when I was little, I saw a man in a dress mask on his face, brassiere on his chest scary to a youngster at Christmas time only to a Newfoundlander best kind twas a mummer you see staggering door to door for a beer or a snart of whiskey some of them danced, most of them sang with a lot of them bumming for spirits and tang I was frightened at first, hiding behind Nan’s holiday skirt she told me not to be foolish, for they wouldn’t hurt all they really want is to join in some cheer cause they can only do so during this time of year when I got older, I too put on a dress covered my face, and did a jig to impress the tradition of mummering is DNA to my folk we share this island and we share this joke if you see someone with mitts on their feet an ugly stick in hand, walking the snow-fallen street with humps on their back like that Simani song, an old Newfie track played on each occasion, there’s a callback to a time now old when being out all night could catch you the devil’s own cold but that was OK if you had a pint of rum it got you home by the heat in your tum if you come to Newfoundland at Christmas be sure it’s not a mummer’s night…you do miss