Christmas in another time
By Nills Campbell
Eighty years ago preparing for Christmas engendered as much excitement as the holiday itself. Iris Maxwell, a mother and grandmother who was born on October 30, 1913 in the Toevlugt area, some six miles south of Vreed-en-Hoop, West Bank Demerara, still has cherished recollections of her childhood Christmases. Still nimble in both body and mind, she gyrated while recounting the merriment that she and four siblings shared during the yuletide season. In those days Toevlugt, where an old Dutch sugar estate once flourished, had large trees, clusters of bushes, and very few houses. Maxwell recalls the enthusiasm with which she and her siblings tackled the cleaning, sanding and polishing of the furniture in their home. Then there was the excitement that filled the air as new curtains fluttered in the breeze; the joy that the little gift-wrapped toys brought the children and the satisfaction experienced by all in the sharing of the Christmas meal. Christmas meant the world to them. There were no radios in that little village and the singing of Christmas carols was refreshing. Christmas also meant responsibility and posed a challenge. To augment the limited family income, some weeks before Christmas, they resorted to picking jamoons and baby jamoons to sell to wine manufacturers in the city. Maxwell remembers selling the berries to wine producers such as Correia and Sue-A-Quan and collecting "shining shillings," ringing pennies, and a small portion of wine as well. "The retention of cultural and religious family values in any society is not really an easy task as time erodes common practices. However, a glance at the joy and happiness that Christmas brought to families and communities during the Christmas days of years gone by leaves a taste of bitterness and disappointment in one's mouth"
Ninety-one-year-old Philomena Stephens resides less than two miles from Maxwell. "My uncle was a baker," she recalled. Apart from baking his own bread and cakes for sale at Christmas time, he also provided heat and oven space to other residents. For Stephens and her school friends, December each year ushered in an enthusiasm that was unmatched by the other 11 months of the calendar. School work took second place to shepherds in the manger and the three wise men. Singing carols in schools and holding Christmas concerts all helped to increase interest in the coming holidays. Housework was undertaken at a much brisker pace; thoughts of the mouth-watering Christmas menu and the mysterious, all-knowing Santa Claus energising all. "I was eight years old," said the mother of one daughter and 13 sons, recalling when her uncle started to send her out at Christmas time, fully loaded, to deliver goodies to his regular customers, and to residents in need. What was Christmas Day like? She vividly recalls that it was lots of work, but there was satisfaction. A strong believer in Christ, she was born into a family which did a lot of sharing on Christmas Day. Her baker uncle used to produce "frigazzy" chicken, pot roast chicken, roast pork and bacon, salt fish fried with generous amounts of onions and tomatoes, mugs of coffee, tea, and cocoa, and the traditional garlic pork. Friends, relatives and neighbours regularly dropped in to share at their table. Did she believe in Santa Claus? Stephens laughed remembering the Christmas when she was nine. Her father had just died and her mother had toiled all day on Christmas Eve and almost all night, she said, putting her to sleep. But, Stephens said, she awoke in the wee hours of Christmas Day and saw her mother tiptoeing to slip her neatly wrapped gift into her hung-up stocking. "So you are the Santa Claus," she said, startling her mother, and then adding, "Thank you Santa." For her and other residents in rural Guyana in those days, when they depended on the moon to facilitate their outdoor activities, Christmas carolling meant something special. Often when it rained, she said, they would brave the drizzles, wend their way through "putta putta" (mud) to belt out carols early on Christmas morning. This was a treat that almost rivalled the niceties which awaited them at the breakfast table. For shut-ins who were unable to attend the traditional early Christmas morning service, this meant a lot. For many youths, Christmas time meant the day was close when their parents would say it was okay for them to open their 'puzzling' tins (piggy banks) and remove their cents, pennies or jills, bits (eight cents), six cents, and shillings (24 and later 25 cents). Often, for the good savers, mom and dad would add to their accumulated sums to enable them to make their purchases for the holidays. The retention of cultural and religious family values in any society is not really an easy task as time erodes common practices. However, a glance at the joy and happiness that Christmas brought to families and communities during the Christmas days of years gone by leaves a taste of bitterness and disappointment in one's mouth. Many persons' thoughts continue to linger on the warmth that the Christmas season fostered in those days. They readily recall the atmosphere of peace that the season ushered in with an automatic effect so contagious it caused persons, enemies just a few weeks ago, "to pick pluck", as an aged citizen commented, to say to each other, "compliments of the season". More often than not this greeting was issued with such warmth that the ice readily melted, and cheerfulness took the place of gloom and bitterness. There was also an air of expectancy that obtained as the Christmas holidays approached, clearly distinguishing that period from the remainder of the year.
The infamous centipede bands The move to introduce the ban in the city followed years of clashes among those masquerade bands known as the centipede bands which were known for good music, splendid flouncing, high consumption of alcohol, stick fighting, and carrying razors which they used to slash rivals' skin. The centipede bands, so named perhaps because they would attack and sting without provocation, operated like the street gangs now prevalent in metropolitan cities. One band just had to spy or hear another for the music and flouncing to give way to a fever-pitch battle, fought in the open street. One memorable fight took place at the junction of Camp and Croal streets in the pre-independence era. An eyewitness recalled that pedestrians and cyclists were caught in the middle of two bands, which were approaching from different directions. When the melee began some people panicked jumped off their bikes and took to the nearby trench to escape. A story is also told of a famous centipede band which operated out of the Liliendaal area. After a physical clash, members of this band were taken to the Brickdam Police Station. They were charged and appeared before a Magistrate Patterson, who was known to be versed in the law, tough, and gifted with a good sense of humour. The centipede members entered the court in their masquerade costumes and Patterson, invited them to strike up a tune to which they complied willingly. The band leader chanted: "Freddie Bandoola, king of centipede; man centipede bad, woman centipede more than bad. Music!" As the story goes, the magistrate got off his bench and started to flounce, inspiring the centipede members to give it their all. Then, still flouncing, the magistrate gave his chant: "Man centipede, four months; woman centipede six months..." and continued flouncing.
The masquerade band: old as slavery
"Miriam, Miriam, 'Mother Sally', 'Mad Bull', 'Long Lady'; the emergence of the masquerade band was the signal that Christmas had officially started. Children yearned to see the flouncers, but ran and hid if the band had a 'Mad Bull' and a 'Mother Sally'. Clearly, the skilled performers were the 'Long Ladies' (men on stilts which made them over seven feet tall, dressed as women complete with mask and wig) and the flouncers who could pick up a coin from the road without missing a step. For the adults it was the flautist and they would request that he perform solo, for which he was given an extra tip. Masquerade bands have been traced to the days of slavery. Slave masters would allow their African slaves to play their "strange" music and dance, they being entertained in the process. Former director of music at the Department of Culture, Bill Pilgrim, was able to trace the presence of the masquerade band throughout CARICOM, but in Guyana the art form was considered to be more organised, more advanced and more entertaining. According to the veteran composer and musician, it was clear that the masquerade band performed with the blessings of the masters. The Ashanti tribe and other Africans were known to use the 'tom tom' drums to speak to fellow slaves and to plan uprisings and that drum soon became a banned item. The penalty for being found with one was severe. However, the masters believed that British-type regimental drums could not be used for "speaking" and these became the musical instruments of the slaves along with the flutes. Similarly, the colourful breast-plate type tops used by flouncers have a British origin.
Lionel Blackett veteran masquerade and his 72-year-old brother, James Blackett
Pilgrim asserted that the masquerade band has its own means of self-discipline, and that the man who controls the boom in effect controls the masquerade band. The band leader would stop the music with a shout of "batto!" Then he would chant:
"Christmas comes but once a year, It was standard for the masquerader, flouncing with his palms outstretched, to not wear a smile. This is traditional, and the explanation is that the flouncer is coming to you to fulfil a need, and the absence of a smile often symbolises a state of sorrow more than one of passion. In days of yore masquerade band took to the streets some two weeks before Christmas, and this exercise was carried out in all wards of the city. Their reward was frequently coins tossed at their feet, for which the flouncers were required to perform extra. Sometimes they received notes for their efforts. Traditionally, band leaders would forge a path through areas with rum shops where they were certain to find a generous audience. "Often, the rum shop owner would throw in, for good measure, a drink for the boys," Pilgrim said. Masquerade performances today are but a shadow of what Christmas masquerade meant in years gone by. The 'Mother Sally' and 'Long Lady' are rarely seen. The 'Mad Bull' has survived, but not enough time and care are taken with this costume as before. The old time masquerade also had glass eaters and acrobats, both of which have long disappeared from these bands. The masquerade, though known to operate mainly in Demerara, with a tendency to gravitate towards the city, also existed in other areas. A survey conducted in the late seventies disclosed that there were some ten masquerade bands in the Essequibo area. It was said that the Essequibo masquerade had other novelties thrown in for good measure. These included the 'Monkey', 'Pregnant Woman' and the 'Doctor'. Rickford Boston, 65, who currently plays the flute on the West Bank, hails from Essequibo and recalls the days when his love for the masquerade caused him to follow the bands from Pomona in the Essequibo. He recalled that the band leader was Eddie Pirton who used to make the 'Mad Bull' costume mainly from bamboo and coconut husks. Boston said that from childhood, "I liked the music for the band. At first I was afraid of it because of the 'Mad Bull'." However, he was always impressed with the large turn out that occurred whenever the band played, and became a follower. Eventually he graduated to actually playing in the band, and moved on to learn the flute. He still plays the flute with the Blackett band. Lionel Blackett, 76, who hails from Pouderoyen, West Bank Demerara, is now struggling to maintain good health, but is still a force behind the masquerade in this country. He is hailed as the longest serving masquerader in Guyana, having started flouncing since he was 14. He too fears that the masquerade could become a thing of the past unless something is done. Notwithstanding his ill health, he still owns a band that bears the colours of the Republic of Guyana. Recently he sold a second band, CARICOM Queen, to his 72-year-old brother, James Blackett. James has seen merrier times, recalling when he started dancing on a potato barrel, and the time when he personally built his first 'Mad Cow' and created havoc on the streets bringing hundreds of persons from their homes. James is still actively playing with the boys. He feels that it is his calling to entertain by taking his band to the streets. James is urging parents to encourage their children to join the band and to develop a skill. The masquerade band, he said, could keep youths occupied in their spare time, and out of trouble.
O for a Christmas of long ago Thus began the traditional Christmas morning service at Bedford Methodist Church. At 5:00 am, the Sunday School children would line up outside the church holding candles; boys dressed in black pants and white shirts, girls in white dresses. The organ would signal the start and they would light their candles and march into the church singing "Come to the Manger." On entering the church, the adults would join them in both the singing, and the march along the aisle. Once seated, they would then put out their candles and the service would begin. This was more than 50 years ago. "We have lost a lot when it comes to the observance of the Christmas season. It used to be a time of peace and goodwill towards men, and a time when persons with bad blood settled their differences... I hope and pray that those times could return," says news librarian, Norma McGowan. She recollected that there was always an air of expectancy. For example, she pointed out, from as early as October, her mother would begin paying for the ham at the grocery (known then as salt goods shop). It would be uplifted from the grocers just weeks before Christmas, placed in a black plastic bag and put to hang from the rafters. The mother and grandmother recalled the days when, two weeks before Christmas, groups of boys and girls would tour their neighbourhoods singing carols. Groups of carol singers would have their flambeaux (bottle lamps fuelled by kerosene oil). There was always a feeling of joy, she said. Christmas Eve night usually saw the last set of carol singers appearing at their home. "We often give them a monetary offering and some local [homemade] drink." Christmas eve night was the most testing night for them as children, McGowan recalled. She said that they were ushered into bed early on that night, dressed in their special night dresses. When they awoke on Christmas morning it would be to find the entire house transformed; the polished furniture placed in new positions, Christmas cards and other decorations artfully arranged. Well-tended potted plants also formed part of the decoration along with artificial flowers. She recollected that her grandmother used to waken them at about four o'clock on Christmas morning to show them a star in the east, which she insisted was the Christmas star. McGowan also recalled the Christmas morning aroma: pepperpot boiling, garlic pork frying and fresh baked bread, mingling with furniture polish and the lingering flavour of black cake previously baked in the box oven, which used coals or wood to generate heat. Later in the day they would sample ginger beer and sorrel drink-- two must haves for Christmas. Guests who visited on Boxing Day or after would be offered these along with home-made wine and cake. The reason for Christmas was evident then and the pleasure that abounded from such modest celebrations far surpassed what obtains today.
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