Christmas MemoriesSanta Claus's hand writing

Christmas is a time of hope and sharing. It is also a time of memories. I have memories of growing up in a small outport.

Christmas was a time for visiting. We would go from house to house. In each house we would get cake and syrup. We called that little meal "Christmas". We would have a kind of contest to see who could get the most "Christmases". Some days we would have 10 or 12 of these little snacks.

At night, many people would dress up in costumes and go from house to house. This tradition is called mummering. It is also called janneying. Sometimes mummers would dance a jig. Sometimes they would talk in funny voices. Some mummers carried a small stick. The people who lived in the house would often try to guess who was inside each costume. Mummering is making a comeback in some parts of this province.

Christmas concerts were a big thing in smalltown Newfoundland and Labrador. Schoolchildren and other people would take part in these concerts. Where would be recitations, dialogues, plays and songs.

We celebrated Old Christmas Day on January 6. Children would hang up their stockings on Old Christmas Eve, just as they did on Christmas Eve. They wouldn't get as much in their stocking this time. They might get an apple, an orange, a bar and a small gift.

There were lots of good times. We hope the stories in this issue rekindle some of your memories of good times. May the true spirit of Christmas be with you and yours.

by Cal Coish


Vo*cab*u*lar*y

an*ces*try - family line including your parents and great-grandparents.
di*a*logue - a skit or short play.
mid*wives - women who help deliver babies.

rec*i*ta*tion - a speech given from memory like a poem or rhyming verse.
re*kin*dle - to stir up.
tra*di*tion - belief or custom passed down from parents to children.

Have a Laugh
By Ed Smith
Tree with footsteps around it

It will soon be time to cut our Christmas tree.

My wife will not let me buy a tree from Nova Scotia. She won't even let me buy one from Newfoundland. She says we have to cut it ourselves because that's a family tradition. That means I have to cut it.

While I struggle through snow up to my backside, she sits in the car listening to Christmas carols on the radio. After an hour of very hard work I cut one that looks good to me. I have to drag it through all that snow back to the road. She looks at it carefully and says it's no good on one side. Then I have to start all over again.

Sometimes I'm at it all afternoon. Sometimes I cut enough trees to load a pulpwood truck. The one she finally chooses to be the right one is the one I cut when it's too dark to see anything.

When we get back to the house we put up our tree and my wife decorates it. I never help because by that time, I'm so tired I have to go to bed for a day or two.

Merry Christmas to all.

Never settle for less than your best.

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