by Frank Galgay
Who will not say that those practices are so conducive to the object aimed at as the palmistry and Christian science of the so-called cultured and enlightened people of the present day.
The utilitarian spirit of the age deals with those old customs and traditions with a ruthless hand. Many of the old customs that our forefathers of Newfoundland observed at Christmas, in the days of the open-fireplace, are looked on by their descendants with ridicule, if not with contempt. Cui bono? After a hard season’s work at the fishery, the harmless sports and relaxation of the Christmas season made new men of them, and a firm religious belief quickened them into close touch with the grand story of the Nativity and made them better Christians. Phlegmatic and silent fishermen, who had not a word to say all the year round, now blossomed into Grand Knights of St. Patrick, St. Michael and St. George, Hector Alexander, etc., and gave out their heroic speeches in verse as they went in fantastic mumming costume from one neighbours’ house to another. At the village of Vocksinge, the last of them passed away to his eternal reward a year ago. Alas! Old age and hard work had shrivelled him up to unheroic proportions. But “poor old Tommy Holland” once stood on the floor on Christmas night, a veritable hero, as he recited:
“Here come I, Hector, the renowned Hector,
King Priam’s only son, ” etc.
May the light of Heaven shine upon them all, this Christmas morn.
Christmas Reminiscences
by Rev. Charles Lench
WHEN REQUESTED TO WRITE something for the Newfoundland Quarterly on the subject of “Xmas Reminiscences, ” I tried to recall some item of interest from my somewhat monotonous outport experience of the world’s great festive and popular holiday.
I was about to give it up when the thought occurred to me—if you cannot write in a humorous strain, write for those who may be passing through sorrow at this Christmas time. With this, my mind carried me back, twenty years; to the early days of my Newfoundland pilgrimage.
In those days I would wander in imagination to the old land, and fancy would picture for me the members of the family gathering around the Christmas fire. How the old folks would refer to the “missing link” in that family gathering! Time passed on and the “old folks” were gone to a better home and laid to rest in God’s acre. Christmas has its sad as well as gladsome memories, and while most subscribers to Christmas numbers prefer the sunny side, yet to pastors of Christ’s flock, the festive season of the Wonderful Child who came to bring peace on earth and good will to men; there are various causes which tend to turn the thoughts into other channels than those of innocent mirth and happiness, to sympathize with the bereaved and sorrowing, for the loss of the head of a family or the cherub who filled the household with its innocent prattles. At this happy season how many will be passing through the vale of tears and
“Sigh for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still.”
It was Christmas week of 1885, but the travelling preacher had spent his two Sundays at head-quarters and must move on to his numerous appointments, entailing a journey of sixty miles to and from the extern fishing village of the Mission. We had called at Garia, where the kindhearted people were always glad to welcome “The Monthly Visitor.” By Christmas Day we were fifteen miles farther east, and had arranged to make the best of the world’s holiday at Grand Bruit, named by the French, probably from its beautiful waterfall. We preached in the morning and planned to have an enjoyable time in the afternoon, by singing and talking to the fisher-folk of other lands, and doings of other people at Christmas time. As the neighbours were gathering at Skipper Sam’s cottage, a fishing boat rounded the point of the harbour. What could be the business of those strangers at that holiday season?
On landing they soon explained that an accident had occurred by which a young man had lost his life, and the friends had sent for the minister to come to them in their hour of trouble. We started for Garia with little delay, and by the time we reached the home of mourning, after fifteen miles in a small fishing boat on a cold winter’s day, the evening had closed in upon us. But how shall we describe the scene we witnessed in that sorrow-stricken fisherman’s dwelling?
At early morn of December 24th, a father and two sons left home in a fishing punt for a distant settlement at the head of the bay. They decided to leave the eldest son on an island, where he must spend the day watching for seals to make their appearance. For his comfort and convenience a gaze had been built of stones, to answer for warmth and shelter. Some two or three hours later another boat left Garia, containing two fishermen, with the object of visiting the aforementioned island, on the same business of securing seals. They never stopped to think that others could be before them, and as no boat was hauled up in the landwash, they concluded they were first in order that day. On landing they hauled up their boat, shouldered their guns and started around the island in opposite directions. Soon after came the report of a gun followed shortly by a scream of terror. The young man asserted that he heard a noise in the direction of the gaze, and seeing a fur cap at once concluded that it was the head of a water-bear, and taking deliberate aim he put the load into the object. Instantaneous death was the result, and when the father and son returned to the island, they found the poor lad cold in death. It was Christmas Eve when they landed their stage head with the body of poor Wm. Smith, and the world’s great festival was no happy day for that sorrow-stricken family. I shall never forget the grief of that household, especially the broken-hearted parents, and the neighbours of that sorrow-stricken hamlet. We found it hard to get away from the place of weeping where we tarried for several days, Magistrate S——, of C——, came on a mission of investigation, and finding it to be a case of pure carelessness, forbade the young man using a gun for five years. This is by no means a solitary case of death emanating from the careless use of firearms in this Colony. Too often has death resulted from indiscretion, and gloom and sadness been self-inflicted that could easily have been avoided.
How many homes in St. John’s and immediate neighbourhoods will be suffering this Christmas time through the victims of the traffic in strong drink during the past year? If a “Merry Christmas” cannot be secured without the social glass, that brings ruin and misery and domestic infelicity and sorrow, then we will change the expression, and wish the readers of the Newfoundland Quarterly—A Very Happy Christmas.
Remembering Christmases of Yesteryear in Marystown
by Carrie Power
THE VERY NAMES: DECEMBER and Christmas give me a thrill of delight and pleasure; and although the years may have lessened my exuberant spirits somewhat, and a certain solemnity may have descended on me, yet Christmas brings its special delights. Compared to my childhood and teenage years, it seems that it is a new world I live in now, for customs and modes of living have changed so. My hometown, as I remember it more than fifty years ago did not have the air of sophistication that it has today, and the affluence we know now was not then our way of life.
Yet, as I perceive the preparations for Christmas now taking place in our two large shopping Malls and smaller stores, I find that the Miracle of Christmas is still with us, for it is apparent in the faces of wide-eyed children, in the gay tunes and carols, in the friendship evident among people, and the peace and love we experience.
To a certain extent I, too, am caught up in all the hustle and bustle; but I cannot help comparing the Christmases of today with those I once knew— Christmas filled with joy and wonder as I remember them from yesteryear.
I recall, that like the children of today, although we enjoyed the preparations our parents were making, and sometimes helped or hindered them with our efforts; yet uppermost in our minds was Santa Claus and what he would bring us. Santa was that very mysterious person who while we slept, came down the chimney, filled our stockings then rode away on his reindeer. Today’s children see a live Santa at the Malls, or in the Santa Claus parades. How we would have loved to stay up to get a glimpse of Santa comin
g down the chimney, but no go! After hanging our stockings from the mantle over the stove, it was off to bed for us. In the morning there was a mad dash downstairs, to see what our stockings contained. I wonder what the little ones of today would think, if they discovered in their stockings, as we did—apples, oranges, peppermint knobs, a dime or a nickel, considered to be big money then, and maybe a small toy, like a spin-top? Those were not the days of Fisher-Price toys and Barbie dolls. But we were very happy, especially when we found a lovely homemade sled, painted red, waiting for us to enjoy on the crisp, white snow.
Long before Christmas Day, the men gathered firewood from nearby woods, cut it in stove lengths, and packed it in a store, so that during the Christmas season, the home fires in the “Waterloo, ” “Victoria, ” and “Comfort” stoves, would be kept burning; and they could enjoy themselves for the twelve days of Christmas without the chore of chopping wood. Eventually wood stoves gave way to oil stoves and electricity, but today because of the high cost of energy, wood stoves are again being installed; and many memories are recalled as I see smoke curling from chimneys, and smell the indescribable scent of burning wood.
Because Christmas was special, special care was taken to have extra food for the table. There was plenty for fresh meat—not from the supermarket—but from our own sheep, cows and calves, which were housed in barns after feeding on lush grasses all summer in the country. There were chicken from the flock of hens which every family had; and rabbits and partridge of which there seemed to be an endless supply, not far from our homes.
The women provided plenty of goodies too, and the fragrance of spices pervaded the kitchens, where moms made Christmas cakes, sweet raisin bread, molasses bread, small cakes, sweet raisin bread, molasses bread, small cakes and tarts. I don’t think the word “cookies” had been coined then, but I know they don’t taste better than those special treats of our childhood days.
Christmas would not be Christmas without a “drop of cheer” to help the celebrations along. As the nearest liquor store was in St. John’s, very few people managed to get a bottle or two from there. But the French Island of St. Pierre was quite near the Burin Peninsula and liquor there was very cheap. Men who had boats, gathered wood, shell fish and other things the French people were eager to buy, and late in the Fall went to St. Pierre where they sold their goods, and with the money obtained from the sale, they bought a few extras for the family, as well as a good supply of liquor and tobacco. The men were very astute at evading the Customs, and seldom did anyone “get caught.” When the Customs official checked on the boats, there was nothing to be found.
In the meantime, the women made home brews; such as spruce beer, blueberry, dogberry, potato, and beet wines, and these were bottled and put safely away for Christmas. A few brave souls—men of course— managed to set up a “still” in a secret place and to run off a few bottles of “moonshine.” As they were defying the law by doing this, the men spoke of it only in whispers, and only a few trusted friends were fortunate enough to enjoy a drink of “shine.” With all those preparations taken care of, the twelve days of Christmas could be enjoyed, and what a festal time it was!
In the midst of all this readiness people did not forget the true meaning of Christmas; or the age-old story of Christ Child’s birth; and so the Church, where people found God’s benediction and peace was not forgotten. Our beautiful Sacred Heart Church, which was destroyed by fire in 1976, was fittingly decorated. Garlands of green made from branches of fir and spruce, intertwined with bunches of dog-berries which had been gathered earlier and kept in saw-dust, were strung between the pillars which were also decorated with wreaths of the same greenery. The brass Crucifix, Candlesticks, Vases, Candelabra, and Censors shone from much rubbing with Brasso. A small Crib was also in the Sanctuary, and here the children gazed in wonder, and learned that the miracle of Christmas is the Babe of Bethlehem of long ago; the symbol of God’s everlasting love.
Midnight Mass was always the most important event of the season; and as children we looked forward to going to Church with our parents as eagerly as we anticipated Santa Claus. As we grew older we became involved with the Choir; and spent many hours in an unheated Church practising for High Mass. I fondly recall the year of 1927, when the Sisters of Mercy came to Marystown; for midnight Mass that year was made extra special because of the efforts of Sister M. Gabriel Fleming, a talented organist and music teacher. When Reverend J. W. McGettigan our Parish Priest, —now Monsignor McGettigan, —with his glorious voice intoned the “Gloria in Excelsis Deo” and the Choir followed through with “et in terra pax, ” we felt that angels must have bent low that night to listen, if and when Monsignor and Sister M. Gabriel—both living in St. John’s—read this, they will realize their memory is still very much alive in Marystown.
After Christmas Day all the festivities began, and there was no lack of pleasure and enjoyment, chief of which perhaps was “mummering.” Every night the mummers made their rounds. Bells and horns proclaimed their presence; and soon we heard the request, “Can the mummers come in?” In their hideous looking masks and very strange clothes, worn so that they would not be recognized, they were frightening to us little ones; but, “A wink of the eye, and a twist of the head, soon gave us to know we had nothing to dread.” And so we looked forward to their visits, until we were old enough to join them in their outings.
In those days there was no “Canning Bridge” joining North side to South as today; but the mummers found a way to cross the harbour, and in the morning many dories were missing from their usual places. At almost every house the mummers were invited in, and treated well with refreshments. It often happened that a party was taking place in some homes. Songs were being sung, and to the tune of an accordion everyone danced, especially the mummers. The Twelfth Day—Epiphany—was children’s day. Dressed as little mummers with masks, costumes, bells and horns they went visiting in the afternoon. It was their day, and everyone helped them enjoy it.
Besides the dances and suppers which were held in the halls and schools, there were some private dances, called “Kitchen Dances” to which a few friends and relatives were invited. If no one could be found to provide music for a square dance, there was dancers. This was called “Chin Music.” A boiler of soup, prepared by the good woman of the house, climaxed a happy ending.
There were school concerts, especially Christmas pageants to be enjoyed also, and parents filled the Hall to see their little ones perform, to hear their angelic voices and to heartily applaud them for their efforts, which gave so much pleasure. Adult concerts and plays also had their places in the Christmas festivities.
Perhaps the highlight of the season was the Holy Name Society Parade, which took place in the afternoon of New Year’s Day. Led by a local band of flute and drum, the members visited the Presbytery and the Convent to convey New Year’s greetings to the members and senior citizens before returning to St. Gabriel’s Hall where at night a dance and banquet took place. The dances were mostly square dances—Quadrille, Reels, Kitty’s Rambles and so on; the waltz, Fox-trot, and One-step were not the “in” thing then, although they were slowly coming on the scene.
There is so much more I recall of those Christmases of bygone days; and if space allowed, what a treasury of memories I could share with all!—Memories of those days when the true spirit of Christmas touched us all; old and young, rich and poor alike; and although we may not have realized it then, our blessings were many.
If someone asked me now, if there was something in the past that I would like to relive, I would not hesitate to say, “An old-fashioned Christmas in Marystown, with its simple joys and pleasures, and the friends that I once knew.”
Christmas Memories of the Days of the Gas Light
by P. K. Devine
AS I GAZED INTO the fire tonight watching the falling embers of the Christmas fire my mind wanders back to the days of auld lang syne, and one by one the faces of friends and acquaintances long dead and gone appeared before my men
tal vision— “sweet dreamland faces passing to and fro bring back the memories of days of long ago.” The great mysteries of life and death grip my attention and my mind is appalled and humbled in the contemplation of the eternal enigma which outside of Faith can never be solved on this side of the grave. Our friends and acquaintances have crossed the borderland and gone beyond the “borne whence no traveller returns.” They have uttered no word or given no sign.
Man’s condition then would be abysmally pitiful were it not for the God-given light of Faith. This is the predominate thought that comes to my mind as I look into the fire, watch the glowing brands tonight and reflect on the meaning of Christmas and how it draws millions of men and women throughout the world to focus their best thoughts on the observance and celebration of the festival as their forefathers did for the past 2,000 years and that our descendants will no doubt continue to do till the “Heaven shall be rolled up as a finished scroll and time shall be no more.”
The falling of a glowing log brings my mind down to the plane of mundane things and a vision of the preparations that went on in this old City of St. John’s in the old days is conjured up to my mind. A week or two before the great festival the most indifferent observer would easily realize that the joyous season of Christ’s Nativity was at hand. The decorations of the stores and shops along Water St., Duckworth St. and New Gower St. were going on and the work was being performed artistically by profound interveaving of green boughs, dogberries, holly and mistletoe. There was in these days one well recognized window dresser in every store on Water St. and these natural artists vied with each other in their efforts to produce the most attractive and artistic display. Sheets of white wadding were sacrificed and cut into suitable lengths and twined on pillars and arches to represent the virgin snow. The display made up of these materials was also shown in the windows was woven into such mottoes as “Welcome, ” “Happy Xmas, ” “Happy New Year, ” and “Christmas Greetings, ” and when the gas was turned on at night the effect was beautiful.