Twas The Night After Christmas: A Newfoundland Mummer Story
Newfoundland has a ton of fun and interesting traditions but few are as celebrated as mummering.
Mummering, or janneying (depending on the Bay you call home), is a Christmas tradition that has people dress-up in bizarre costumes and travel house-to-house in the days after Christmas. It’s about dancing, celebrating and having fun. The way it works is a group of mummers knock on the door and ask, using a disguised voice, to be let in. Once inside they don’t speak. It’s the homeowners job to try to provide refreshments and guess who the mummer's are.
A Newfoundland mummer in a bra, dress and veil.
Mummering is entertainment but not always a lot of fun. For some people, especially children, it can be a little scary. Remember, the whole game involves mysterious strangely-dressed adults acting weird. That said, at least historically speaking, it was relatively harmless — the Newfoundland mummering tradition thrived in small, isolated communities so, while people may not have known a mummer’s specific identity when they invited them in, they could be sure it was a neighbour or family member under the disguise.
The popularity of mummering has ebbed and flowed. At some points in history it was illegal. At other points it was just unfashionable. In fact, even the popularity of carpeting in rural homes has been implicated in the decline of the activity. It's been said that as people put harder-to-clean carpet in their homes they were less likely to invite mummers, with their dirty snow-coved boots, inside.
In the early 1980s Newfoundland folk band Simani wrote a song called The Mummer's Song (Any Mummers 'Llowed In?). It told the story of a night with the mummers. It became wildly popular and was supported by an episode of the CBC series Land and Sea which included a dramatization of the song. Together these pop culture depictions of mummers had a strong hand in shaping current perception of the tradition.
A Newfoundland mummer wear long underwear.
Today you’ll have no trouble finding a mummer in Newfoundland - or at least an image of one. My local Walmart sells all manner of mummer merchandise from ornaments to oven mitts. But it’s not all commercial — Newfoundlanders are mummering again, too. They dress up and visit family and friends and there is even a popular mummer parade in St. John’s each year.
While I have never gone mummering, I do remember a visit from mummers when I was a little kid. Like many kids, I found it scary! I’ve never forgotten it and, in fact, it sort of inspired me. I took my memories of mummers, combined them with lots of mummering lore I've heard through the years and a healthy dose of Major Henry Livingston, Jr./Clement Clark Moore and wrote the following mummering story called Twas the Night After Christmas. It tells the story of a grandmother who is *usually* very good at guessing the identity of mummers.
I've shared this story before and its been published in a local magazine. The text is below, but if you'd rather have me read to you in my genuine Newfoundland accent, you can watch the video .
Twas The Night After Christmas: A Mummer Story
‘Twas the night after Christmas, when all through the cove
Not a creature was stirring, except Gram by the stove.
Her firewood all stowed, her lamp burning bright
In hopes that the mummers would be there that night.
The children were gathered, too excited for beds,
As visions of strangers danced jigs in their heads.
Mother smiled softly, I’d a tune in my heart
When sudden commotion, gave all a start.
Out by the porch there arose such a din,
And a queer little voice, “Any mummers ‘llowed in?
Mother’s arms opened wide, each child fled in a flash.
When the old door flew open and struck with a crash.
The moon on the drifts of new fallen snow,
Left the mummers in shadow, their backs to the glow.
All this was too much, left me blinking’ in wonder,
When Gram near exploded, “O, by d’ Lord thunder.”
Though tiny of frame, with a mind sharp and quick,
She darted for the door, as quick as a trick.
Rolling like capelin, the mummers they came.
They whistled! They shouted! But she called them by name.
“Now, Billy! Now, Samuel! I knows that it’s you
“And David! And Michael! I sees you there too.
“With drawers on yer heads and yer pillows strapped on!
I’ll name every one ‘fore the lot of ye’s gone!”
As dogberries drop, ‘neath a wild autumn gale,
The mummers, they fell, with each name she would nail.
Her method or madness? No one could say,
No trick of disguise could lead her astray.
And then, in a twinkling, there stood but one.
I couldn’t be certain if ‘twas daughter or son.
I scratched at my head, and the children looked ‘round,
When in through the doorway a Mummer did bound.
He was dress’d all in rags, from his head to his feet.
His mitts on wrong hands, his face veiled with a sheet.
A burlap old sack he’d slung over his back,
He searched for a chair, the he opened his pack.
Gram stood there in wonder, her eyes full of riddle,
When out from the bag came a bow and a fiddle.
His mitts set aside, he drew up his bow
And played us a reel, how the mummers did go!
The old kitchen shook, they danced round the room.
One mummer grabbed Gram, another jigged with the broom.
Who was this stranger? She’d no time to tell
For the kitchen was roaring with laughter and yell.
The Mummer made merry, ‘twas time for a dance
Hand-to-hand went old Gram, with hardly a glance.
The Mummer looked at me, then the bottle on the shelf
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
That wink of his eye, that nod of his head
Soon gave me to know, I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went about work
I filled his glass, he’d down with a jerk.
But dancers grow weary, and nights near their close
When Gram faced The Mummer — they squared off like foes
She stood in a huff, her hands on her hips,
He sprang to his feet, and still no name left her lips.
A stranger stepped out, to the cold Christmas air
“You’re the first” called out Gram, “But I’ll get you next year!”
