Christmas Traditions and Gift Ideas

The factor assigned me a room with one of his workmen, William Borwick, a man of approximately my own age but who had been in service with the Company for several years, mostly at
Edmonton.

We were approaching the Christmas holidays and there was a growing excitement noticeable among the inmates of the fort. Bill and others spent their spare time making ready their best clothes. The preparations the week before Christmas took on a new tempo of activity. Every dog driver and team was rushing supplies of fish to the fort for the dog trains of the expected visitors. The factor engaged two of the Indians who had buffalo-running horses to go with me after fresh meat, with orders to bring nothing but the best. We returned in four days with our pack horses loaded with two fine cows.

It was the custom of Hudson’s Bay officials to meet at Fort Edmonton during Christmas week, staying for New Year’s Day. They discussed business concerned with the trade, and prepared their orders for the following year. The conference had developed into a week of social activities commemorating the Christmas period.

Fort Pitt, Slave Lake, Chipewyan, Fort Assiniboine, Jasper House, Rocky Mountain House, and Lac La Biche were all represented. The two days before Christmas was a bedlam of noise as each new dog team arrived. Every arrival was a signal for all the dogs of the fort and those of the Crees camped nearby to raise their voices in a deafening uproar of welcome or defiance as their tempers dictated.

The noise was terrific, yet none of the regular inmates paid any attention or made any effort to silence any dog within reach. The drivers of the dog teams and the factors were assigned quarters as quickly as they arrived; the arrangements for the guests were a wonderful example of organized planning.

On Christmas Eve, Father Lacombe drove in to conduct Midnight Mass. I was somewhat surprised that the priest and my employer were on such friendly and cordial terms. Woolsey went out to meet him and immediately invited him to his room, where they spent several hours of congenial conversation. Of course I was on hand to take care of his dogs, as the man drove his own team.

Knowing the Rev. Woolsey’s strong views against dancing, I was reluctant to ask permission to attend the celebrations, but I was burning to go. It was getting late when the priest finally departed for his duties with Catholic members of his church, and I finally screwed up enough courage to face the man.

Mr. Woolsey was seated reading his Bible when I entered his small room. I was in such a hurry to have his verdict that I had prepared no opening speech, although he looked slightly surprised at my late visit. He asked me to be seated, then as if reading my mind or perhaps noticing my flustered condition, said, “So you are fond of dancing.”

It was my turn to look surprised as I answered too quickly in a tone of voice much too loud for that small room, “Yes I am, and that is what I came to see you about. I want your permission to attend.”

Slightly smiling, he answered, “I surmised as much from this late visit. I have given the matter some thought, for you know my principles over dancing. However, you’re a young man and need some recreation; your own conscience must be your guide. I have no objections, provided you conduct yourself as a gentleman. Drinking will be quite conspicuous in tomorrow’s festivities and as my associate I will not permit your indulgence in this miserable business.”

“I can promise you that I’ll do no drinking whatever as I’ve cultivated no taste for liquor. You have my promise on both counts.”

“Thank you, I accept both promises,” and in an amused tone he added, “I hope you don’t find them too heavy an obligation.”

Wishing him the Season’s Greetings, I bade him goodnight.

Delighted with the interview I ran back to our room to tell Bill the happy news. I was greatly relieved. Had he refused, I would have been in a difficult position. Bill was still up awaiting my return and I asked him what would be the order of the day.

“Well, many will be quite jolly as it is the custom for each of the employees to receive a ration of rum the day before Christmas, but by a rule of the Company no-one is to touch it before the next day. There will also be a dance at night; most of the women will come from the two settlements, Lac Ste. Anne and St. Albert. Let me assure you that some of the best-looking women in the West, and for that matter anywhere else, will be at that dance tomorrow night.”

Then I told him of the wonderful news of receiving Woolsey’s permission to attend. I danced a few steps for his benefit. Of course I did not tell him about the promise to abstain from drinking. I wanted all the credit to myself about being a gentleman. That always comes natural to a sober man for I have noticed that some of the most polished gentlemen lose some of their color under the influence of drink.

It was some time before I was able to get to sleep, then suddenly it was morning. I was aroused from a deep sleep by a tremendous bloodcurdling noise that actually seemed to vibrate the room. For a moment I was shocked motionless, then the notes of music sounded into my senses. I was out of bed and scrambled for my clothes. Bill was already half dressed.

John Graham, a Scottish employee, burst into the room, almost incoherent with excitement and fairly dancing in his joy. Finally he shouted at the top of his voice, “The Pibroch! The Pibroch!” Tears coursed down his cheeks as he motioned for Bill and me to come. We dressed in seconds that morning and followed him out as he turned and dashed for the door.

Striding back and forth on the walk that surrounded three sides of the factor’s three-storied building was a man by the name of Colin Fraser playing a set of bagpipes. The long droning notes that precede the actual music were what awakened me so suddenly. He made a striking figure, dressed in all the gay regalia of tartan and kilt, his knees exposed to the elements. He seemed quite indifferent to the weather that was at least thirty degrees below zero. The deep notes of his instrument echoed back from the high hills of the ice-covered Saskatchewan River. It was beautiful even to my unfamiliar ear; never till then had I heard the bagpipes played.

I turned to watch to face of our old friend [Graham] and felt some of the deep loneliness that marked the features of this old man, whose life ambition had been to return to his native land; he now realized he was too late ever to attain it. He stood with his hand on Borwick’s shoulder; unashamed tears flowed down his cheeks. That night Bill and I carried him to his room, too inebriated to manage his own way.

Shortly after breakfast a horn was sounded, a sign that the factor was ready to receive the salutations of the men at the fort.

I accompanied Borwick in this customary courtesy. After greeting each man in turn the chief clerk, who stood at the factor’s elbow for this purpose, handed each man a drink of rum. I watched Bill out of the corner of my eyes as I took my turn to shake hands and offer the factor the happy returns of the day. When I refused my offer of a drink, I could see consternation and anger on Bill’s face. We were scarcely out of the room when he gave me a sound going over for refusing the drink.

“Look here, Peter! You have been guilty of a grave discourtesy in refusing a drink. This has been the custom of the Company since the memory of the oldest man in the service.”

“My dear sir, I’m not an employee of your grand Company; my first duty is to my employer. The matter of the minister’s man refusing a drink of rum will, I hope, not create a revolution in the service. Perhaps you’d better interview Mr. Woolsey before the situation gets too serious.”

He gave me a disgusted look but said no more. However, I noticed that he made a great fuss and ceremony when it came time to open his own ration in our room and never offered me a courtesy drink that he had so strongly advocated early that morning. Up to this time and for several years afterwards, I had no desire for strong drink nor had occasion to test its possibilities, but regret to say that at this late date, I’m afraid I could not claim that boast.

Christmas day was spent in visiting among those gathered at the fort. Woolsey held a service in English which everybody attended, regardless of affiliation. I was not called up to interpret but sat with his audience.

I had heard stories of unrestricted convivial times at these Christmas gatherings but there was no evidence of excess that day, other than our friend Graham who appeared to be under no obligation to share his portion with any other of the workmen. He gave Bill a drink but when I refused mine, he took an extra for himself, first holding the glass high in the air in my direction, smacking his lips in anticipation, then sipping with evident relish, nodding his head towards me with an air of admiring approval as if my refusal was a personal act of kindness to himself.

The dance that night I thought upheld Bill’s claims; in fact he had slightly underrated it. Borwick, being an old-timer in the area, seemed to know every person there and soon made me acquainted with a number of his friends. They were friendly and cordial and called me by my first name without the formal use of surname. When Bill introduced me as Peter, I drew him aside and pointed out his omission.

“Heck, everyone around here knows you as Erasmus, the minister’s man, so why waste time? It’s the custom around here to use first names or nicknames. They would think you were trying to put on airs if I called you Mr. Erasmus. Only factors, ministers of the church, and priests have a handle to their names.”

Colors in clothes were quite in evidence but nothing as startling as in later years. The Hudson’s Bay stores at that time were more conservative in their choices of colors and they were the only source of supply. Therefore dress in those days gave more attention to utility than fashion. Neatness of apparel was of primary importance and the winsome maids of the prairie were quite as adept at adjusting the means at hand as their sisters a quarter of a century later.

A big lunch was served at midnight in the homes of the married couples, where the guests had previously left their contributions of food at the homes of their friends and acquaintances. Young bachelor residents of the post were pressed into service as chore boys, regardless of their wishes in the matter. I presumed that usage had established a precedent; at any rate I found that single men were mere appendages of the wives’ organization for entertaining their guests; we were errand boys. Bill’s apparent enjoyment of my hesitant and clumsy handling of the job was plain to see. Wherever there was a shortage of any particular food, we were sent to a neighboring house for supplies and we were both too busy to share in the talk and pleasantry going on wherever we went.

I was getting quite rebellious and said so in a low tone to Bill, who just laughed and told me to have a little more patience. At last the guests were all served and started drifting back to the dance floor. Most of the crowd had taken their food standing up around the tables. Not us; we were seated at a table with our hostess and the husband who from some hidden secret place brought out a sadly depleted bottle. Bill’s malicious grin and wink was a determining factor in stiffening my weakened resistance.

Three attractive young ladies kept us supplied with food and talk; I refused the drink but needed no second invitation to start on the food. Under these circumstances I regained my good humor and for revenge on Bill, entered into a gay conversation with our attentive and pretty waitresses. Bill’s devotion to the bottle left him badly handicapped in that competition.

There was very little rest for the musicians between dances, and there were plenty of fiddlers among the French Metis people from Lac Ste. Anne. Having too good a time dancing I did not offer my services that night, but later on I happened to mention to Bill that I liked playing the fiddle, and thereafter on Borwick’s insistence I had to do my share.

The settlement guests all left for their homes at broad daylight.

After dancing all night they had to run behind dogs for another forty miles before they would have any rest or sleep. The men were tough athletes to stand a grind like that and I did not envy their trip under those conditions.

The more serious business of the post leaders was of course not neglected for any of the social events at the fort or at the settlements. The conference was brought to a final grand finish with New Year’s Day sports. There were foot races, toboggan slides on the North Saskatchewan River hill, some competitions for the women, and the big dog-train race of three miles on the river. Every team from each post competed in this race. Each factor contributed a share to this prize; the winner took all, which was a choice of any clothes in stock to the amount of approximately twenty-five dollars.

The employed dog drivers for the Company at Edmonton asked the factor if they could allow me to drive one of their two dog teams. He consented, provided the other leaders agreed. They readily consented as they considered me poor competition against their own hardened and skillful drivers.

Bill heard about the arrangement and came to me with the intention of talking me out of it. “Man, you haven’t a chance in the world against these men from Jasper House and Athabasca; fifty miles a day is a regular run for them. They would be ashamed if they were caught riding. They are tough, strong young men. Heck, man! That’s all they know, just running behind dogs all winter.”

“Bill, I’m going to beat every last one of them; I’ll tell you how I aim to do it. Every driver has been idle, eating and drinking to the limit of his capacity all week. Their dogs are the same, and will be in no fit condition for a short fast race like this will be. Our dogs are in work shape. The team I drive has made a trip to Lac Ste. Anne this week; they are not overfed and they are rested enough to be keen in tomorrow’s run. Bet your shirt, Bill; if you lose, I’ll give you one of mine. Besides, I don’t drink and that’s my biggest lead over all the others.”

This latter remark was just a dig for Bill’s private opinions on drinking, but I had considerable faith in my ability as a runner, for I had won foot races against some pretty strong competition. My trips for the post after game and fish had kept me in good condition. Pierre, the driver of the second team, had urged me to enter the race and had been the one to approach the factor.

“Peter, you by gar, are de best runner in dese parts. You win de race for sure. You never drink de whisky, while dem men dey drink, dey eat an’ feed de dogs like peegs. Dey lazy like Hell, all de week. For sure you win dat race, maybe.”

The starting point was marked by stakes frozen in the ice far enough apart to accommodate the seven teams at the line. One mile and a half downriver was another set of stakes, three in number around which we must drive before returning to the starting line. Failure to pass around the far stake would disqualify any driver. There were judges at this end and watchers at the other to make sure the drivers complied with the rules. No man was allowed to foul up another driver or cut in unless he had a clear lead to the trail that would be well marked on our trip downriver.

We were off! Bill was my helper at the post. I had given him instructions to hold the dogs back until at least half of the others had started. They would be plowing snow on an unraveled track. Bill, disgusted at that foolish way of starting, nevertheless obeyed. There were four teams in the lead, all abreast for the first two hundred yards or so. The Jasper man had the same idea as I had; he was holding his dogs to the track already made by the other four toboggans. One man was left at the post as his dogs in their eagerness had become fouled up in their harness. I could see that the man from Jasper would be my strong competitor.

What none of the other drivers knew about was a stretch of overflow ice on the last half mile of the course downriver where I hoped to pass the others without plowing deep snow. Pierre our Edmonton driver was now in second place behind the Fort Pitt man. We were all closely bunched when we made the turn but I got ahead of the fourth team as his dogs cut short instead of rounding the marker posts, and he had to turn his dogs.

I was now in third place, the Jasper man directly behind me.

When I came opposite the overflow ice, I struck into the deep snow as if to pass the team ahead; he started to follow me but seeing the depth of snow turned back. The minute I reached the thin snow on the overflow ice, I cracked the whip over the dogs’ backs and yelled. They almost threw me off the sleigh with their increased speed, as I had climbed on the sleigh to give it weight.

Now ahead of all the others, I allowed myself plenty of room before cutting back to the track. I had the race if I could stand the pace that I was being forced to travel to hold my lead. I had a brief breather while riding the overflow but jumped off when I came to the now well marked trail.

The Fort Pitt man was close up behind me and I knew I had to outdistance him before we reached the last quarter mile, because then he would also have a broken trail to follow. Now for the second time since starting I cracked my whip over the dogs, yelling for more speed, not hitting them but my voice and whip urging more speed.

I did not dare to look behind me at the others but was content with side glances only. For truth to tell, I had neither breath to spare nor energy to worry about opponents as long as I could see no driver ahead. We were only a hundred yards or so from the starting posts when another side glance showed the Fort Pitt man gaining beside me, his lead dog almost opposite my toboggan front. Only the short distance would save the race for me as I had the limit of speed out of my dogs. I hit the finish line with only a two dog advantage over my opponent.

Bill was like a crazy man, shouting and yelling his triumph for my win, but I found out later his delight was for himself as he had won a new shirt and pants by betting on my team to win. He even forgot to congratulate me as all the others did as soon as I could get my breath to acknowledge my thanks. Pierre and the Jasper man had fought for third place but the Jasper man beat him in a closer finish than my win. In fact the judges had some doubt about it but Pierre acknowledged his defeat. He told me afterwards, by gar, he didn’t care as long as our Edmonton team won a first.

At daylight the next morning the far-distant post managers had pulled out for another long year of isolated wilderness where their duties held little of entertainment and no social life whatever, until the following gathering a year hence at Edmonton. No wonder the Chief Factor had put so much effort and attention for their comfort and entertainment while they were in
Edmonton.

It seems such a time since I have written to you, but it cannot be very long for your letter has not gone yet. It was the 24th, Thursday, that I finished it, and in a great hurry I was too.

After lunch on the 24th I got [Inspector] Denny to come with me and we went down through the bush towards Kanouse’s, both with rifles. I saw four fine deer but did not get a shot at them. We went a long, long way and at last saw some more deer far off from the immediate bank of the river, feeding on the hill side as it slopes down from the prairie to the river bottom. We made a wide detour and climbed the steep hill and out on the prairie level and crept towards the deer. We got above them and figuring to try and get near fired at a long range and missed them. There were six of them; we were very much disgusted and came home. We got into camp just as the bugle sounded the “Dress” for dinner. Our dinner was very nice; the table lay with a sheet as a tablecloth. It is the only sheet in camp. After dinner I went to my room and with Ferland, my Hospt. Sergt. began to dissect some eyes of a deer. I finished them during the evening altho’ I was interrupted by various calls as Secretary of the Mess Committee.

Christmas day, of course, was observed as a Holyday. In the morning Capt. Jackson fired off our big gun with shells at an old tree and struck a branch of it, cutting it off completely. The pow-wow that was to have taken place the day before was put off on account of all the Indians not being able to get there. Instead we are to have it on Christmas. All the morning men were busy making mottoes to be hung around the room. They were painted in vermillion on white cloth and looked very well. “The Nor’West Mounted Police, Pioneers of a Glorious Future,” “Law and Order is Peace and Prosperity,” “Our Absent Friends, God Bless ‘em.” How my heart echoed back “God Bless them.” How I wondered then what you were doing and where you were. I knew wherever you were and whatever you were doing you would think of me, did you not, old woman? I know you did, but I want to hear you say you did. How I would like to see you and hear you speak, fold you in my arms once again. Oh Liz when I come back we won’t separate again for so long, will we? I don’t think I could be happy after seeing you again, to leave you for so long.

At two o’clock the Indians came and we took them out on the prairie to show them the effect of our artillery at a long range. They were greatly impressed thereat and after returning to the Mess Room we proceeded to feed them, Biscuit, Rice & Molasses & Coffee. They ate until they were portly full and then the Col. [Asst. Commissioner James F. Macleod], taking the Chiefs aside, talked to them. The squaws came and had a show in the good things going; some of them were quite handsome for squaws but all of them dirty. The young “Bucks” were all dressed to kill- feathers and paint and furs and gaudy blankets and beads. They all went away quietly about 5 o’clock. The men of the Troops had invited their respective Officers to dinner at their quarters in the middle of the day and from what we can hear they had most sumptuous repasts. Our dinner was not to be despised as the enclosed “Bill of Fare” will show you. The last course finished, we had a small jar of whiskey brought on the table, a present from [Fort] Benton, and in whiskey we drank to our “Absent Friends”. No other toast was drunk and no speech was made, for none was required. Then sitting round the table smoking, we talked of Christmases gone by, of friends & home.

About eleven o’clock we went over to “B” Troop to a dance and concert given by the men. Some of the songs were excellent, the dancing quite enjoyable and the remainder of the evening passed in revelry. About 12 we went to “F” Troop for supper and there had oysters, canned fruit pies, rice pudding, plum pudding and lots of it. The Interpreter then sent for the squaws and at 2 o’clock they came over and danced. We gave them some supper and 4 o’clock saw the end of the Christmas Day.

I guarantee that such a Christmas had never been seen in the Nor’West. Everyone expected to have a gloomy sad time, but the united efforts of men and officers managed to dispel the gloom and if Christmas was not exactly merry, it was at all events, pleasant.

Your own,
Barrie

From a Blackfoot Boy You have been telling in your paper of the way all the white people enjoyed themselves at Christmas and New Year, so now please let us tell you how we enjoyed ourselves on the Blackfoot reserve. Well, to begin with, we boys and girls take a great interest in

Santa Claus and as he paid us a visit last year, we thought we would get something again, so we got a long rope and stretched it across the room and put all our stockings and socks on it on Christmas eve. He came sure, and we all got candies and nuts and plums and one boy got a card sent from
England and the girls got scissors and hair ribbons too.

At 11 o’clock on Christmas Day we had service in our new schoolhouse and heard about Jesus being born and sang our Christmas hymns in Blackfoot. At 1 o’clock, 0 my! We had a fine dinner, roast beef and plum pudding. Three big plum puddings, one for each table, and Albert, he couldn’t eat his all up, and Mr. Tims, he said it was the first time Albert said he couldn’t eat any more.

Well, after dinner we went on to the ice to play and at 5 o’clock the big bell began to ring and there was no boy late for tea this night. We never saw anything like it before. The cakes were all white on the top and little rabbits and mice all over them, but the boys soon found it was all sugar, and there were no rabbits or mice after tea. Well, when tea was over we heard a great noise, and the boys, they said it was old Santa Claus come, and we all ran out and there he was coming over from the Mission house with a long white beard, and a dress like an old woman, and a bundle of things on his arm and we all laughed at him and we all went into the school house. Then we saw what Mr. Baker and Miss Garlick and the other teacher had been doing all the afternoon. They had got a pine tree and dressed it up with all sorts of things, and all the boys and girls looked happy.

Old Santa Claus, he said some of the Indians could come in and see it too, so a lot of our fathers and mothers, they came in and sat down and the tree was lit up with candles and Santa Claus began to give us some things. The boys got boots, braces, handkerchiefs, knives, and the little boys got tin horses and dogs and the girls they got dolls and work bags and one got a knife, fork and spoon in a box all the way from
Toronto. Then we had apples and scrambled for nuts and candies which Santa Claus said Mr. Haynes sent.

After that we had games and played “nuts and may” and “turn the trencher” and all the Indians, they played too, and we sang songs and that was how we spent Christmas.

Very good, sir. And then at New Year, Mr. Tims always gives our parents a feast then and about fifty Indians all came to the school-house and had bread and beef, and apple pies, and lots of tea, and Mr. Tims he gave to each father a quilt and a shirt or coat or something that came up in the bales, and our mothers (some of us have 2 or 3 mothers) they had a dress or a petticoat and something else, a hood or a scarf. This was the parents’ feast. Then the next day all the other Indians came, and the children got something, a pair of mitts or a doll and Mr. Tims he gave all the old women petticoats or something else and the girls got dresses and the boys scarves and hats and everybody had tea and bread and jam and all we boys and girls had candies.

I don’t know how many people there were, about 150 I should think. This was all New Year’s at this camp. Eagle Ribs’ people at the South Camp, where there is another school, they had New Year’s too and got some things same as the Indians here. Next year, Mr. Editor, I will tell you again what we do, and I hope there will be a lot more bales [of clothing] come up again.

My Dear Child,

Would you like to hear the story How we spent last Xmas Day?

I would not think to tell you but you are so far away.

We’d service in the morning In the church that’s up the lane.

It was filled to overflowing and With Indians in the main.

There were Crow Child and Jim Big Plume with their wives and children too, Eagle Rib and Old Grasshopper, In all a motley crew.

They all stood at the entrance Of the church you know so well, Mother, Miss McNutt & Sydney (Whose leg is not quite well.)

The parson in his surplice With his scarf & hood complete, Also stood close to the entrance of the church just up the street.

Wm. Stocken with a Kodak said All ready!

There, that’s good, And he snapped the little shutter and photographed us as we stood.

Then we all went into service And we sang the Christmas Hymns and we thanked God for the Savior Who was born in Bethlehem.

Mother made for us the Music Using both her hands and feet, and we all joined in the singing “Peace on Earth”, as it was meet.

When we got back to the Mission We all prepared for lunch Cold turkey & plum pudding And all good things at this lunch.

We next put in the horses, The sleigh that holds just 4 and when all were neatly seated we drove off from the door.

We started for the Hogbins Through the snow, some places deep.

We got on very nicely, till We reached the hill that’s steep.

Then we had a small diversion For a bolt dropped from the sleigh, unless we had then seen it I’d p’raps not be writing you this day.

Uncle Jim & Reg looked for it till their legs began to tire then we had to do without it and tie up the sleigh with wire.

We got safely to the Hogbins and the night was very fine, we found them waiting for us for ’twas just time to dine.

We were just a merry party But we wanted one face more.

Can you guess whom I allude to? Well, the glass will tell you, sure.

There were just 14 for dinner The staff came in from the school we had all the usual good things and the “kids” ate to the full.

Then we placed chairs down the middle of the room & marched around To the tune of Hogbin’s music And some sat upon the ground.

The chairs were not sufficient to accommodate us all And now I’ve told the reason why some of us got a “fall.”

Well now I’ve told you truly how we spent last Xmas Day So I had better stop here and Write more another day.

This holiday season, people can phone their relatives or their loved ones who separated and unable to share in Christmas family traditions. The telephone call is truly a superb christmas present connecting hearts and minds of those that may be separated by thousands of miles and yet the Christmas spirit can reach remarkable well across countries and oceans.

Some notes about the phone:

• Alexander Graham Bell said the idea for the telephone came to him in
  Brantford, Ontario, in the summer of 1874.
• Bell’s granddaughter recalled in 1950: “Grandfather never said ‘Hello’ on the telephone, and it exasperated him that this greeting had become general, instead of ‘Hoy, hoy,’ which he considered more euphonious.”
• In 1877,
  Massachusetts businessman Charles Williams installed the first private line - in his home, so his wife could reach him during the day .
• In 1878, Emma M. Nutt became the first female telephone operator. Previously, young boys had been used but their language proved to be unsuitable .
• In 1879, exchanges listed only the names of subscribers, who resented numbers as an affront to their individuality .
• In 1889, William Gray invented the pay phone after he had been refused a call to his sick wife from work.
• In 1915, to inaugurate transcontinental service,
  Bell repeated his “Mr. Watson, come here” message. This time his assistant, Thomas A. Watson, was in
  San Francisco and he replied it would take him a week.

(Sources: The Canadian Inventions Book,
Baltimore Sun, wire services.)

Pole’s Notes

OK, well not telephone poles but…

The South Pole was reached on December 14, 1911, by Roald Amundsen. Because of a navigation error, his British rival, Robert Scott, missed the pole by one kilometre the following month. Except for an overflight in 1929, no one visited the pole again until 1956. In the winter, it is sometimes colder at the South Pole than it is on the surface of Mars. The world’s lowest temperature was recorded at Vostok,
Antarctica, in 1983: minus 89.2 degrees Celsius.

Have a much “warmer” Christmas!

December 2 is Walter Plinge Day in England. By a long tradition, writes Richard Huggett in The Curse of Macbeth and Other Theatrical Superstitions, a British actor who has two parts in the same play takes the name Walter Plinge for the second role. The original Mr. Plinge may have been a theatre-crazy, 19^th century pub landlord in Drury Lane, London, who extended unlimited credit to actors - an unlikely story, if you know any actors. (Wilfred Granville, author of the definitive Theatrical Dictionary, says one Sunday the grateful thespians allowed Mr. Plinge to appear on stage in his own name in a benefit performance in his honour.) At the turn of the century, Walter Plinge was appearing in three West End shows simultaneously. In the United States, George Spelvin is the Plinge equivalent. His theatrical birthday is believed to be November 15, 1886, in the New York production Karl the Peddler. He is credited with more than 10,000 Broadway performances; his female equivalent is Georgina or Georgetta Spelvin.

So what does this really have to do with Chrstmas or December a month of hope?

We’re so glad you asked.

Walter Plinge (England) and George Spelvin (also Georgette Spelvin or Georgina Spelvin in United States) are traditional pseudonyms used in programs by theater actors who don’t want to be credited or whose names would otherwise appear twice (or more) because they are playing more than one role in a production.

Such gestures are synonymous with the saying “is it better to give than to receive”… giving a performance without needing proper credit for a role which, may indeed be what the actor the audience truly remembers.

The true spirit of Christmas is captured by these anonymous creations.

Tsan-is-tsis ak-o-to Omuk-a-to-yi-ksis-tsi-ku-yi?” “When will the Big Holy Day arrive?”

A month or six weeks before Christmas this is the question uppermost in the minds of the Indians and addressed almost daily to those whose lot is cast among them.

Being a Christian festival, it was unknown among the Blackfoot speaking people fifty years ago, but it has gained such a hold upon them that they now look forward to it as much or more than they do to the Calgary Stampede.

The writer remembers the difficulty he had in the early days in trying to make them understand the meaning of Christmas. When, with but an imperfect knowledge of their language, he told them through an interpreter that “God sent His Son into the world,” the interpreter, whose grasp of English was equally poor, told them that “God sent Natos, the sun, into the world.”

But the Indians realized that the day had some special meaning to the white man when they were all called together to a feast and distribution of clothing in the little log school building. It took a day and a night to prepare for the affair. Bales of clothing had arrived from
England, consisting of warm garments for men, women and children. This had to be sorted out in the Mission House the day previous, with blinds drawn, for swarthy faces would be pressed close to the window-panes with blankets drawn up over the heads to see whatever might be seen.

The whole night was spent in boiling beef and cutting up bread and then slicing the meat to make sandwiches and finally preparing a boiler full of good, black tea. At one such feast the greatest amusement, which might well have been otherwise but for the fun it aroused, was caused when by mistake a five pound package of Epsom salts was used instead of a similar quantity of sugar to mix with the tea. Packets of each were in the cupboard done up in brown paper as they had been brought back from the store, and the wrong one had been taken. The error was only discovered when some of the Indians began to ask for a further supply of Is-tsi-ksi-pok-ho, salt water! When the joke was explained to them they seemed to enjoy it, but it helped to shorten the party, for soon one by one everybody made for the door, and the distributor was left alone.

At ten o’clock in the morning the chief was told that all was ready, and according to Indian custom he walked through the camp crying. “Ni-nou-uk, a-ke-u-uk, po-kau-uk, O-muka-is-sto-wan kit-urnmok-o-au.” “Men, women, children, Big Knife invites you to the feast!” And the camp was alive with a great throng of human beings of all ages, with faces painted all colors, with bodies clothed in flour sacks, striped demin, Hudson’s Bay blankets or old buffalo robes, and decorated with earrings and necklaces, with bracelets on their arms and rings on almost every finger of both hands and composed chiefly of brass and copper wire twisted round in several strands.

The tea, food, and clothing had already been carried into the school room and placed at the far end of the building. When the door was thrown open the people poured in in one long stream. There were a few seats along the walls. These were soon filled by some of the leading men. The women and children squatted on the floor and as the Indians continued to stream in there was such a crush that they were like herrings packed in a barrel.

How to reach the people with the sandwiches was a problem.

They had to be passed along from hand to hand and the tea in the same way. There was no need for crockery of any description. The food was taken in the hand. The Indians all brought their own utensils for the tea. And what a variety of utensils there were! There were old wooden basins of native manufacture, tin cans holding half a gallon, and toilet articles of every description. Details must be left to the reader’s imagination. The women carried under their blankets small sacks in which they deposited all the food and candies that the family could not eat, and large cans into which all the tea was collected. There was certainly nothing wasted.

The food having been all consumed, the next thing was the distribution of the clothing - shirts, mufflers or socks for the men, flannel petticoats or woolen crossovers for the women, warm dresses for the girls, and shirts, socks and woolen helmets for the boys.

The building at once became one mixed dressing room. The men and boys commenced to adorn themselves with their shirts, the women stepped into their petticoats, the girls into their dresses, and both boys and men left the school with their shirt tails flowing in the breeze, for having no trousers, only breechclouts and leggings, all of the shirt had to remain visible. Before they left, however, the children were all called upon to sing in their native tongue a translation of “0 come, all ye faithful,” which had been taught them in school.

The poverty of the Indians in those days, when the annuity from the government of $5.00 per head was about all the money they could look forward to, and the rations doled out to them were the meagerness, made them only too grateful for the clothing which the missionary was able to hand out to them. The English bale was soon augmented by new and second hand clothing from the Women’s Auxiliary of the church in eastern
Canada.

Waistcoats were much-prized articles of clothing in those days, for the little pockets were found so useful in which to carry the ration tickets which had to be shown twice a week when going for the beef and flour. On one occasion a man became so angry because there were not enough to go round that he seized the missionary and demanded the waistcoat he was wearing - but he didn’t get it.

On another Indian reserve, in addition to useful wearing apparel, several women’s hats were sent up in the bale. One was a straw with a large feather which especially attracted the men. The missionary was mobbed by a number of the Indians in their desire to become its proud owner. The man into whose possession it came only retained it for a few minutes before he disposed of it to another in exchange for a Cayuse!

As time passed and the system of residential schools was established, the Christmas feast became a more orderly affair. The Indians were admitted in batches and were served the meal in the dining room, sitting up to tables provided with enamelware plates and mugs. The bread and meat was supplemented with apple pie or other dessert. The women still brought their small sacks and cans under their blankets to carry away all that they or their families could not eat. It was often a wonder to a new worker that the Indians were able to get away with such quantities of food and tea, until the receptacles under the women’s blankets were pointed out to them.

The years went on, and as the teaching given in the schools and in the churches, which had now been erected for their use, began to be better understood, the real spirit of Christmas seemed to take possession of them. The Christmas service became the chief thing on that morning. The Indians arrived early in order to see their children in the residential school, and to bring them presents before the hour of service. The church was packed with worshippers who joined in the singing and prayers as heartily as a white congregation, and the offerings were quite equal in proportion to those in the white churches.

As means of obtaining a livelihood opened up, the gifts of clothing gradually ceased, for they were able to purchase all they needed from their own earnings. They still have a feast on a day during the festival week, when they are invited with their children to the school, and attend the concert or entertainment provided by their boys and girls.

But the Indians are not satisfied with that. They must now make feasts in their own homes. For this they work hard for weeks previous to Christmas. They go to the bush to cut dry wood and haul it into the city for sale. They drive for miles to locate and haul fir trees into town - all for this one purpose, that they may make a good feast and be able to invite all their friends.

The great change that has come over the Indians in this part of the country is inconceivable. The writer has been invited of late years to the annual feast given by Chief Joe Big Plume on the Sarcee Reserve. China cups and saucers for the tea, china plates for the food, which consists largely of canned stuff, fruit, nuts and candy, to say nothing of the pies and cakes that his wife and some of her friends have spent most of the previous night in preparing. All this is set out on long tables put up for the occasion. The people come in and sit down, as many as can do so at one sitting. When they have finished, another lot takes their place, a number of young women the meanwhile clearing the tables and washing up the used crockery. In the evening all adjourn to the council hall and wind up the day with an old fashioned dance.

By the first of the New Year, the Indians will be as poor as they were before they began to sell firewood and Christmas trees. But somehow they will find a way of providing for themselves and their dependents during the remainder of the winter.

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.