Christmas Traditions and Gift Ideas

In 1839, Toronto printer William Lyon Mackenzie docked his office boy 66 cents for being absent Christmas and New Year’s Day, reports the Toronto Historical Board.

Hmmm… “a case of “baaa Hum Bug”!

Consider if you will Rodman Serling (1925-75), a writer in a hurry. He was born on December 25.  Jewish - but not overly religious about it. He was a teller of parables, a believer in traditional virtues, and a wordsmith with a purple streak. Diminutive, but a giant in the Golden Age of television, Mr. Serling achieved lasting fame unexpectedly in… “The Twilight Zone”:

• The television series is more autobiographical than many viewers realize, writes biographer Gordon Sander. Episodes were sometimes based on his nightmares and stories he had been reading (a sore point with a few other writers). Also, the extroverted Mr. Serling grew up in “hidebound, anti-Semitic”
  Binghamton, New York. This was the pastoral, small, “Twilight Zone” town to which he returned, literally and imaginatively, for the rest of his life, and he wasn’t blind to its failings.
• In the Second World War, Mr. Serling brazened his way past the height requirements and became a paratrooper. His unit fought the Japanese day and night in the jungles of the Philippines. He rarely talked about the war afterward and, although patriotic, became an early anti-nuclear activist and opponent of the U.S. presence in Vietnam.
• After the war, Mr. Serling enrolled at Antioch, a liberal college in
  Ohio where women “openly smoked cigarettes and wore pants.” He met his wife and continued the writing he had begun in the war as therapy. Much of it was junk, but he was learning to write adequately for the infant medium of television. (To support his family, he also tested parachutes occasionally for the U.S. army, at $25 a jump.) Early on, Carol Serling corrected his spelling and eventually came to rule this “man-child” who admitted he could never write women’s roles convincingly.
• Mr. Serling was prolific, perhaps the most productive writer in TV history. He wrote three award-winning teleplays Patterns, The Comedians, and Requiem for a Heavyweight - which are considered U.S. television classics. Hungry for approval, he also accepted every assignment he was offered and wrote too much. However, this meant he had a rejected time-travel fantasy script available that was the seed for “The Twilight Zone.”
• Journalists referred to Mr. Serling as an angry young man. Censorship rankled him. For instance, despising prejudice, he tried twice to dramatize the lynching in the mid-fifties of a 14 -year-old black youngster in Mississippi. For the first production, the sponsor demanded that the story be set in New England, that the word “lynch” be dropped, that bottles of Coca-Cola be removed, and that the characters speak grammatically and make comments such as, “This is a strange little town.” The second time, the sponsor was an insurance company and the sheriff in Mr. Serling’s story couldn’t kill himself because suicide often led to problems in the claims department.
• “To public and press alike,” writes author Marc Zicree, “Serling was viewed as video’s equivalent of Arthur .Miller or Tennessee Williams.” In 1959, hearing he was going to write and produce a science-fiction series, TV newsman Mike Wallace asked Mr. Serling, “(So) you’ve given up writing anything important for television, right?”
• During 1959-64, Mr. Serling used “The Twilight Zone” (the name comes from a term that airline pilots use when they descend so close to the runway that the horizon disappears and they feel abruptly imbalanced) to write offbeat fables, sometimes with downbeat endings and social criticisms that would otherwise have been commercially unacceptable. Although never a big hit in that period, the show grew more popular in reruns and is one of a handful of series that are continually in circulation.
• In five years, Mr. Serling wrote 90 of the 156 episodes. His last years were spent teaching, shilling products on television, and quixotically attempting to write teleplays such as a nonviolent Western series.
• A nervous, compulsive man, Mr. Serling smoked so much that his doctor advised him to cut back to one pack a day. In the summer of 1975 he had three heart attacks - the last, which killed him, occurred during open-heart surgery.

Picture if you will, a brilliant writer ahead of his time; a man who would alter television forever; a genius who would be responsible for some of the best-known stories of all time; yet born on Christmas Day, 1924 and never once used that as a claim for fame.

(Sources: Globe files, The Twilight Zone Companion, Rod Serling: The Dreams and Nightmares of Life in The Twilight Zone, Serling; The Rise and Twilight of Televisions Last Angry Man.

The Good

Good things begin to happen with the Good Goddess, Bona Dea. In December, just before the winter solstice when the sun’s progression into darkness is complete, Roman women gathered together in the private house of the appointed priestess, a woman of unblemished virtue. They gathered on this dark winter night to celebrate a mystery rite to a goddess whose name was so secret that we know her only as the Good Goddess, or Bona Dea. Her real name was never stated publicly.

Bona Dea

Bona Dea. also known as Damia (Da Mater or Demeter), was an earth goddess who promoted fertility in women. Her rites were secret. as was her true name. The woman officiating as her priestess during the ritual was called Damiatrix.

A play, music. and sacred objects revealed only to attendees were part of the ritual. The room for the service was decorated with vine leaves. a pig was offered. and wine that was named “milk” was offered to Bona Dea and then drunk by the worshipers.

This rite to the Good Goddess was considered of a private nature as it took place not in a temple, but in the home of the consul, whose wife served as priestess. The public rite at the temple of Bona Dea was held on May 1. In contrast, the December ritual was not paid for at state expense and the high priest did not attend; nor, however, did any males, for this was strictly a female ritual.

The rites were desecrated in 62 B.C.E., when Clodius, dressing as a woman, attended the rites at the house of Julius Caesar, whose mother, Aurelia, and wife, Pompeia, presided. Aurelia recognized Clodius and ended the rites, quickly covering up the sacred objects that were forbidden to male view. When the sacrilege was discovered, Clodius was driven from the house and the Vestal Virgins began the rites again. Regardless, Caesar divorced his wife on these grounds, saying that the wife of Caesar had to be above suspicion.

Mystery rites for women only, involving sacred objects displayed only to women, held in a private house where all pictures of men are covered with veils … Just what went on in that house where the room was decorated with vine leaves and wine was renamed “mother’s milk” and drunk?

Music, plays, and dancing for women only? The men were very suspicious, curious, and perhaps a little jealous or fearful, for nothing seems to threaten and intrigue men more than deep, dark female secrets. Clodius sneaks in, Cicero wants to know the exact date and location, and]uvenal, a Roman satirist, wrote a ridiculous description of the Bona Dea rite, even though he never attended. He assumes that when women share ritual alone in a private house for the Good Goddess, their central theme must be sexual exploitation of men. Wild women can never trusted!

The secret rites of the Good Goddess are pretty well known:

When a flute stirs their loins and the Maenads of Priapus groan And how I in frenzy from music and wine and toss their hair. Oh, how they bum for intercourse, what cries declare their throbbing lust … They’re females without inhibitions and around the ritual den Rings a cry from every comer: “We’re ready! Bring in the men!”

(Juvenal 6.314 ff.)

Modern Ritual to Wild Women and the Good Goddess, Bona Dea

Women’s personal time together and women’s private rites will always remain a mystery to men. Gather with your women friends to perform a ritual to the wild side, that part of your being that identifies with the holiest goddess, She Who Can Never Be Named. Offer her some wine, drink in some “mother’s milk,” and share secrets with women friends. We can all use a beneficent nod from the Good Goddess, Bona Dea.  

The first age was the Golden Age, an age without warriors or conquerors. Everyone kept faith and pursued the right path on their own; they needed no laws to tell them what to do. There was no fear of punishment, no crimes, no jails. There were no lawyers, no judges, and no one coming before a magistrate to plead a case. All lived free, yet without the need of law.

The tree had never been chopped down, felled, or removed from its natural place on the mountainside; its wood was not sold for profit and shipped to foreign ports. Just like the trees, people also remained safe on their own land and shores. Cities were not circled by steep trenches and walls for defense. There were no war trumpets, no war horns of curving brass, no swords, no helmets. There was no need for armed men. All the countries, safe from war, passed the years in peace and prosperity.

In the Golden Age, the Earth herself, without being forced or abused, was not touched by plough or hoe. On her own, Earth gave all the things humans need. And mortals were content with the food that came easily: gathered fruits, strawberries from the mountainsides, cherries and berries hanging thick on prickly branches, nuts fallen from the spreading boughs of Jupiter’s tree, the oak.

The spring lasted forever. Gentle breezes with warm breath played with the flowers that grew unplanted. The Earth, untilled, brought forth her vast stores of grain, and the fields, always fertile, grew white with the heavy stalks of ripened grain. Streams of milk, and streams of sweet nectar flowed; and yellow honey was gathered from hives in the green oak tree.

Ovid speaks of the four ages of human habitation on the earth, the Golden, the Silver, the Bronze, and the fourth and final, the Age of Iron, in which we live today The Golden Age was the time of Saturn, Ruler of the World. This was an idyllic time with no war, strife, or want. Food was readily available, the gods and goddesses inhabited the earth, and all was well. Transition to the Age of Silver occurred when Jupiter overthrew Saturn.

During the Age of Silver, time was partitioned into seasons of spring, summer, fall, and winter. In this age, people were forced to find shelter in houses, whereas during the Golden Age they had lived in caves and forest homes. This was the age that saw cultivation of grain and domestication of animals, who “groaned beneath the heavy yoke.” The Age of Bronze followed, a sterner time when fighting and war existed, yet impiety toward the gods did not.

The Iron Age, the last, was the final descent from the Golden Age.

“All evil burst forth. Modesty, truth, and faith fled the Earth, and in their place came tricks, deceit, violence, and the cursed love of gain.” Men traveled across the known world, cutting down the trees to make boats. Now, the earth itself was divided and partitioned by the surveyor, sold as property to the highest bidder. Humans were greedy and, seeking more gain, they delved into the earth itself, mining for the wealth that the Creatrix had hidden away This wealth of gold and silver only provoked humans to crime. War came, and weapons of iron. Men lived on plunder, and guests were not safe from the host. Husbands and wives hated each other and sought an end to marriage. “Piety to the gods and goddesses lay vanquished, and the maiden Astraea, the last of the immortals, abandoned the blood-soaked Earth.” Astraea, you see, was the Goddess of Justice. She was the last to leave, as she could no longer look on the wickedness of humankind.

The concept of an idyllic era in the history of humankind is compelling. The ancient Romans did believe in the Golden Age, and they held to a tradition that the Golden Age could be restored and the gods and goddesses would one day return. The Roman author Virgil tells us it will be when the Cumaean Sibyl has brought us to the end of the millennium. The advent of the new millennium celebrated in 17 B.C.E. with great games and ritual would be a New Age-a new saeculum-ushering in a New Order of the Ages.

The Golden Age vividly expresses an ideal human world without crime, without the violence or aggression of one human against another. A Golden Age has no suffering, and all are fed and nourished. All live in communion with nature, and the natural world bestows blessings upon the race of humankind. This is a world where greed, gain, and material worth are not idolized. This is a world in which the environment is not only respected, but held in awe. This is a world in which nature, manifest as the gods and goddesses, nymphs and satyrs, was worshiped.

Today we seem to be closer to the Iron Age. Memory of the Golden Age has vanished. Yet for a few days in December, we are reminded of those divine days, when there was peace and prosperity before the goddesses and gods withdrew. December’s legacy is the revival of those cherished memories-the good, the plentiful, and the “best of days.” In December, we incorporate those values and dare to dream of a Golden Age. This too is a religious act.

The Saturnalia of ancient Rome was a time to feast, much as Christmas is in Italy today. The feasts, the games, the gift giving, the music, and the religious rituals are all very much part of the December festival season in modern Rome, much as they were in antiquity. This has not changed in over two thousand years.

Modern Ritual: Foods For Saturnalia

Here are some traditional Saturnalia recipes prepared by the women of ancient Rome. Enjoy them this festival season.

Hon Eyed Dates (serves 10)

“Pit the dates and stuff them with walnuts or even pine nuts …. Roll them in a little salt and fry them with honey. Serve.”

• 1 pound dried dates
• Walnuts, 1 for each date
• Salt, as needed
• Honey, as needed

Use good-quality dates (they should not be sticky and the skins should not come off easily). Pit them by making a cut on one side. Fill each cavity with a walnut. Roll them lightly in salt and cook them in honey in a skillet until they are caramelized. As soon as the dates are carmelized, put them on a lightly oiled plate to prevent sticking. Serve.

Globi

• 8 ounces ricotta cheese
• 1 ½ cup semolina flour
• 1 large egg
• ¼ teaspoon salt

Mix ricotta with the semolina in a medium-sized bowl. Beat the egg and stir into the mixture. Add salt and mix well.

Pour enough oil in a pan to cover the Globi. about an inch, and heat the oil.

Drop the dough in teaspoonfuls into the heated oil, and fry until brown. Remove and drain well on a paper towel. Dip in honey and serve. Globi can also be dipped in salsa or other sauces.

December’s rituals bring promise. For Christians it is the promise of salvation and a better life with the birth of the Christ Child. For the pagan Romans, it was the promise of the Golden Age and the Rule of Saturn. It is the promise of a spiritual life, a life blessed and in accord with the deities.

Saturn harkens back to the Golden Age, an age of piety. It is for this age we must now hope. At the millennium, we begin the New Order of the Ages. For spiritual guidance, we can learn from the gods and goddess the ancient practices. As Saturn asks, “Who would bring incense to my smoking altars?”

The first age was golden when authority was not needed. Men and women revered justice and virtue. They kept faith.

December is a pivotal month when the sun reverses its course. We honor the reversal and the inversion theme through our customary rituals of December when we put aside our regular routines of work or school to celebrate the December holidays or we bring a tree growing wild in nature indoors to decorate with mementos and tokens. Follow nature’s lesson, this season, and carryon this ancient Roman custom of inversion with your family, friends, or community. Identify the roles played by each family member and reverse them for fun, just for a few days around the time of the solstice. Have the children make decisions normally relegated to adults. Switch the household jobs or seating arrangements at the dining room table. Shake things up a bit! Do the unexpected! These small acts recall the spirit of the Saturnalia and are of religious significance, connecting directly with the natural world.

We look forward to this time of joy and anticipate a festive atmosphere when our lives change for just a little bit. Spiritually, we also seek a reconnection with the divine spirit. Gift giving then as now was a popular expression of friendship, love, and harmony. Along with the traditional gifts of candles and dolls, a variety of objects were purchased and exchanged between friends and family. In large families, presents were drawn blindfolded for gift exchange, much like today’s “Secret Santa.” You can imagine the crowded streets in ancient
Rome, full of men, women, and children rushing from shop to shop, searching for the perfect gift at the jewelers, the perfumers store, the leather shop, or the clothing store. People pushed and crowded into the wine dealers, the grocers, the pastry shops to buy the extra amphora of Falernian wine and the necessary ingredients for those special Saturnalia recipes.

The Rite Of Gift Giving, Small Offerings To Our Loved Ones

As for modern ritual, we already celebrate in December much as the ancient Romans did. The week surrounding the winter solstice is a time for celebration. gift giving, and also religious ritual. The darkest days call for celebration of the return of the light and the magical birth.

The Roman author Martial, who lived in the first century c.r.. published two collections of sayings. Each came out in December, the
Xenia in 83 CE. and the Apophoreta in 85 c.r.. and were meant to be of practical use during the Saturnalia. They were collections of clever two-line messages designed to accompany gifts given at the Saturnalia. Readers could then choose the saying that was most appropriate for their gift. The idea of Christmas cards and modern greeting cards is not new!

Gift Ideas for the Saturnalia Season

• Ivory writing tablet (ideal for those over forty years of age): “If wax tablets are too dim for your failing eyes, Paint this new white ivory tablet with large black letters!”
• Small writing tablets (for love letters or billing clients): “Because we are small, you may think that we are only used to write love letters. You’re wrongl We can demand money as well.”
• Letter paper: “Whether sent to a slight acquaintance or someone close, this paper will address everyone as ‘Dear Friend.”’
• Wooden cashbox: “If you find anything in the bottom of this box, then it will be your present. Is there nothing? Then the box itself is your present.”
• Case for writing materials: “So now that you have received this writing case, remember to fill it with pens. I have given you the larger case, you must furnish the lesser items.”
• Gold hair pin: “So that your just washed wet hair will not ruin your silk hair bands. Let a gold pin fix and hold up your curly locks.”
• Umbrella: “Accept a sunshade to fight off rays of the fierce sun. If there is wind or rain, this will cover you too.”
• Bedroom lamp: “I am a lamp, confidante of your sweet bed. Do whatever you wish, I won’t tell.”
• Hand weights/dumbbells: “Why do your strong arms go to waste on these silly dumbbells? Get outside and dig a vineyard-this is better exercise for men.” (49) Baby rattle: “If a baby clings to your neck, weeping, let him shake this noisy rattle with his small hand.”
• Toothpaste: “Don’t give me to an older person. Give me to a young gir!. l’m not in the habit of polishing false teeth bought at the store.”
• Leather breast band/bra: “This small leather skin may not be large enough for your breasts. You may need an entire bull’s hide.”
• Strainer for snow (a metal colander held over a wine goblet in which a lump of snow was placed and wine strained through to chill it): “Take my advice, only use expensive wine with my snow. Anything cheaper will only stain your napkins.”

Winter nourishes the seed sown in the ploughed earth each year; all is wet with the rains sent by Jupiter. Now, let December bring again the golden festival of Saturn.

Farmers were advised to manure the fields, sow beans and gather olives, dig new ditches, clear old ditches, clear vineyards, prune trees in orchards, and plant lilies and crocuses.

We come full circle now, to December, the final month in our year. Twelve months ago, we began this spiritual voyage. We journeyed together to a world where time does not tick away by minutes and hours, but instead moves in a steady cyclical progression through the natural world and the seasons, with the recurring phases of birth, life, death, and rebirth. We moved through the sacred seasonal landscape from the dark, shivering cold of January into the sap-raising, sensual spring months, through the heat of fullness and ripeness in summer to the end, the decline and loss of autumn. We opened ourselves on the deepest level to be strengthened and healed. We returned to the world of nature, where the gods and goddesses, the water sprites and woodland nymphs reside. The yearlong path took us to strange and mysterious places-a soulful journey following the path of the sun itself. We moved forward from the first month after the winter solstice to the longest days of summer; from the declining daylight of autumn to the shortest day of the year in December. Now, we return to the days of the winter solstice and the deities worshiped this December month.

In the oldest Roman calendars, those based upon the lunar cycle, March was the first month of the new year and December the tenth and last. In fact, the Latin word for ten, decem, names this as the tenth month-the period of gestation for a human child according to the lunar calendar. While March and Mars are synonymous with male fertility and conception, December is the month of birth. This association of birth and December is not a unique concept; Christians view December 25 as the birth of the baby Jesus, and the sun itself is reborn at the solstice of December 2l.

The Saturnalia, the weeklong rite to the god Saturn dominates the rituals for December. In the words of the Roman poet Catullus, of the first century B.C.E., this period in mid-December was the “best of days.” The Saturnalia was not the distorted caricature of ancient Romans rushing from one orgy to the next, drinking, gambling, partying, enjoying unrestrained sex, and honoring a pagan rite devoid of spiritual meaning. The god Saturn was honored at the winter solstice beginning with public ritual involving both sacrifice and a grand banquet held at the impressive temple of Saturn in Rome. The Saturnalia was a festive time that lasted for seven days in mid-December with private parties, special dinners, family celebrations, and the exchange of gifts. In fact, small dolls and candles with candle holders were traditional Saturnalia gifts. This festival, one of the most popular in ancient Rome, was celebrated into the third and fourth centuries C.E., with many of its customs being incorporated in the Christian holiday of Christmas.

Saturn is a complex god worshiped in the oldest days of Rome as an earthbound deity of sowing and seeds. His very name was derived from the Latin word for “sowing” and “seed,” satus. Saturn was the god who taught people how to cultivate the earth and to plant the seed in the moist soil. We still honor this god by referring to the holy day of Saturn as Saturday. Saturn was King of All during the Golden Age, a most ancient time long before his son Jupiter took command. Every December, he was remembered and honored by the Romans as wise ruler of the Golden Age.

Christmas is losing its real meaning, agreed 59 per cent of Canadians - back in 1953. (The Canadian Institute of Public Opinion reported that this was a 6-per-cent jump from its survey of 1948.) Some not-so-different Christmas news in Globe files of a generation ago:

• 1953. Canadian author Farley Mowat said in an interview, “As for that song ‘Dreaming of a White Christmas’ - I loathe it! If I hear it once more, I’m going to toss my radio into the ashcan.”
• 1954. New York City police arrested one of Santa’s helpers near
  Times Square because he was snarling “You cheap son of a bitch” at anyone who ignored his collection box.
• December 24, 1955. Mary Marcos of Nazareth, on a trip to
  Bethlehem to celebrate Christmas Eve, gave birth to a son. Jordanians informed the Israeli authorities and found room for Ms. Marcos to remain on the Arab side of the armistice line for another week.
• December 24, 1956. Two black men were finally served at a restaurant in
  Dresden, Ontario. The owner had given up his battle for the right to refuse service to negroes.
  Dresden is notable as the place where the original Uncle Tom is buried.
• December 23,1957. Maria Golinksa of
  Warsaw spent seven hours - and half her family’s monthly income - buying food, drink, and a Christmas tree. “After all,” she told a Western journalist, “life is hard enough the rest of the year.”
• 1958. Three Christian ministers in
  Ontario said that Christ should be taken out of Christmas, because the holiday has its roots in pagan festivals that did not involve Him. “It seems sort of religious imperialism,” said Rev. J. Franklin Chidsey, a Unitarian. “If we celebrated Christmas as a happy holiday instead of a Christian feast, people of every religion would be able to enjoy it together.”

Christmas Cards

Modern versions of Christmas cards can be very specialized. A recent U.S. Christmas card for ailing former spouses said, “Sorry to hear you’re not feeling well. I wouldn’t want anything to stop the alimony payments.”

Sometimes it can be better to receive than giving it!

A small police detachment was stationed some eighteen miles [from Fort Macleod], down the Old Man’s River at an abandoned liquor trading post, named Fort Kipp after the original builder. It was the customary log structure, surrounded by a stockade.

An officer named Brisebois was in command. Two of his men had spent Christmas on leave at Fort Macleod; they left to return to Kipp two days before New Year. On that day word was brought to the fort that a Baker Company bull team, loaded with supplies and mail for us, had arrived at Whoop-up [near the present Lethbridge], but would be at least a week in reaching Macleod. We naturally were most anxious to get this mail at once, since no letters or papers had reached us since leaving Dufferin [Manitoba] in June; particularly we wished to have it by New Year. I therefore asked permission of Colonel Macleod to ride to Whoop-up, pick up the letters, and return by that time.

The colonel hesitated, but being himself anxious to hear from the Commissioner, he at last consented. I started on the evening of 31st December, riding a tough little Indian pony, with the intention of staying overnight with the detachment at Kipp and returning to Macleod the following day. Snow on the ground made the trail faint. I had made about half the distance when a sudden change of the wind, bringing a north-west blizzard, decided me to turn back. The temperature fell to twenty degrees below zero, I found it impossible to make headway with the wind and snow full in my face, and I had difficulty in keeping my eyelids from freezing together. The slight trail was soon blotted out. I had no alternative but to turn my back to the storm and trust to the horse to find the way to Fort Kipp. Luckily I was wearing a warm buffalo coat, but even this and my buffalo skin moccasins did not prevent me suffering considerably, and I only saved myself from freezing by dismounting at intervals and running beside the horse. In doing so, however, I was in danger of leading the horse away from the point for which he was making. I could see only a few yards in any direction through the blizzard.

Darkness came on, and I did not dare leave the saddle, to the pommel of which I fastened the reins, letting the horse have his head. Fortunately he had been bred in the vicinity and was wonderfully intelligent; he never went out of a walk, but kept plodding long hour after hour through the storm. Around midnight it cleared somewhat, and I could see dimly ahead what I took for the steep bank of the river. I trusted to the horse and he plodded on. The storm thickened again, and for another hour nothing was visible.

Then suddenly I found myself surrounded by lighted windows.

Without my realizing it the horse had walked through the open gate of Fort Kipp and stopped in the middle of the square. It was fortunate I had put my trust in his intelligence; otherwise we should no doubt have been lost, and I would have perished.

Fort Kipp that night was a welcome haven. The comfortable rooms, with their blazing log fires and a warm meal, soon put my blood again in circulation. I inquired of Inspector Brisebois if the two men, Baxter and Wilson, who had been in Macleod on leave, had returned. His reply being that he had not seen them, we concluded they had taken shelter at a small trading post some ten miles up the river, and would come in the following day.

Next morning was clear and I rode to Whoop-up, returning to Kipp in the afternoon with the letters. Here I learned that the horses ridden by the missing men had come into the fort, riderless, soon after I had left, and a party accompanied by Indians had been sent out to search for them. Just before I started for Macleod the poor fellows were brought in, one frozen stiff, the other, Wilson, still breathing, but with arms, legs, and most of his body frozen also. I took a fresh horse and rode as fast as the snow would allow to Macleod, and on my reaching there Dr. Nevitt raced to Fort Kipp, only to find on arrival poor Wilson dead.

The search party had followed the trail of the unfortunate men’s horses to where they had wandered in a circle, and then laid down, soon to freeze in that bitter north wind. Shortly after this sad occurrence another man named Parks, ill from the exposure and hardship of the march, died in the rude hospital at the Fort. These three deaths cast a gloom over us all, and our first New Year in the West. The bodies of Baxter and Wilson were brought to Fort Macleod and buried with military honors by their comrades, with whom they were great favorites.

December 21, 1853. During the week the Indians were coming in from all quarters, to be present with us on next Lord’s-day; a great number have applied to me to be admitted to the Lord’s Table on Sunday next, being Christmas-day. After careful examination and instruction, I admitted 13 new communicants, and as all the Indians belonging to this Station are here, I look forward to a large attendance at the Lord’s Table.

At our usual evening prayer meetings during the week, the school room has been crowded, and my addresses have had reference to the Lord’s Supper, warning and encouraging them to come to that holy ordinance, pointing out the importance of the rite, at the same time the necessity of due examination and preparation for the right reception thereof. I trust that they feel their own sinfulness and unworthiness, and will come in simple dependence upon the Savior, looking to Him for pardon and acceptance, and earnestly praying to be strengthened and refreshed with Divine Grace from on High. May He condescend to bless His own ordinance to their souls, and build them up in their most holy faith, that year by year as this blessed season comes round, they may be found advancing on the divine life & molded more & more into the image of their Savior.

I have often had occasion to notice that they come long distances to attend the Lord’s Table; in this respect they would put to the blush many in my own country, for they think nothing of a fatiguing journey of more than 100 miles, walking in snow shoes, to be present on these highly prized occasions.

Dec. 24. After prayers this evening, we gave our usual Christmas present to the Indians, consisting of Tea, Sugar, Flour, Pimekan, Grease & White Fish, which Charles Thomas, Louis Constant & Chas. Cook divided out to the inmates of each house around the Station, about 30 in all. It occupied some time, but they all went home with their portions and were very grateful, as they are rather short of provisions.

Dec. 25. Lord’s-day, Christmas-day. We commenced the day with our usual early prayer meeting at 7 O’Clock; the School room was crowded and I read in Cree, Matt: 1 chap: 18 ver: to the end, and made some practical remarks both on the birth and death of the Savior, as they were about to commemorate His dying love at the Lord’s Table. About 90 children present at the Sunday school, and Miss Ross continues her valuable aid in instructing the children. We had full morning service in the Church and I never saw it better filled than on this occasion, nor the Indians neater or cleaner in their persons.

I preached from Matt: 21 and then administered the Lord’s Supper to 100 Communicants, being the largest number who have communicated here; they filled round the rails 6 times, and both men & women were very neatly attired, & many of them received the elements with tears and trembling. On the hands of several stretched out to receive the sacred elements, I noticed the marks which they had received when in a state of Heathenism, but blessed be God they have been brought from darkness to light, and from the power of sin and Satan unto God. May they now be sealed by the Spirit as the servants of the living God & in the day of the Savior are found among that great multitude which no man can number, clothed with white robes and palms in their hands.

After the evening service I baptized 2 Infants and then went over to administer the Lord’s Supper to Alexander Chichester, who was prevented by sickness from being present at the Lord’s Table to day. At night I felt exhausted from the duties of the day, and the previous week; and perhaps ministering in a foreign language is more fatiguing than in one’s own. But I bless God that He gives me health and strength to labor for Him & may He be pleased to pardon all my infirmities and accept my poor Service for His dear Son’s sake! Amen.

Dearest Gill:

The happiest of New Years and all the best to both of you. We loved the parcel of books that arrived just the mail before Christmas. We didn’t open them until Christmas morning; books are a real joy to get here and your selection was delightful, suited all our tastes. Joe retires into Robbery under Arms every evening now, and there is never a peep out of him. It will take him weeks to read for he is a slow reader; fortunately Billie read it first or he would have been annoyed at having to wait so long. I haven’t read it, just glanced through it, but I don’t think it is much my style; I prefer the less “bluggy” ones. Thank you so much for them, you certainly need not have apologized for sending books in place of some things more useful. We would rather have books than anything, so send along as many as you like, and as often as you wish.

We had a very nice Christmas Day, though I was disappointed at getting no home parcels or letters. We had quite a lot of English parcels from friends but they were not quite the same; still they made our breakfast table look very festive. Joe had never seen parcels on a breakfast table before. I rather doubt if he has had many presents before and he was quite thrilled at those we gave him and very distressed that he had none for us, but he has not been to Calgary since he was in to meet us. Billie, the young spendthrift, had all sorts of things for me and made my pipe, slippers and book for him look very humble.

I had a tremendous spread, had been cooking for days and the old hens came up to scratch and I take back all the nasty things I said about them in my last letter! After a huge dinner we went skating on the creek. Joe, as most Canadians, is a really good skater. I can manage to keep going fairly but Billie is a perfect menace on skates; he wobbles in every direction, his arms going around like windmills.

He goes where his skates take him, clutches at all and sundry, and finally sits down with the most awful whack, is up again and on in another direction. I keep clear of him for a very little thing upends me. We had a jolly time and returned home ravenous to eat huge quantities of cold turkey, pudding, mince pies and trifle, and after washing up we sat down to eat fruit, nuts, and chocolates, and to read your good books. It was a happy thought on your part to send them. Thank you again.

On Boxing Day, Joe drove to Priddis and oh joy! Returned with my missing parcels, and parcels for Billie from Ireland. Just as we had unpacked everything and the room was knee deep in paper, all the Mortons arrived. Such a mess, but I bundled the paper away and left them to look at our gifts while I got them a meal. As it was a cold day I gave them hot soup as a starter and then cold scraps of everything that was left over. They only stayed about three hours as they had a long drive and the nights are very cold. It’s down below zero nearly every night now. My parcels from home were lovely. Mother and Father still think that we are more or less on the verge of starvation and that we can only get the absolute essentials out here in the way of wearing and household goods and I have no intention of disillusioning them at present.

Our love to you both, Monica

A year later, in December of 1910, Mrs. Hopkins sent the following note to the same friend.

Dearest Gill:

I think I told you that Helene and I were going to have a few days in
Calgary. We had a very nice time, though we were pretty well on the “go” all the time. We had so many presents to buy, not only for ourselves but we had been given several commissions by neighbors as well, and it’s hard to do shopping for other people. The shops looked very festive and there were lovely things to buy, had we the money, which needless to say we had not. Still, we managed to get some quite nice things to send home. Last year Billie and I sent so many pairs of moccasins that one would almost think our people were centipedes! We felt we couldn’t send any more this year so we got them gauntlet gloves made by the Stoneys, with lovely bead work and fringes. If they don’t care to wear them they will make very nice souvenirs. It was fine but cold and a democrat is not the warmest of conveyances. One is so high up the wind seems to catch you from every corner of the globe.

While Helene and I were waiting at the store in Priddis for Billie to come for us, a motorcar drove up and two people got out tourists we imagined them to be. Everything seemed to amuse them: they laughed at a saddle horse tied to a rail, at a wagon standing outside. They even laughed at the outside of the store, which certainly to my mind is nothing to laugh at; it’s ugly enough to make the angels weep! Then they came into the store and evidently found the inside and its occupants even funnier than the outside. That they were Yankees was evident, not young, around forty I would say. He was a nondescript sort of man, while his wife looked as if she had been dissolved and while liquid had been poured into her clothes and allowed to set - what they called in the States “A Stylish Stout.”

They wanted some cigars and candy and they asked Mrs. Dennis how she ever sold anything in this “neck of the woods.” Mrs. Dennis was splendid, instead of getting annoyed as I should have done, and giving them back as good as they gave, she answered them quietly and politely and when the female asked her “For the land’s sake, what do you do here in the winter?” Mrs. Dennis told her there were dances; the young people skated and went visiting. Just as if life was one long social round. The lady sniffed unconvinced and said, “It may suit you but it would drive me off my nut. I guess you have to have been used to nothing else to be able to stand it.” Then, eyeing Helene and me, who were standing quite close by and simply fuming at her rudeness, said to Helene, “I suppose you were born here?” Helene drew herself up and asked in an imperious voice, “Were you speaking to me? If you were, it may interest you to know that I come from Sydney, Australia, and that I love this life.” The lady looked a little subdued and asked me if I was born here, to which I replied in my very best “Oxford voice” that I was English but hoped to make Priddis my home, and that I, too, loved the life. The couple prepared to leave, the lady slightly deflated, but after all she got in the last word, for as she was going through the doorway she said in a loud voice, “I wonder you don’t die of green mould!” and neither Helene nor I could think of anything worthwhile to say, so we remained silent.

Since our return we have not been out. We both caught wretched colds in our heads and have sniffed and sneezed in the most trying manner, and wallowed in camphor and eucalyptus, in hopes of loosening our colds and preventing others in getting them. So far the men have escaped and we are feeling better. We have made the puddings and cakes, also the mince meat. During the summer when eggs were plentiful, I packed several hundred in water glass so that now I am able to make my cakes without waiting for those miserable old hens to condescend to lay an egg. I am able to thumb my nose at the old wretches when I go in to feed them and find devil an egg in the nest boxes and so, out of pure cussedness, the old brutes have started to lay!

Our parcels from home arrived some time ago and are reposing in the bathroom and every day I go in and shake them and sniff. I hope I shall be able to hold out until Christmas Day before I open them. The declaration forms read most delightfully, all sorts of nice things to eat and wear! They were so distressed to hear last year that the parcels were late that evidently they made up their minds to be in good time this Christmas. Billie has a parcel from Ireland and Helene one from
Australia - nothing from you yet - wretch - but there are nearly two weeks so I haven’t given up hope yet.

I must leave this now, the dogs are barking and Helene has just said there are riders at the west gate.

Three weeks since I started this letter and Christmas and New Year’s are over, and we have all recovered from the extra “festive fare” and all the work that it makes. Harry provided the main part of the dinner. The turkey, which he won, curling at Priddis, was a whopper, twenty-nine pounds and my very largest dish only just held him (the sausages had to be served separately); he was delicious and so tender. The pudding and mince pies were voted a great success. The Christmas cake iced with angelica and cherries really looked quite professional. I was very proud of it. Christmas Day was cold and blustery and we didn’t go out at all, ate, slept, and ate again! In the evening we played cards. Our parcels took a long time to open, everyone at home had excelled themselves, and the mild hints that I have been sending all through the year had evidently fallen on good ground and multiplied themselves accordingly! Bless them!

Good-bye and good night, and our love to you both. Monica.