Christmas at Cartwright, Labrador, 1770

At sunset the people ushered in Christmas, according to the Newfoundland custom. In the first place, they built up a prodigious large fire in their house; all hands then assembled before the door, and one of them fired a gun, loaded with powder; afterwards each of them drank a dram of rum; concluding the ceremony with three cheers. These formalities being performed with great solemnity, they retired into their house, got drunk as fast as they could, and spent the whole night in drinking, quarreling, and fighting...This is an intolerable custom; but as it has prevailed from time immemorial, it must be submitted to.

Captain George Cartwright

1770, Samuel Hearn on his third expedition to the Canadian Arcticpassage , searching for an ocean west from Hudson Bay and for a wealth from rumored copper mine in the far north.

Indeed for many days before we had been in great want and for the last three days and not tasted a morsel of anything, except a pipe of tobacco and a drink of snow water; and as we walked daily from morning till night, and were all heavy laden, our strength began to fail. I must confess that I never spent so dull a Christmas; and when I recollected the immense quantities, and great variety of delicacies which were then expending in every part of Christendom, and that with a profusion bordering on waste, I could not refrain from wishing myself again in Europe, if it had been only to have had an opportunity of alleviating the extreme hunger I suffered with the refuse of the table of any one of my aquaintance. My Indians, however, still keep in good spirits; and as we were then across all the barren ground, and saw a few fresh tracks of deer, they began to think that the worst of the road was over for that winter, and flattered me with the expectation of soon meeting with deer and other game of great plenty than we had done since our departure from the Fort.

1832, Catherine Parr Traill

When I first came to Canada, I was much surprised at the cold indifference which most people showed in their observance of Christmas day - with the exception of the then few residing English families, the church was scantily attended. For in those days there was no dressing of the houses or churches with evergreens as is now so generally the custom, (long may it continue), and I missed the heart-felt cordiality that seems on that sacred day of Christian gladness to overflow all hearts, and break out smiles of loving kindness to the poorest and least cared for of our fellow creatures.

...I remember the first Christmas day I passed in Canada - being laughed at because I wandered out onto the plains near Peterboro, and brought in a wreath of the box-leaved trailing wintergreen, (which with its scarlett berries reminded me of the varnished holly with which we were wont to garnish the old house at home), and hanging it over the mantle piece, and above the pictures of my host's parlor, in honour of the day. It seems to me these green branches might be held as emblems to remind us that we should keep faith bright and green within our hearts.

 

1864, Christmas as enjoyed by the children of Red River Settlement.

Hours past from this, the dear little ones below have been up and out of bed to ransack those stocking, puffed up with comfits (declining of course, the usual staple of breakfast, "just bread and butter.") They are now in the full tide of wonder and mutual display of their hordes of toys. Novices upon that noble animal, the "Rocking Horse", have ere this clasped wildy behind his rigid tail, clutched madly in front of the flowing mane, and finally, with a yell of terror rolled from his back to look up and see the proud creature with his glass eyes blazing at nothing, continuing his untiring gallop as cool as his "Brummagen" stirrup iron. The creaking of ungreased wheels of barrows and waggons have resounded increasingly through the house, mingling with the blended din of mouth organs, cheap accordians, drums, whistles, trumpets, watchmen's rattles and such like incentives to harmony. Flutes and violins for the youngsters, whose mothers insist "have a perfect passion for music and have such an ear", have been blown into, and scraped upon, untill all the nervous dogs and cats in the neighbourhood who haven't "a passion for music" have fled distractedly from the sound, leaving the tied-up "Towsers" to howl indolorous unison.

Five times every five minutes, has the new watch been held to the ear and opened "to look at the wheels"; once in every ten seconds have harmless coxcombs shoved beneath their eyes that "first pair of boots"; and through all their talk and running and shouts and playing, the one hand has been deployed to dive incessantly into a deep pocket and fish out for the "munchers" overhead anything to be thought of from a sugar almond to a bit of "citron" stuck in and ornamented with broken pieces of almond shell on the one side and a mashed raisin on the other. Now have the new books been rushed through for the pictures and how does the big chap decide between two little ones, who are quarreling as to which is Robinson Crusoe and which is man Friday.

1923, Midnight Mass in Quebec

The night is the classic Christmas night. The moon is full and clear, the sky studded with stars that harken back to the stars of Bethlehem. Snow has fallen, and on the ground, rooftops and the bare branches of the trees it glistens like the windows of the village and the church. The whole parish has come to Midnight Mass.
A dark wave of people flows out of the double doors of the church. The crowd huddles at the entrance to the house of God, talking together, prolonging the moments as the last echoes of holy music fade away. A few sleighs move off as some members of the congregation hurry to return to their homes. Others gathered in front of the church exchange warm greetings, a healthy joy reflected in their faces.
Soon the windows of the church will be dark, and only the roof and the steeple will glisten in the bright snow. Then all the windows of the parish will be lit up. The people from Midnight Mass will leave by every road, still basking in the thoughts of the creche, the holy communion. The sleigh bells now have a more silvery sound; it seems as if angels are singing somewhere in the countryside.

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