Extract from an article by Herbert George deLisser on Christmases he remembered:

H G de Lisser wrote in 1912 of Christmas in Kingston as he knew it in the early 1890s, when as a young teenager he had left Falmouth and come into Kingston to find work after the death of his father. At first he found work in stores around Parade and on King Street, before moving on to the Institute of Jamaica and then the Gleaner, Times and Telegraph. He was following in the footsteps of his journalist father, and at the same time honing his own journalistic skills and acquiring his profound knowledge of Kingston life at all levels.

Daily Gleaner, December 14, 1912

Christmas in Kingston some twenty years ago began on the first day of races, and from that date until about the sixth of January high revel held its sway. There were not so many race meetings then as now, hence the December races were an event; for two nights and three days hundreds of people camped out on the course; they pitched booths there, had their meals there, fought there, and altogether enjoyed themselves. It was a delight to see the course at night: A thousand lights gleamed on it; everywhere were groups of three, four, half-a-dozen folk; the scent of food hung upon the air, guitars were twanged, songs sung, merry-go-rounds swung merrily around, pedestrians walked to and fro, the bars did a lively business. Now and then you would hear the cry, "Soger coming!" - that soldiers from camp were making a raid. Then there would be a wild rush in one direction and another, a precipitate covering of goods and chattels, a scream for "police", a confusion of noises, a babel of tongues. But these alarms quickly passed away, and in spite of them the people of the city would throng to the course.

It was the beginning of Christmas, the opening of the season. Down in the city other preparations were being made. From North Street to the Parade, along West Queen Street, Barry Street, Tower Street and elsewhere the shops were decorated. Festoons of coloured paper were hung overhead, the walls of these little places were adorned with oranges and evergreens, the shelves stocked with ornaments, crockery ware, bottles of liquor, tins of jam, meats, fish, while blackboards covered with playing cards were stuck up against the walls. Every shop was a blaze of light. A whole street would be transformed in a few hours. And as you walked along it you would hear the rattle of dice and the cry of the men in charge. “One is up, one is up”. “Two is up, two is up,” and so on. Raffling had commenced.

Raffling was a great institution then. You bought a ticket for a quattie – “One was up.” Someone else bought another ticket – “Two were up.” Perhaps it was a tin of jam that was to be raffled. The selling price was sixpence; buying the jam wholesale the keeper of the raffling shop may have got it for fivepence. He raffled it for ninepence thus six men had to be “up” before the raffle commenced. You see the shop bright with light, gay with colour, crowded with people. From all parts of the street came the same cry: “One is up.” “Two is up.” “Three is up”; from all quarters of the neighbourhood came the sound of rattling dice, up and down the street h[urrie]d crowds of pleasure-seekers.

Have a chance? Three is up: you plank down you pence, grab the ticket thrown to you – “four is up.” You? “Five is up!” Take another chance for luck? “Six is up!” Begin. You first? No? You then? You don’t mind! You grasp the slender elongated pan, shake it swiftly, throw out the dice – from fifteen to twenty heads are peering forward to count the number you have thrown. Fourteen. Not so bad that, yet easily beaten. The next man shakes the dice, throws – ten! He is out of it; shakes his head to signify that he expected to be beaten; and the next man throws. Twelve. The man who has thrown fourteen brightens up. Only three more to follow, and lick may be with him. The fourth man throws: fourteen: “tie!” shouts the crowd. These two will have to fight the battle out if no one throws a higher figure. The fifth man plays sixteen! Only one left now, and sixteen is hard to beat; the highest number you can throw is eighteen, and very rarely indeed do seventeen and eighteen come. The last man feels that his chance is poor; shakes the box and throws with a half-despairing movement. Fifteen - beaten by one! The tin of jam is planked down on the counter before the winner. He does not want it; then "the house" will buy it back, but on "the house's" own terms. "The house" pays the winner threepence and gives him a ticket for the next raffle. Thus one again is up, and the profit of “the house” has been enormous.

Fights? Oh, yes: there were quite a few. I am not aware they were particularly serious, for the noncombatant portion of the crowd generally separated the belligerents before much damage was done. But sometimes a shop would be wrecked, the proprietor hastily summoning the police and banging his doors to, if he could. Thoughtful men would hang about these raffling shops in the hope of a scramble, for at such times and on such occasions a man who was swift might reap a handsome reward. A quick dive at the till, for instance, might handsomely repay the venture: at the very least a couple of tins of fresh herrings might recompense perseverance and enterprise. If you did not care for the raffle you could try the lottery. The cards stuck by pins into the blackboard had each a number, and you were assured that some of those numbers indicated magnificent prizes. Threepence for each “touch”: you paid your threepence, took the pointer, touched. Blank. Nothing daunted, someone else touched. Cup and saucer. The market value of this was threepence and as the crockery had been purchased wholesale, the house [made] a small profit.

Some other persons take a chance in the lottery: blanks and small prizes result. The enthusiasm of the crowd wanes. The lottery seems a cheat. We all hang back. Oh, doubting hearts! – for look, this bold, desperate, determined fellow will now tempt fate: he throws his threepence down, touches a card: prize 4/6. A murmur of surprise, admiration, envy: some others will venture now. But no other large money prizes are won that night, and if you return to this place again you will observe that it always is the same man who, when the crowd grows suspicious, steps forward and wins a splendid prize. He is there to win prizes. His special function is always to be lucky at a lottery.

“One is up, one is up, one is up” – it was gambling, but it made Christmas very bright. It gave the streets a holiday appearance. And even the lotteries were not all cheating. I know a gentleman who won ten shillings one night. I know others who won. I know people who went home with an armful of things got at the raffles. It was not street boys alone that took chances: men in decent positions also did: it was fun and they enjoyed themselves. You might lose a few shillings, but you got the excitement, and it was the excitement that many people raffled for. But reformation came in a flood, raffling was forbidden, the shops ceased to decorate themselves before Christmas Eve. The lights, so to speak, went out. Then came the end of the December races in Kingston, and this too struck a blow at Christmas joy. Another class of entertainments were organized. They called themselves Garden Parties and Carnivals: they were respectable and dull.

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joy lumsden 2006.