by Frank Galgay
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Classic Christmas stories [electronic resource] / [edited by] Frank Galgay.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Electronic monograph.
Issued also in print format.
ISBN 978-1-77117-070-3 (EPUB).--ISBN 978-1-77117-071-0 (Kindle).--
ISBN 978-1-77117-072-7 (PDF)
1. Christmas--Newfoundland and Labrador. 2. Newfoundland
and Labrador--Social life and customs. I. Galgay, Frank, 1940-
GT4987.15. C63 2012 394.2663’09718 C2012-905783-5
© 2012 by Frank Galgay
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of the work covered by the copyright hereon may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic or mechanical—without the written permission of the publisher. Any request for photocopying, recording, taping, or information storage and retrieval systems of any part of this book shall be directed to Access Copyright, The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 800, Toronto, ON M5E 1E5. This applies to classroom use as well.
Cover Design: Adam Freake
Cover Illustration: Matt Tames
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I dedicate this anthology to my family,
especially my wife, Rosemary, our four
children, their spouses, and my four grandchildren,
who cherish and enjoy the true meaning
and spirit of the Christmas season.
Introduction
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play.
And wild and sweet words repeat
Of peace on Earth, good will to men!
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
IT HAS BEEN A labour of love over these past few years to compile a series of stories by some very prominent citizens and writers relating to Christmas in Newfoundland and Labrador. These stories cover the period from the 1800s to the present and reflect the emotions of joy, happiness, humour, tragedy, caring, sharing, peace, and goodwill. I have made a special effort to research and attach a brief biographical sketch of each living and deceased writer. The information, if it was available, was obtained from individual writers, relatives, the library, and archival sources.
Our Christmas customs and celebrations in Newfoundland and Labrador reflect a rich and diverse range of traditions that our ancestors brought over from the mother countries of England, Ireland, Scotland, and France. They have been further enriched by the presence of persons from other countries where the season plays a significant role in their lives.
I hope that these Christmas stories relating to Newfoundland and Labrador will enhance our knowledge and appreciation of the past. They will, hopefully, help us celebrate all that is associated with the unchangeable message of the Christmas season.
All of the stories contained herein have been written by some of Newfoundland and Labrador’s—indeed, by some of Canada’s—finest writers and have been published in magazines and other media over the past 160 years. In the spirit of preserving their originality, I have opted to present them, without substantive editing, as they appeared in their respective publications.
FRANK GALGAY
The New Schoolmaster of Punch Bowl: A Newfoundland Christmas Tale
by Rev. Moses Harvey
THE OLD SCHOOLMASTER OF Punch Bowl had at length passed over to the great majority, and irrevocably joined the mighty nations of the dead. For more than a quarter of a century had he urged successive generations of young Punch Bowlers along the flowery paths of knowledge. Believing thoroughly in the entire depravity of human nature, he held that there was but one way of getting knowledge into the heads of the young—a sharp application of the rod at the opposite extremity. The newfangled ways of smoothing the path of learning, and making knowledge pleasant and attractive, he despised as weak and contemptible. The very moderate success which attended his educational labors, he accounted for by the theory which he firmly held—that the children born in Punch Bowl were all utterly and irreclaimably stupid— “the very scruff of Newfoundland.” Grim and rough as he was, there were “streaks” of kindness in his heart if you could only strike on them. His temper, however, was sorely tried with the wild boys of the village; and if the instruction imparted by the poor old man was moderate in amount, his salary was proportionately small. Perhaps after all, amid his rude environments, and sore discouragements, it might be said of him, “he did what he could”; and helped a little pioneer the way for better things. One wintry afternoon, an hour before the usual time of dismissal, he gladdened the hearts of his scholars by saying, in gentler tones than usual, “Children, its growing dark—get home before the storm comes.” Next day he was reported to be sick; and before a week had passed his coffin was borne to the little church-yard. Then people discovered his good points; and many a kindly word was spoken of the old man when he was quite insensible to human praise and blame.
“It won’t do, ” said Parson Hurlbut to his wife, “to have the school closed. We must send to St. John’s for a trained teacher who will be abreast of the age, and help to raise these people out of the ruts of ignorance.” “Let him be a young man, and unmarried, ” said Mrs. Hurlbut— “these old men with wives and children will not be advised, and make no improvements.” In response to the Parson’s application, a young schoolmaster was despatched to Punch Bowl. He was rather a well-favored youth, and dressed smartly. His accent and polished manners showed that he lived in the metropolis of the colony. He never taught in his shirt-sleeves, like his predecessor; never was seen to smoke a pipe as he heard the lessons, and, to the astonishment of the Punch Bowlers, he discarded the rod, and announced his intention of trusting entirely to “moral suasion”—a mysterious phrase which the good people did not pretend to understand, and therefore reverenced the more as “a new discovery in larnin’.” The Parson’s wife was charmed with the young schoolmaster, and never tired sounding his praises. When he met her, he raised his hat gracefully, and always addressed her as “Madam.” She was a woman “of a certain age, but very uncertain temper, ”—sharp in features and by no means prepossessing in appearance. The good people of the village respected her as their Parson’s wife, but I am afraid did not love her. There was a hardness about her manner, and a want of sympathy with the feelings, wants and woes of the little community in which she lived. Perhaps if she had been a mother, the natural asperity of her temper would have been softened, and her better and kindlier nature fostered into activity by the clinging caresses of the little ones; but the patter of little feet was not heard in her dwelling—the Parson and she were childless. In the young schoolmaster she took an uncommon interest, and declared that the school since he came, was quite another thing, and so it was. Hands and faces were cleaner among the children; and to the astonishment of parents, the boys and girls liked to go to school, and could hardly be kept at home. The Parson declared the young schoolmaster was a treasure. His surname was not an uncommon one—it was Smith; but either because his parents were religious people or in order that he might not be lost among the immense and indiscriminate mass of Smiths, they named him Melchise
dek. After he had been a year at the St. John’s academy, young Melchisedek resolved to aid the effect by changing his homely patronymic into Smythe.
For a time all went on smoothly with Melchisedek in his new sphere of labor. His fame for learning spread far and wide. As in the case of Goldsmith’s schoolmaster, the main source of astonishment was “how one small head could carry all he knew.” It was even whispered that he could “tackle”” the Parson in argument. On Sundays, his fine voice was greatly admired as he led the choir and uttered the responses. He taught the children to sing, to the great delight of the mothers. He organized a Lodge of Good Templars, and speedily had the gawky young fishermen adepts in the evolutions and ceremonial of the Order, and rejoicing in a whole alphabet of letters prefixed to their names. He had but one difficulty to contend with—he was remarkably short-sighted; and of this defect his scholars did not fail to take advantage.
Still young Melchisedek could not help feeling that life was rather dull in the stupid little village of Punch Bowl, after the glow and excitement of St. John’s. When his scholars had taken their departure, and the hum of the little human hive had been followed by dead silence, he might be seen, at times gazing out of the window, with a wearied and doleful expression of countenance. On one of these occasions, he became aware—short-sighted as he was, that from a window opposite, a pair of dark eyes were fixed upon him with interest. There was something, he thought altogether uncommon in the bayonet-flash that came from those dark orbs, and made a flame leap from heart to eyes in quick response. He was conscious of a new sensation. Somehow he found himself afterwards, even during school hours, watching that window; and if the black eyes shone there for a moment, as often they did, there came such a glow over the master’s face as made sunshine in the school, and mightily helped the scholars in getting through the lessons. It was evident that young Melchisedek had met his fate; and the fatal glance had come from the Parson’s kitchen window. There, among Mrs. Hurlbut’s pots and pans, presided Mary Manuel, the eldest daughter of a small “planter, ” having taken service with the Parson, in order to somewhat lighten her father’s expenses, who had what he called “a heavy family” of eleven children. Mary was the acknowledged belle of the village—plump as a seal, rosy-cheeked, with a most bewitching smile, suggestive lips, and above all, a pair of glorious black eyes which seemed to challenge admiration. It was no wonder those bright orbs set the schoolmaster’s heart in a glow, for they had once drawn from an Irishman the compliment, “be dad, Mary, if ye would only look into my pipe, yer eyes would light it.”
How acquaintance soon ripened into tender intimacy between Mary and the Schoolmaster, may be safely left to the imagination of each reader of this true tale. Very soon the boys in school as they irreverently and unfeelingly termed it, “twigged” how matters stood; and commenced carving the name “Mary” on the desks with their penknives. A precocious little girl of eleven was the first to make the discovery, by following the direction which the master’s eyes took so frequently, as he gazed out of the window. “The course of true love never did run smooth.” One thing which the Parson’s wife refused to tolerate with her servants was “followers.” These were sternly prohibited under all circumstances, with the threat of instant dismissal, in case of a violation of the rule. Mary felt it to be a hard law, when one evening her lover came to the kitchen door after tea, and lingered longingly about the entrance. Almost before she was aware she had invited him “to step in, ” and nearly every evening after that Melchisedek paid a visit to the Parson’s kitchen. Very sweet, it may be supposed, were those prohibited interviews; and to the lonely schoolmaster, life began to wear a different aspect, and the world seemed a kindlier, warmer place since Mary smiled on him. It was in the first weeks of opening summer, when “a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love, ” that their acquaintance began, and it continued with increasing warmth till now the Christmas holidays had arrived.
Mrs. Hurlbut had no suspicion how matters stood, and never dreamed that her kitchen was haunted by a “follower.” Christmas Eve arrived. The Parson and his wife had accepted an invitation to take tea on that evening with Mrs. Solomon Dawe, the wife of the wealthiest “planter” in Punch Bowl. Having made all due preparation for Christmas day by “stuffing” a splendid turkey, a present from Mrs. Dawe, and constructing a magnificent plum-pudding, such as she knew the soul of her Theophilus loved, Mrs. Hurlbut took her husband’s arm, and set out to spend the evening with a clear conscience. The Parson’s heart too was at ease. He had finished one of his very best Christmas sermons that afternoon, with which he expected to make a great impression on the large congregation sure to be present on Christmas Day. Little did either anticipate the catastrophe which was at hand.
Melchisedek noted the departure of the Parson and his wife, and soon after, he was seated in close proximity to Mary, at the parsonage fireside. After tea, the conversation between the Parson and Solomon Dawe chanced to turn on the Washington Treaty, one provision in which is, “that all fish-oils” are to be admitted free of duty into the ports of the United States. The Parson argued that the wording of this section would exclude the seal oil of Newfoundland, as seals are not fish. “Not fish, ” exclaimed Solomon, in astonishment— “creatures as swims in the sea and lives there constant, not fish!—what be they then—are they four footed beasties? Parson, this book-larnin’ puts your head astray sometimes— seals not fish! Don’t we call it the seal fishery?” “Very true, ” said the Parson, “but it’s a misnomer—seals are no more fish than sheep. Did you ever hear of a fish having warm blooded, marine quadruped, and belongs to the family called naturalists, Phocadae.” But Soloman would not yield; and the dispute ran so high that at last the Parson said he would step over to the parsonage, and bring from his library Buffon’s Natural History, which would decide the question. To save time, he entered by the back door, and surprised the lovers sitting by the fireside in suspicious proximity. Mary looked guilty, and Melchisedek sheepish. The Parson smiled good-naturedly, took his “Buffon” under his arm and returned to the party.
On his way home, he was indiscreet enough to tell Mrs. Hurlbut what he had witnessed. Instantly her wrath flamed up, and she vowed that Mary, after such shameful conduct, should never sleep under her roof. In vain did the Parson remonstrate and remind her that tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and that if she dismissed Mary, she would have to light the fires and cook the dinner herself, as they had but one servant. She protested that whatever the sacrifice, she should “march that instant.” So poor Mary, after having vials of wrath discharged on her head, was turned out of doors and in tears sought the shelter of her father’s cottage, where she received abundant comfort and encouragement from her mother. It was just as well that Mrs. Hurlbut did not overhear the opinion of her conduct expressed confidentially between those two women. It would not have sweetened her temper.
Christmas morning dawned gently upon a slumbering world, whispering of “peace and good will.” The Parson’s wife opened her eyes, and remembered, with a slight twinge of remorse, her treatment of Mary, which was, perhaps, quickened by the thought that she must thus early turn out of her warm bed and kindle the kitchen fire. Melchisedek had passed a sleepless night in fear of what might have happened to his Mary; and the moment he saw the parsonage chimney smoking, he resolved to pay her an early visit, and learn the worst from her own lips, not being aware of her dismissal the night before. In the grey dawn he stole quietly along, and seeing the parsonage kitchen door ajar, he crept in on tip-toe. At that moment the Parson’s wife was on her knees before the kitchen fire, vainly trying to kindle the damp wood, her temper being no means improved in the struggle. Melchisedek thought he would give his Mary a joyful surprise never dreaming in the imperfect light, and with his short sight, but this was she. Softly he crept behind the Parson’s wife, threw his arms about her neck, drew back her head, and before the astounded woman could utter a cry or make a struggle he kissed passionately, right and left, nort
h and south. “Hip, hip, hurrah—hurrah”—exclaimed Melchisedek, by way of grace along with meat accompanying every word with a more resounding kiss— “and a tiger, ” he added, as he finished up with a smack, which was heard upstairs by the Parson. “You impertinent scoundrel, ” exclaimed the outraged woman at length getting her breath, “what do you mean by such conduct—get out of the house.” In a moment the truth flashed on the young man, and muttering under his breath, “I declare if it isn’t the old cat I’ve been kissing”—he fled from the house.
The indignant wife informed her husband of what had happened. “You see, my dear, ” he calmly remarked, “it was all a mistake; he took you for Mary. You were out of your proper sphere.” But her anger knew no bounds and she insisted on the instant dismissal of the schoolmaster. In a most unenviable state of mind she went to church; but as the touching service proceeded, and the choir broke into “Hark! The herald angels sing, ” she began to feel a soothing influence calming her mind; other and better thoughts arose, and when the Parson closed his sermon with an earnest entreaty to his hearers to banish all angry passions and forgive all injuries, and to seek reconciliation with friends and neighbours where quarrels had arisen, and not to let this sweet day close till this was done, the Parson’s wife was fairly overcome. Perhaps too the passionate warmth of those kisses that were showered her, albeit intended for another, had some influence, reminding her of a time, some twenty-five years ago, when her Theophilus came a wooing. She began to think of the misery of the unhappy lovers whom she was about to separate, perhaps for ever. As the Rev. Theophilus emerged from the vestry after service, his wife placed her hand on his arm, and said, “let us go and call on Mary.” Speedily all was forgiven; and on New Year’s Day, Mary and Melchisedek were married, to the great delight of the entire population of Punch Bowl.
