The Early Days


One of the earliest images of Lars, out in the woods with Sister Eva.


Yeah, love the hat!


A hole such as one of these could have been my demise. However, I have always been very lucky, even when things go to shit.

On the move...

I always loved cars, and started early…

Catching the

Trying to catch “Gammelgäddan…”

1952 – 1960

My travels began on May 9th, 1952, at Karlskrona Hospital. I was born sometime in the middle of the night, I have heard, and was quite a healthy little tyke. Yet, in spite of that, my very earliest memory involves a serious eye infection, where my eye lids stuck together so that I could not see. I remember orange light through my closed eyes, a doctor dripping liquid into them, brushing me softly with swabs, while my mother told me that everything was going to be all right. I also remember fainting in the bathroom in our apartment at the top floor of Västra Köpmansgatan 9. I ran up the four floors, no elevator, not to pee in my pants, and by the time I arrived to our bathroom, I passed out. Happy days…

Västra Köpmansgatan 9

Västra Köpmansgatan 9, Karlskrona. Ours was the apartment on the top floor, facing the street.

There was a very small concrete yard on the ground floor, playing there was not much fun. But, if I took a right from the front door, it was only a block down to Hoglands Park, a beautiful park in central Karlskrona, where we were allowed to play, if supervised by mom.

I ran away from home when I was three. I simply went downstairs and took a left, following the sidewalk next to Borgmästarviken, thinking I was going to catch one of the fishing boats from Saltö harbor. Luckily, someone who worked with my dad saw me, picked me up in his VW pickup truck and drove me home. I remember being scared in the front seat, as the car had no hood, and I thought it was going to fall forward when we braked. My escape was not motivated by anything other than a sense of adventure, I think. I was a happy kid, but apparently with my eyes on the horizon, even back then.

Emmaboda Summers
Most of what I remember from the summers we spent when I was two-three years old are things I heard from Mom and Dad. For two summers, they rented a little cabin on a working farm up around Emmaboda in Småland. The cabin was right by a lovely lake. There was no road leading down to the cabin and I remember that we had to drive over a meadow full of cow-patties and rocks. I recall being scared as the car wobbled quite a bit.

One of the stories retold is about me running under a chain, which separated our property from the public land. On the chain hung a sign saying “PRIVATE,” on which I hit my head. I came running over to mom, crying that I had “hit my head in the privates.” Or something like that… I was a funny child.

Then, of course there is the story about me going missing. One day, I failed to show up when Mom called for me. She began looking, and when not finding me, soon enrolled everybody on the farm in the hunt. Nobody could find me, and after a couple of hours, everybody on the farm was panicking. Finally as a farm hand needed to go to “the toilet,” he heard some muffled cries from inside. The toilet was a wooden shed next to the barn, and was the old kind with several holes on a long bench. The dirt was collected in drums under the holes, and I had, thinking that I was big enough to go to the bathroom on my own, fallen in as the hole was way too big for my little bum. Fortunately, I was only up to my arm pits, and did not drown. I still remember my mother picking me up by the arms, carrying me down to the lake, where she promptly threw me in. Obviously, this made me very famous…What I think of this today, is that it cemented the very good luck that has followed me my entire life. I grew up to be a very lucky boy.

When I was four years old, we moved from the city center out to what was then “country,” a few miles outside of town. My parents found an apartment in a three-family home, located in an idyllic neighborhood close to woods and water, on Ekebovägen.