12 Nights of Mummers
Newfoundland Mummer Limericks
Through the 12 nights of Christmas, people in Newfoundland dressed in bizarre disguises and travelled in groups from house-to-house. They called it mummering. When these mummers were invited inside they danced, drank and generally made merry. It was the job of the host to try to determine the identity of the mysterious strangers. A good time was had by… most. The truth is mummering was always a bit scary and it was sometimes downright dark. During the 2021 Christmas season I shared a limerick a day depicting various aspects of mummering — I tried to hit on the humour, the fear and some of the mischief mummers got up to.
Here they are — all ‘12 Nights of Mummers’ collected. Enjoy.
The First Night
One mummer in old drawers was last -
the folk how they guessed and they asked.
And though he stayed veiled,
When his trapdoor failed
The bottom was got to and fast.
The Second Night
As the mummers appeared on the ridge,
Aunt Kate dropped her mop by the fridge
She flew to the door:
‘“I’ve just washed me floor!
Have cake b’ys out here on the bridge.”
The Third Night
A weary old woman named Grace
Found her husband a worn pillowcase.
Mummering, she thought
is the best gift I got:
He covers that crooked old face.
The Fourth Night
In December one mummering creep
Was happy the snow was so deep
The chance introduced,
Without need of a boost,
More windows through which he could peep.
The Fifth Night
There was a widow from down by the shore
Who let mummers have drinks and then more
She’d pick a young chap
and sit in his lap,
whispering things his new wife would abhor.
The Sixth Night
In a shadow out by the gate
stood a mummer til awfully late
By power of will
I stood very still
While the stranger did nothing but wait.
The Seventh Night
There was an old mummer from Croque
Whose teeth whistled whenever he spoke.
To keep his disguise,
Morse code with his eyes
allowed him to chat with the folk.
The Eighth Night
Carried by mummers from over the road
A wooden beast with eyes, black and cold.
‘Twas an old hobby horse
Clapping jaws with such force
That nightmares were all but foretold.
The Ninth Night
At my school, for propriety’s sake,
The concert served syrup and cake.
But Nan brought her flask,
lifted one mummer’s mask
and kissed teacher, as if by mistake.
The tenth Night
To mummers old Josie was mean:
cutting cake into slices so lean.
To steady the knife,
a man and his wife,
Braced Josie in ways thought obscene.
The Eleventh Night
These mummers alone by the stage
In costume, were freed from their cage.
In darkness three kings
Were trying new things
In daylight they’d dare not engage.
The Twelfth Night
It’s Old Christmas now in the bay.
One mummer was heard to say:
“That’s enough of this drink,
I’ll give up, I think,
At least until St. Patrick’s day”