivå

               May 23–29:     Claus attends our family birthday gathering in Ribe

               June:              Retina surgery for Claus

               July 2:            Claus at home for his birthday – due to the retina issue

               Aug. 12–14:  Birthdays in Odense (Claus, Zoe, and Karen)

               Oct. 11–18:  Claus visiting Rixensart

               2023:

               Jan. 6–8:         Claus at Sørup Herregaard near Ringsted for Dennis’s

                                           birthday

               Mar. 30–Apr. 11: Claus on Easter holiday in Rixensart (and Lasse’s 50th birthday)

               Apr. 7:              Claus and Lasse host a birthday dinner at Blackn’White

               June 23–25:   Claus attends Lasse’s 50th birthday celebration in Aalborg, Grynderup,

                                           and Hvidsten

               July 2:               Claus’s birthday at Hotel Hesselet in Nyborg –  with Liselotte and dad                                       

               July 20–23:      Claus on holiday in Veddinge

               Aug. 13:            Claus attends family birthday celebration for Zoe in Odense

               Sept. 16:          Claus during our brief visit with Cecilie and family

               Dec. 10:            NJ speaks with Claus for the very last time – he was in high spirits

                                            and looking forward to Christmas, New Year’s, a visit from Lasse,

                                            a visit for my birthday around Jan. 22, and the Thailand trip (Feb. 20–Mar. 6)

               Dec. 11:           Claus passes away – sudden cardiac arrest in his sleep ☹

               Dec. 21:           Claus is buried at Nivå Cemetery.

 

NJT – Dec. 2023