Island Christmas Traditions

By Ben Robicheau

Here we are in the month of December once again! At this time of year I always find myself thinking back to some of the Island Christmas traditions.

The first thing that comes to mind are the annual Christmas concerts. Most of the kids on the Island were generally involved in two concerts each Christmas. First was the school concert which was usually held in the Oddfellows Hall because that was where the stage was; it even had a real curtain. Everyone in the school would take part in this production in some way; weeks of effort would be put into the presentation of skits, songs, recitations and sometimes even a full-fledged play. One year the grades 10, 11 and 12 students - the “upstairs” grades in the old school - put on “A Christmas Carol” complete with sets, costumes and special effects. The clearest memory I have about that production is that the tallest kid in the school was picked to play Ebenezer Scrooge and every time he went through a doorway his top-hat got knocked off.

The other big event of the season was the Sunday School concert. This was similar to the school concert except that there was not as much rehearsal time available plus it included pre-school-age children so the production values were often not up to the high standards we had come to expect from the school group. I remember Etta Webber heroically trying to usher a dozen antsy little kids through a re-enactment of the Nativity story, patiently coaching and prompting from the sidelines, trying to feed the distracted little actors their lines as they stood mutely on the stage or stared off into space or just wandered away into the audience.

Even though it may have suffered a bit quality-wise, the Sunday School concert could be an exciting event; you were never quite sure what was going to happen. At some point in the evening, the twitchy little kid who was standing with her knees squeezed together might announce to the assembled masses; “I’ve got to pee!” This would cause her mother to spring into action, dash to the front of the room, snatch her baby off the stage and rush out the door trying to protect her good Sunday coat by holding the by-now-bawling child out in front of her like a sack of wet potatoes. Sometimes this dramatic rescue mission was executed successfully, but more often than not the other kids were left to carefully tip-toe around a suspicious looking puddle on the stage.

The highlight of the evening of course, was the much-anticipated arrival of Santa Claus. After a lot of thumping, stomping, sleigh bell ringing and ho-ho-hoing, Jolly Old St. Nick would make his grand entrance into the Vestry where he was usually greeted by the sight of several red-faced little kids running screaming to the safety of their mother’s laps. The rest of the children were usually all revved up with the just-released anticipation of what was to come and Etta would have to take a firm hand to get things back under control. Once Santa was safely seated, everyone would line up to take a turn on his knee and receive a present. Even the little ones, once they realized that presents and candy were available, could usually be persuaded to trade mom’s lap for a few moments in Santa’s.

When both concerts were over, you knew that you were well and truly into the Holidays. The only thing left now was the Big Event itself, Christmas Eve, followed of course, by Christmas Day and this brings us to another Island tradition. Actually, I don’t know if this really qualifies as a tradition, because it wasn’t a formal event and it was mostly carried out by teen-age girls. I became aware of it in the early sixties, but I’m not sure how long this practise went on or if it is something that is still done on the Island.

Once all of your own presents were unwrapped and arranged for display under the tree, it was time to go out and “see the neighbour’s trees”. Louise Garron was usually at the top of the visiting list, she always seemed to outdo herself each year with her spectacular and artistically arranged trees; I believe one year her tree was decorated all in pink, another year it was an all-silver theme. Although admiring and appreciating other people’s trees was part of the reason for this venture, really it was just an excuse to see what presents people had received. This definitely wouldn’t qualify as a tradition if it was just kids going to see what other kids had received, but it was a bit more organized than that. Girls would arrange to go out in pairs or in groups, then travel door to door in the days after Christmas, visiting friends, neighbours, young people, old people, anyone who would let them in.

The last tradition I’ll mention is one that I know for sure actually is a tradition. As a little kid, I remember “Sandys” coming to our house in the days between Christmas and New Year. They were heavily disguised, usually dressed in old clothes, with their faces covered, talking in strange voices or not talking at all. Sometimes they just stood there, or sometimes did a little dance or some other attempt at entertaining their hosts. My parents would carefully study the visitors, trying to recognize a piece of clothing or maybe a facial feature that would tell them who this was; if they guessed right, the Sandyer would reveal himself.

For quite a while, I assumed that this was part of the universal Christmas celebrations and something that everyone everywhere did, but later on I discovered that most people off the Island had no idea what I was talking about if I mentioned Sandying, or Santa Clausing, as it was also known. I had to explain that, no, it wasn’t like Halloween, generally, only adults went Sandying and there was no trick or treating involved, although refreshments, usually of the liquid variety, were sometimes offered. The participants didn’t usually dress in costumes, but more often in disguises, the purpose being to hide their identity. I began to think that this activity must be something that was unique to our Islands, then I heard about a similar practice in Newfoundland called mummering or jannying that had been introduced by Irish and English settlers, then I later found out that some people on Prince Edward Island went out belsnickling over the Holidays. By now I had decided that this must be an old ritual that somehow had spread from island to island, then I found out that in a few communities in the Lunenburg area of the South Shore people still carried out the old German custom of belsnickling, also called Kris Kringeling.

Even though these traditions go by a variety of names and have developed some differences in the way they are practiced, it appears that mummering, belsnickeling, and Sandying all stem from an ancient New Year’s custom that was brought to the New World by the first European settlers. As time went on it gradually disappeared in a lot of areas because inviting possible strangers who you couldn’t identify into your home didn’t seem like a good idea to most people; in some towns and cities, it was even outlawed. The tradition survives in isolated places like the Islands probably because, even though you might not be able to identify your visitors, you can feel comfortable that there is no doubt that it is a neighbour, friend, relative or even in some cases, your husband or wife who is standing in your kitchen wrapped up in old clothes and talking in a funny voice.

I never went out Sandying myself, by the time I got old enough to go out, it had pretty well faded away, but a bit later on there was a revival of the practice. One of my sisters tells about going out in a good disguise and not having anyone guess who she was, although one person came close saying; “I don’t know which one you are, but with those eyes, you’ve got to be a Robicheau”.

Sandying appears to be our version of an ancient tradition that has been carried on for hundreds of years. It has survived to the present day because of little communities like ours. When other places got too “sophisticated” or too disconnected from each other to keep up a custom where friends and neighbours were welcomed into each other’s homes regardless of whether or not you knew exactly who it was you were inviting in, on the Islands it was still a part of our Christmas celebrations. Let’s hope that the conditions that have allowed this tradition to live so long in our communities will continue and Sandying will be around for another hundred Christmases.