Jeppe Aakjær wrote a poem/song in 1905 about a roadman called Jens Vejmand, based on a real-life character Jens Nielsen (1832-1901), who was employed under Ringkøbing County in west Jutland and given the responsibility for a section of the road between Herning and Holstebro. He worked on this until he died. It is said that Jeppe Aakjær paid his successor 25 øre to tell him about his predecessor. The song was set to music by Carl Nielsen two years later and became immensely popular.
Jens Vejmand
Hvem sidder der bag Skjærmen
med Klude om sin Haand,
med Læderlap for Øjet
og om sin Sko et Baand?
Det er saamænd Jens Vejmand,
der af sin sure Nød
med Ham’ren maa forvandle
de haarde Sten til Brød.
Og vaagner du en Morgen
i allerførste Gry
og hører Ham’ren klinge
paany, paany, paany,
det er saamænd Jens Vejmand
paa sine gamle Ben,
som hugger vilde Gnister
af morgenvaade Sten.
Og ager du til Staden
bag Bondens fede Spand,
og møder du en Olding,
hvis Øjne staar i Vand —
det er saamænd Jens Vejmand
med Halm om Ben og Knæ,
der næppe ved at finde
mod Frosten mer et Læ.
Og vender du tilbage
i Byger og i Blæst,
mens Aftenstjærnen skjælver
af Kulde i Sydvest,
og klinger Hammerslaget
bag Vognen ganske nær —
det er saamænd Jens Vejmand,
som endnu sidder dér.
Saa jævned han for andre
den vanskelige Vej,
men da det led mod Julen,
da sagde Armen nej;
det var saamænd Jens Vejmand,
han tabte Ham’ren brat,
de bar ham over Heden
en kold Decembernat.
Der staar paa Kirkegaarden
et gammelt frønnet Bræt;
det hælder slemt til Siden,
og Malingen er slet.
Det er saamænd Jens Vejmands.
Hans Liv var fuldt af Sten,
men paa hans Grav — i Døden,
man gav ham aldrig én.
Jens Roadman
Who’s sitting by the shelter
with hands where rags do cling,
with eye-patch made of leather
and shoes held on with string?
It’s no one but Jens Roadman
who must, shall he be fed,
transform with his own hammer
the hard stones into bread.
And should you wake one morning
as dawn begins to soar
and hear a hammer clanging
once more, once more, once more,
It’s no one but Jens Roadman
on old legs once so true
who sends wild sparks a-flying
from stones now wet with dew.
And should you travel townwards
behind the farmer’s mares,
and pass beside an old man
eyes watering with tears –
It’s no one but Jens Roadman,
straw-clad round legs and knees,
who seeks in vain for shelter
so he won’t have to freeze.
And should you journey homewards
while showers and gales molest,
the evening star a-trembling
from cold in due southwest,
and hear the hammer singing
behind you close somewhere –
It’s no one but Jens Roadman
who still is sitting there.
And so he smoothed for others
the road that’s hard to go,
but when it came to Christmas
his arm said to him ‘No.’
’Twas no one but Jens Roadman,
his hammer fell from sight,
they bore him o’er the heath on
a cold December night.
There stands within the churchyard
a board now half-decayed;
that skews obliquely sideways,
its paintwork faint and frayed.
It’s no one but Jens Roadman,
his life was full of stones,
but on his grave they gave him
not one to mark his bones.
You can listen to Aksel Schiøtz's recording here.
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