In my day, in Ireland, the debs, short for, god help us, the Debutante Ball was the big celebration for ending secondary school. It was one night, but you agonised for months beforehand about who you were ‘bringing to the debs’ if you weren’t going steady with someone. Because you couldn’t go on your own, you’d be a holy show. So you picked up the courage to ask some lad and stressed out your mother no end about where you were going to get a ball gown, eventually conjuring one from somewhere. Then on the night, you sat awkwardly with the lad, dressed in your ball gown, conversation and shuffling on the dance floor helped along by a drop of alcohol if you managed to get some at the bar. A night of pain and gain it may have been but a great rite of passage to be sure.
The debs ball is still going strong in Ireland, ensconced in tradition and apparently joined now by the graduation ball although I’m not too sure what the difference is.
Well, there are no such debutantes here in Norway and the traditions for kids leaving upper secondary school are about as far away from ball gowns as could be. Here, the vast majority of the boys and girls dress in high-quality coloured dungarees or overalls – fit for any farm labouring – for the best part of a month in a celebration that marks the end of their obligatory school years. The colour of the dungarees depends on the area of study: red is the most common for general studies like maths, physics, biology, literature, history and so on, with blue for economics and administration. There’s also black, green and even white which I’ve never seen. The students are called Russ and those dungarees signal a month of partying and celebrating. Most of them have turned 18 and so can legally drink and drive (not together of course, come on…) , so many get their hands on old cars or vans and they become the party buses for the month as they travel around with their mates to Russ concerts and celebrations. Schools are co-educational here so there is no leap across the fence for the boys and girls to meet. They’ve been going to the same schools and classes together for 13 odd years.
Celebrations begin in April and always end on May 17th, when all the Russ walk in parades around the country on Norwegian National Day. There are dungareed teenagers everywhere at the moment, often with straps hanging – probably too tired to pull them up at this stage – and frequently being harangued by small kids hoping to get a personalised Russekort or russ card from them. The cards are a bit like business cards, usually with a head shot picture, name of their school, some personal details and a message of some sort. It took me a few years here to find out that these cards are major collectors’ items for kids and you never, ever throw them out. I did, of course, but in yet another step towards integration, I now know better.
The other morning, I got off the train with a Russ guy and walked over a footbridge behind him. Suddenly at the end of bridge, he was surrounded by a group of heckling 6 – 9 year olds looking for his russ card. He might as well have been Justin Bieber with the swarm around him, looking the part as well with cool shades and not saying much. Vital life skills on display in front of my very eyes.
Russ was described in a BuzzFeed article from September 2014 as “a yearly tradition that is part road trip, part rave, part high school graduation and full lunacy.” The mad thing about all of this is that this month of celebrating and partying happens before final exams in late-May and early June. The students go to school as normal and then the partying happens outside of school hours.
The other mad thing to me is the scale and orchestrated nature of it all; russ is like state sanctioned madness that takes over the nation every spring. Most of the dungarees and overalls even have the Norwegian flag on them to boot; proud to be Norwegian and proud to be part of this great custom where it’s fine to go a bit nuts, drink, do daft stuff and the special clothes are a get-out-of-jail-free-card. It’s even seen as their right to do so. In other countries, teenagers of this age getting drunk and doing stupid stuff are seen as a nuisance, something to be tolerated but greatly frowned upon. Why not just let them have an orchestrated party month instead, at the end of which they’ve little choice but to knuckle down and study for final exams. A pan acceptance that these students have done their educational due and before going hard core in university or out working, they have one big team blast in solidarity with students from all over the country. There’s a clear beginning and end, with camaraderie and stories that will last a life-time.
We’re looking forward to National Day again this year and will go to the local school for the hoisting of the flag ceremony before going to see our boy in the big parade in the city a bit later. Thanks to a Norwegian friend, our daughter Nora will be dressed in traditional Norwegian ‘festdrakt’ or party costume for the first time that day and is absolutely delighted with herself. I’ve shied away from dressing the kids in these clothes because they are so intrinsically bound with Norwegian culture and heritage that it didn’t feel right. We are, after all, rank outsiders and don’t have any Norwegian family connections. But then, as was pointed out to me, Nora came here when she was one and a half years old so her identity is firmly Norwegian and she’s entitled. Judging by our girl’s pride in her to-be costume, she certainly agrees.
And on the day, of course, the kids will also be on the look out for Russ to see if they can do one final sweep of cards, before coming home and doing a final stash tally for the year.
Foto: Heiko Junge / Scanpix on https://www.tv2.no/a/6829258/
