Classic Christmas Stories (6 page)

by Rev. Charles Lench

W
HEN 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.

by Carrie Power

T
HE 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 coming 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.”