SFX:	PAUL AND GUESTS SEATED AROUND 
FIRE IN LIVING ROOM OF PAUL’S 
HOUSE.  CLINKING OF GLASSES

PAUL:	Now I got eggnog, there’s some non-dairy 
	nog for Erling, some non-egg nog for 
	Kathleen,  I got some non-nog nog for 
	myself, some plum brandy for Morris ... Ish 
	?

ISH:	Double nog, no egg.

SFX:	MIC NOISE  

PAUL:	Whooph, whooph, is this thing on, Hollis ?

	The Little Billy Penton story-telling 
	tradition lives in every bay, gut, nook and 
	cranny of our island home.  There are Little 
	Billy stories about berry-picking romance, 
	about getting lost at sea, about faeries and 
	ghosts, and the old hag.  Folklorists tell us 
	these tales date back to the late 1800s.  
	Little Billy Penton is our Huck Finn, our 
	Robespierre, our boy with his finger in the 
	dike, our everyman.  By far, though, the 
	most beloved of all the tales is Little Billy 
	Penton’s Christmas in the Mines.   
	
	Every place has its unique version of Little 
	Billy’s Christmas, and our own BCN 
	community is no different.   Joining me 
	around the hearth this frigid December 
	morning for our annual reading of Little 
	Billy Penton’s Xmas in the Mines are 
	Director of Radio, Ish Lundrigan, our 
	keeper of the tradition and, today, narrator.  
	
ISH:	(VOICE EXERCISE UNDER PAUL’S 
LINES)  Hmmmm ... me me me me ... 
	ahhhh.   Season’s greetings.

PAUL:	Kathleen Hanrahan is here -- my favourite 
	reader.

KATHLEEN:	You say the sweetest things, Paul.  Merry 
	Christmas, everybody.

PAUL:	BCN celebrity readers today also include 
	Wearing the Wire’s covert journalist, 
	Jerome Granger, here in mufti, and carrying 
	?

JEROME:	Always, Paul.

PAUL:	Ariel Flint, award winning host of Show 
	Trial.

ARIEL:	Secular greetings and holiday practices of 
	your choice, one and all.

PAUL:	BCN’s beloved weather watchdog and host 
	of Traffic Alert, Erling  Biggs.

ERLING:	Present.

PAUL:	Morris Jesso, host of Interred, should be 
	along shortly.  Don’t know what could have 
	happened to him.

ISH:	Not like Morris to be tardy.

PAUL:	And tickling the ivory and providing 
	musical accompaniment is a special guest, 
	Sergio Kuva, son of the late great sub-
	monoist composer, Hugh Kuva.
	
SERGIO:	Laryngitis, Paul.

PAUL:	Welcome all.

	We’re blacked out today in Newfoundland 
	for BCN’s annual live coverage of the Santa 
	Claus parade.  And all hands here are 
	grateful to be clear of that bone numbing 
	gig.

ALL:	ROUND OF APPLAUSE.

	Local listeners will hear an appropriately 
	edited version of this reading, as always, on 
	Christmas Eve.  

	But as we’re recording the special today, in 
	the saloon of Moth Manor here on Quidi 
	Vidi Road, we thought we’d invite Canada 
	and Iceland to sit back and enjoy our 
	Christmas taping session, occasionally 
	rough though it might be.
	
	There’s a couple of junks in the fire, a plate 
	of goodies and some cheer, a--

SFX:	PAUL’S MOM THUMPING ON FLOOR.

MOM:	(muffle, muffle)

PAUL:	(uncomfortable laugh; then calling upstairs )  
	No, Mom, the furnace man was here 
	yesterday.  Everything’s fine -- remember ?

MOM:	(muffle, muffle)  

PAUL:	(being nice through teeth)  Well, you’ll just 
	have to put on a sweater, I guess.  The perils 
	of doing live radio from your own home.

ALL:	Polite laughs.

PAUL:	As per tradition, the great helmsman, Ish 
	Lundrigan has assigned us our parts.  I 
	know we’ve all been practicing.  So, over to 
	you, Ish, and off we go...

ISH:	Unfortunately, this is the first year that we--

PAUL:	Oh, excuse me, Ish.  The washroom is 
	upstairs over the front door.  Sorry, just 
	thought I’d...

ISH:	Traditionally the reading began with the 
	BCN Coal Stoker’s Choir--

PAUL:	Oh, and everybody, don’t hesitate to indulge 
	in more grog and shortbread during those 
	long stretches where you’ve nothing to say.  
	But please watch the microphone cables and 
	don’t use the crystal or the china ... parents 
	wedding stuff.  Sorry, Ish.
	
ISH:	all right.

PAUL:	Tape rolling, Hollis?

ISH:	Paul !  What I was saying is that the BCN 
	Stokers Choir always started off with Little 
	Billy’s Ode, but they didn’t want to 
	participate this year pending the resolution 
	of the collective agreement.  So, in the spirit 
	of multi-skilling, I’ll ask you to all sing 
	along after me ... nice and loud.  Now, 
	Sergy.

ARIEL:	It’s Sergio.

MUSIC:	PIANO INTRO TO ODE.

ALL:	Little Billy Penton, the foundling of our hearts,
	Little Billy Penton, known throughout these parts,
	Little Billy Penton, his spirit is unbeaten,
	Amazing when you think about
	How other people treat ‘en.

	Now here’s a tale we’ll tell you,
	‘Bout Little Billy’s Christmas,
	A tale stogged full of woe and mirth
	For Mister and for Missus,
	For boys and girls of any year 
	A yarn that spins a spell
	It tells of Christmas wonders,
	And it warns of Christmas hell.
	
[OOH’S AND AAH’S UNDERNEATH 
FOR AWHILE]

ISH:	It was the day before Christmas in 
	Stittsville, Bone Bay, Newfoundland, but 
	you never would have known it.  The town 
	lay under a gray shroud of coke smoked 
	snow, a sloppy muck that would suck up the 
	light, so there was little call for bulbs or 
	ornaments or candles of any kind -even 
	‘round Christmas. What would be the point 
	- this was the motto of Stittsville.  “What’s 
	the point?”  In this perpetual gloom the 
	people of Stittsville felt only despair.  Their 
	debts were crushing.  No matter how hard 
	they toiled in the mine, they arrived at each 
	Christide further in hock to the company 
	store.  16 tons they say ...
	
	In debt to whom?  To the owner of the mine 
	-- to the Merchant Jabez Wareham, a man as 
	rich as Croesus, as crooked as sin, as cross 
	as a vexed rat, as prickly as a sculpin.  It 
	was said of Jabez Wareham that if you cut 
	out his heart you’d dull the sharpest blade.  
	And of all the many, many things the 
	merchant hated, there were two in particular 
	that simply drove him to distraction. One 
	was Christmas itself and any joy that men 
	might dare relate to it.  The other was the 
	potboy of Wareham Manor, Little Billy 
	Penton.  Little Billy Penton, who had been 
	found one Christmas Day upon the doorstep 
	of the great house, and been immediately 
	put to work.   

	Merchant Wareham despised Little Billy for 
	his unbreakable spirit (which was especially 
	galling  around Christmas) and for his 
	irrepressibly cheerful dog.
			
PAUL:	That’s right, Little Billy’s dog  -- what was 
it, Scab?

ISH:	That’s Scamp, Paul, not Scab.  Jeez, boy, 
it’s a Little Billy Penton story.  Everybody 
knows the dog’s name is Scamp.  It’s a great 
name for a dog.

PAUL:	Well, anyway, we forgot to cast that part, 
didn’t we?

ISH:	Oh, that’s right.  Let’s see.  O.K., Erling you 
can be Scamp.

SCAMP:	Great.

ISH:	Scamp has one of the biggest parts, boy.

ARIEL:	Well, some of the best lines, anyway.

ISH:	Merchant Wareham despised Little Billy for 
his unbreakable spirit and in particular for 
his irrepressibly cheerful dog.

SCAMP:	Woof woof, pant pant.

PAUL:	Ah ... if I might just offer some dramatic 
counsel, Erling.  “Irrepressibly” “cheerful” 
“dog” ?

ISH:	Shut up, Paul, or I’ll have you play the 
Christmas cur.

On this Christmas Eve Morn, there was no 
joy in Stittsville.  Except of course for that 
which came, as it did so often, from Little 
Billy Penton’s frisky antics with Scamp on 
the great lawn before Wareham Manor.  The 
Merchant, half a bottle towards a good  
Christmas funk, was stricken with a 
perverse desire to stifle those sounds of 
mirth and merry mongrel.

JABEZ:	Here !  Foundling boy !  Who gave you the 
morning off ?

BILLY:	I’ve already buffed the stables, cleaned the 
inside of the furnace, split four cords of 
woods and butchered a hog. 

JABEZ:	Pleased with ourselves, pleased with 
ourselves, are we ?  I’ll give you good 
reason to be happy.  Take this purse into the 
city.  Deliver it to the Children’s 
Workhouse.  Cursed parasites.  Social safety 
net indeed! 

BILLY:	The workhouse is 20 miles each way sir, but 
I’ll do it gladly.  I’ll be back in plenty of  
time for the servants’ Christmas party 
tomorrow, for it’s also my birthday, master.

JABEZ:	Christmas party!  In Wareham Manor!  
Never!  What gives you the idea that you 
have a birthday any day, let alone Christmas 
day, you rapscallion?!

BILLY:	Twas Mary, the scullery maid, told me sir.   
That’s the day I was found here on your 
step.

JABEZ:	Christmas day is no day of birth, `tis a day 
of death.  It was on the 25th of December 
month eight years ago -- aye, the very same 
black day that you were found -- that my 
only son and beloved heir, Heber, died of a 
brain heat and swollen sacks.

BILLY:	Yes, master, a sad day.

JABEZ:	Don’t patronize me, urchin boy !  Do my 
bidding !   Deliver the purse to Sister 
Charity, or your little pup will spend 
Christmas day hanging by his rear paws ... 
or worse -- on his way to the Christmas 
table ... if you catch my drift !  Do you hear 
me !?

BILLY:	Off we go -- come on, Scamp.

SCAMP:	Woof, woof.

JABEZ:	(calling after)  And for the love of God, get 
a receipt.  Ye sorry slobs of Stittsville.  You 
thought Heber’s death had freed you from 
the eternal tyranny of the Wareham seed.  
But I shall wreak upon you the sufferings of 
all the ages ... and a few others as well.  Ye 
shall never celebrate Christmas or enjoy any 
other statutory holidays as stipulated under 
the labour code...  and as for Sunday 
shopping.

ISH:	And so Billy and Scamp spent a merry day 
walking across the frozen wasteland 
towards the capital city.

BILLY:	It’s a beautiful day, even though it’s a bit 
cold and I wish I had a jacket.  I love the 
snow, though.  It’s always snowing at 
Christmas ‘round here, isn’t it, Scamp?

(pause)

ERLING:	Woof.

ISH:	Come on, boy, put some life into it.

ERLING:	Woof, woof.

BILLY:	Heh, look Scamp, free thinkers and trade 
unionists!  You cut ‘em off, boy, and I’ll get 
‘em with a snowball !

ERLING:	Woof.  Woof.  Woof.

BILLY:	Clear out of Stittsville you no-good reds!

ISH:	And after many adventures Billy and Scamp 
entered the foreboding city.  They wound 
their way through the winding streets 
towards the vast brick monolith beside the 
railroad tracks: the Sister’s of Charity 
Children’s Workhouse and Women’s 
Publishing Collective, where so many 
orphans were given the illusion of an honest 
chance to work their way out of poverty.

SFX:	RAPPING ON WOOD OF FRONT DOOR.

SISTER CHARITY:	Who’s there?

BILLY:	It’s me, Sister, Little Billy Penton.

SISTER:	Go away, we’re full.

SCAMP:	Grrrr.  Grrrr.

BILLY:	No, I’ve come with Master Jabez 
Wareham’s Christmas donation.

SISTER:	Give me that!

BILLY:	Ouch.

SCAMP:	Grrrr.

SISTER:	Why, ‘tis a pip-squeak of a purse !  The 
merchant’s not this mean,  you wretched 
little thief !

BILLY:	I am not !

SISTER:	Jabez Wareham is the richest man in 
Newfoundland.  He would never make such 
a miserly donation !

BILLY:	You’ve never met him, have you ?

SISTER:	Insolent little beast!  Get in here.  We’ll get 
to the bottom of this!

BILLY:	Heh, let go of me!

SCAMP:	Grrr. Woof.  Grrr.

SILENCE

ERLING:	(sighs)  Woof, woof.

ISH:	And a telegram was sent to Jabez Wareham 
explaining the arrival of Little Billy and the 
miserly purse.  The merchant received it in a 
state of extravagant inebriation, tormented 
further with each passing hour by the 
approaching anniversary of his progeny’s 
untimely death.  He laughed when he read 
of Little Billy’s predicament.  Loathing 
overcame the tiny organ that was his heart.  
And he sent back a reply containing naught 
but five fateful words:  “To the Mines !  
Season’s Greetings, J.W.” !

SISTER:	Just as I thought.  What’s punishment 
enough for this larceny, warden ?

WARDEN:	Couldn’t you take him, sister ?  It doesn’t 
seem, well, Christian, putting him in the 
gaols on Christmas Eve.

SISTER:	I’m afraid the workhouse is all full up this 
winter, warden.  Times are hard.  We have 
to give priority to the paying poor.  
Anyway, thieving boys don’t mend their 
ways with free comfort and cheer.

WARDEN:	Truer words, sister ...

VOICE:	Telegram for Sister Charity.

ALL:	AAAAHHH !

PAUL:	Jeez, Morris ...

ISH:	Don’t do that !

MORRIS:	Sorry I’m late.  I hoped I could slip in 
without any one noticing.

ISH:	Let’s move on.

SFX:	ENVELOPE OPENING

SISTER:	Hmmm.  “To the mines.”  I agree with Jabez 
Wareham.  That’s the only place where the 
boy will find his way back to righteousness.

WARDEN:	But sister, Christmas in the mines ?

BILLY:	Let me see that ...

SISTER:	Yes, little Billy Penton, it’s Christmas in the 
mines for you, my boy, and  then we’ll find 
out what you did with that money, eh, won’t 
we ?

BILLY:	You don’t scare me, Sister Charity.

SISTER:	You better hurry, warden.  You wouldn’t 
want to miss the Miner’s Express.  It’s due 
by here to pick up some of our misspent 
youth any moment.

WARDEN:	Come along there, Billy.

BILLY:	Let me go !

	SILENCE

SCAMP:	Woof, woof, woof.

ISH:	And this is where the BCN Stokers Choir 
would come back in.

CHOIR:	[ GHOST RIDERS IN THE SKY AGAIN] 

Little Billy Penton, to the mines on 
Christmas went,
His feet were cold, his heart was broke, his 
baseball cap was bent,
His journey took him to the north and west 
of Baccalieu,
And left him at the Wareham Mine with five 
years hard to do.

SFX:	WHIP CRACK

The shaft was deep, the light was dim as 
Billy met his pit,
Other foundlings there he found their stories 
his did fit,
Snoopy, Linus, Tiny Tim, and Jonathan 
Thomas, too,
They all descended down the mine, their 
Christmas penance due.

SFX:	WHIP CRACK

Whippy I owe, whippy I ay,
Christmas in the Mines.

ISH:	‘Twas the night before Christmas,
When all through the mine,
All’s you could ‘ear,
Was little chillrun crine.

The picks was all stacked by the mine face 
with care,
In t’anks that th’overseer ‘is whip ‘e did 
spare.

The foundlings were packed ‘bout five to 
the beds,
And all of dem t’ought dey was out of dare 
heads.

BILLY:	Oh, what’s the use, Scamp ?  We’ll never 
get out of this place.  I feel like just going 
over to that ledge there and throwing myself 
off into space, taking my chances.  Boo hoo 
hoo hoo ...

GHOST:	Come along now, Billy Boy, stop yer crine.

BILLY:	Wha ... who ... who are you ?

GHOST:	I’m the ghost of Christmas Subjunctive 
Conditional.

BILLY:	What does that mean ?

GHOST:	That means I’m going to show you why you 
can’t give up hope, even when it seems like 
everything is lost, and you feel yourself 
staring down a black, bottomless pit.  Even 
when you realize that that terrifying abyss is 
the endless night of an existence that 
promises nothing but pain and suffering and 
the endless night of an existence that 
promises nothing but ... oh, I’m sorry, I’ve 
read this ... eternal pointlessness, the 
gradual and unstoppable ennui not only of 
your own body, but of the entire cosmos 
unraveling, an utter and complete waste of 
time and space, where you ...

BILLY:	Who did you say you were again ?

GHOST:	But I’m here to show you there is more to 
life than that, Billy Boy.  I’m going to take 
you somewhere now.

BILLY:	I don’t think I wanna go.  Hey !  Quit 
shining that white light in my eyes, will ya ?  
Hey !!  Aaaaargh !  [KATHLEEN]  I’ve 
always wanted to say that.

SFX:	MAGIC BELL AND WIND SOUNDS

GHOST:	Do you know where we are, Billy ?

BILLY:	Why, jumpin’s, it looks like we’re flying 
over St. John’s harbour !

GHOST:	That’s right.

BILLY:	But, it can’t be.  There aren’t any boats tied 
up, and the town is filled with ugly new 
buildings ... and everybody looks funny, like 
foreigners or something.  There isn’t even 
anybody fishing down there.

GHOST:	This unhappy life could be, Billy Boy.  If 
you throw yourself down a mine shaft, 
Jabez Wareham will be blamed.

BILLY:	How, when it is me who does the throwing ?

GHOST:	He owns the mine.  An inquiry will be held.  
Against the most powerful lawyers (“liars”) 
money can buy, the court finds him 
responsible.  He is fined, and hates you 
more than ever he could hate anyone.  He 
becomes a tormented old man, one with 
much money, many enemies, and a score to 
settle with society.  He uses every last penny 
of his savings convincing Newfoundlanders 
that Confederation with Canada would be 
good for the country.

BILLY:	He would never do that !  Never in a jillion 
bezillion years.

GHOST:	The Canadian wolf came and took 
everything, Billy, just like Jabez Wareham 
hoped.  Everybody was forced to read 
French on product labels.  Soon there were 
no more fish.  No boats sailed into the 
harbour anymore.  People voted over and 
over for leaders who raised the tax on beer 
and cigarettes, and took away all their 
services and gave all the people’s money to 
each other and to foreign corporations.

BILLY:	All because I didn’t come back from the 
mines ?

GHOST:	Ah, it’s a Dickens of a life, Billy.  Men’s 
courses will foreshadow certain ends, to 
which, if persevered in, they must lead.  But 
if the courses be departed from, the ends 
may change.  Ciao, Billy Boy !

BILLY:	Ghost of the Pluperfect Indicative ... ah ah 
... the modal suppletive ... come back.  I 
didn’t understand a thing he said.  Oh 
Scamp ...We can’t let all that happen, can 
we, boy ?

SCAMP:	Woof, woof.

BILLY:	Come on, Scamp, think.

SCAMP:	Grrrrrrrr ....

BILLY:	There’s got to be a way out of here.

ISH:	Meanwhile, in Stittsville, folk were scraping 
together whatever they could to make 
Christmas a time of some little joy.  In 
Wareham Manor, the merchant made merry 
... with a pipe of port.

JABEZ:	Mary !  Bring me another rundle of port !

MARY:	Master Wareham, do you not think it might 
be time to turn in for the night ?

JABEZ:	And miss the marking of my son’s 
discorporation ?

MARY:	No.  But don't you think you’ve marked 
enough ?  Oh, you poor soul, you look just 
like him when you put your head between 
your knees like that.

JABEZ:	And what would a scullery maid know of 
my son Heber ?

MARY:	Master, the storm in wondrous mighty ... 
and Little Billy still has not returned from 
the cruel and unusual ...

JABEZ:	Hunh ?

MARY:	... ah ... errand you sent him on.

JABEZ:	Nor shall he return, wench.  For Little Billy 
will gambol no more on the lawns of 
Wareham Manor !  He will spend his 
birthday in the mines !  Ha ha ha ha ha.

MARY:	No boy nor man of mine shall be lost to you 
or your mine again, as long as I live.  The 
truth must be told.  

JABEZ:	You riddle me, dull maid.

MARY:	Heber was the love of my life.

 JABEZ:	What are ya sayin’?

MARY:	And Little Billy Penton is the love child of a 
rich man’s son and a poor girl from up the 
bay called Mary Penton who toiled in 
service for that merchant family.

JABEZ:	Look, I’ve had a fair bit of grog tonight.  
Could you be a wee bit more specific?

MARY:	Little Billy Penton is the offspring of your 
son, Heber.

JABEZ:	Duplicitous  Jezebel !

MARY:	Here is the letter to prove it.

JABEZ:	(Crying )  Oh, junior, my junior.  (Suddenly 
sober)  So that’s what he was saying the 
night he died.  Ohhhh.  Cripes, leave it to 
Heber to screw up a good thing.  Oh, pardon 
my French there, Mary.

Little Billy ... Wareham !  My heir ... my 
sole heir - ... - wait a minute, that mine is a 
death trap !  The heir to the family fortune 
must be saved.

MARY:	What the hey, Granddad, give it a shot.

JABEZ:	Into the night !  The storm shall not stop me 
! Off to the mines, !  I’ll save Little Billy !  
Oh my, Mary, this will be the greatest 
Christmas ever !

ISH:	But even as the stricken merchant swept 
across the frigid wastelands in his sleigh, a 
rebellion was brewing in the mines.

MINER 1:	The latest contract offer is not good.  By my 
account, we’ll have to pay for the privilege 
of working the Wareham Mine.

JEROME:	It’s nae goot, I’ll nae stan’ for it !

ISH:	What are you doing, Jerome ?

JEROME:	Sorry, it’s the only mining accent I know.

MINER 1:	Hey hey hey, bubulla.  Pssst.  Yo.  Schmo.

BILLY:	Wha, who, me ?

MINER 1:	No, the dog.

SCAMP:	Grrrrrrr ....

MINER 2:	Pack it in, furball.

BILLY:	What is it ?

MINER 1:	We’re walking off the job, Briss boy.  Yer 
pitiful little whine touched us, and besides, 
we need a human shield.

BILLY:	Who’s “we” ?

MINER 2:	Me and the six other dwarves, who do you 
think ?

BILLY:	Those mean old guards will never let you 
leave.  How are you going to do it ?

MINER 1:	If you have to know, busybody, we’re gonna 
divert the guard’s attention.  Just keep on 
your toes or you might get shafted.

BILLY:	Roger.

MINER 1:	The name’s Happy.

SFX:	KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

GUARD:	Who goes there ?

MINER 2:	Any mummers ‘llowed in ?

GUARD:	Hunh ?

MINERS:	Ritten ditten die doh,
	Ritten ditten dee,
	Miners dressed as women,
	Got up to be free.

 	Diddle diddle di doh,
	Diddle diddle di doh,
	Mummers mummer me!

MINER 2:	With a shovel in me hand
Surrounded by me band,
Do you think you could solve
Me riddle quickly ?

GUARD:	Hunh ?

MINER 1:	Christmas time draws nigh,
Away we’d like to fly ...

ISH:	Then, right in the middle of the riddle, 
having scoured the whole mine, almost out 
of hope, Jabez Wareham bursts in upon the 
miners’ rebellion.

JABEZ:	Hallelujah !  I’ve found you, Little Billy ... 
out of my way, dwarf.  Little Billy, I’ll save 
you !

MINER 1:	Hang on a sec ... you’re Merchant Wareham.

JABEZ:	Come to save my heir !

MINER 2:	The vehicle of our distress !  The evil rich 
man so often encountered in stories of this 
type.

JABEZ:	Stop !  You don’t understand !

MINERS:	We understand all too well, Merchant 
Wareham.  It’s payback time !  Do you have 
anything to say for yourself.

JABEZ:	As this is my last chance I’d like to take this 
opportunity to thank a few people, my voice 
coach Brad, my agent Vince, everybody at 
...

MINERS:	THE GAITER!

ISH:	All right, now it really gets disgusting here. 

PAUL:	The Portuguese gaitering and ritual slaying 
of the Merchant Wareham.

MORRIS:	Oh, I don’t know ...

KATHLEEN:	Yes, it goes on for pages.

ERLING:	So graphic ... 

MORRIS:	What’s wrong with it ... ?

ARIEL:	It’s gruesome ...

PAUL:	Look at that, page 25, with the screws and 
the oozing ...

MORRIS:	The language is beautiful !

ISH:	You can’t say that sort of stuff on the radio, 
Morris.  Not even on the BCN.  

Some exposition, however, is required.  
During the evisceration by the enraged 
mummers, Merchant Wareham offers the 
miners a much more lucrative contract, 
signs over his fortune to Billy and entreats 
the young lad to live a more virtuous life 
than he.

PAUL:	This under duress.

ARIEL:	Only through the means of the most hideous 
torture.

ISH:	Neither here nor there, move it along, move 
it along.
 
PAUL:	Okay, let’s skip over toooo ... page thirty-
eight, everybody ?

ARIEL:	Thirty-eight ?

MORRIS:	Wait, I think we should do the gaitering 
scene ...

ERLING:	This one doesn’t have a page ... oh, yes it 
does.

 PAUL:	Take it from where the Miner Mummers and 
Little Billy escape.

MORRIS:	Cowards.

MINERS:	Up the shafts they scamper,
	Billy, Scamp, and Dwarves,
	In the dark and praying,
	To the ore boat wharves. 

	Ritten ditten die doh,
	Ritten ditten dee,
	Miners dressed as women,
	Got up to be free.

ISH (narrating):	Then out on the wharf there arose such a 
clatter,
	That everyone turned and got a face full of 
splatter,
	The air had the reek of cheap grog and bad 
grub,
	‘Twas Seafarin’ Santa, rub a dub dub.

BILLY:	Look, everybody, it’s Seafarin’ Santa !

SANTA:	Yo ho ho, Billy, have you ever been to sea, 
lad ?

BILLY:	What are you doing here, Seafarin’ Santa ?

SANTA:	The presents are all delivered, Little Billy 
Penton, good little boys and girls who do 
what they’re told are all looked after.  Now, 
in the true tradition of Christmas, it’s time 
to pick up the coal for all the children 
who’ve been naughty.

BILLY:	Gosh.

SANTA:	Yes, big black bituminous lumps for all the 
children in Communist Russia, and heaps of 
dirty black coal for all the millions of pigmy 
heathens ...

MINERS:	Hey !!!

SANTA:	... in the colonies who still don’t believe in 
the one true Christ.

BILLY:	I always wondered what they got in their 
stockings.

SANTA:	No fear, Little Billy, Seafarin’ Santa knows 
all and sees all.  You’re still on my “nice” 
list.  Hop aboard.  There’s time yet for a 
detour on the way to Oougubomba.  I’ll drop 
you by the Wareham Mansion after.  I’ll 
wager the new master of the house would 
arrange a steamin’ rum toddy for thirsty 
seafarin’ man like us !

BILLY:	Oh, would you, Seafarin’ Santa ?  You’re 
the greatest.  Come on, Scamp, come on, 
fella !”

	SILENCE

	Come on, Erling.

ARIEL:	Put something in to it, Erling.

MORRIS:	What a handsome dog you make Erling.

KATHLEEN:	It really a major role, Erling.

ISH:	Some conviction, man.

SCAMP:	Grrrr.  (Scamp)  Woof !  Woof !  

ALL:	Well done.  Good old Erling. etc.

BILLY:	Attaboy, Scamp !

MINERS:	(FADING OUT)  Hey !  What about us ?  
Yo, Seafarin’ Santa !  Don’t leave without 
us!

SANTA:	Hah hah !  Anchors aweigh !  Grab an oar, 
my son !  Heave ho !  And off we go !  Now, 
Stinker !  Now, Spritzer !  Now, Moby !  
Now, Dick !  Up, Oldspice !  Up, 
Whoreson!  Up, Puker !  Up, Shtick !

BILLY:	Wow !  We’re takin’ off !

SANTA:	Flying fish, Billy !  Yo, ho, ho !

BILLY:	I will be home for Christmas !  They are 
going to be happy holidays after all.  Thanks 
to you, Seafarin’ Santa !

SANTA:	Look, Little Billy, the clouds !  The papers 
were right.  Snow is general all over the 
island, falling on the pine-clad hills;  falling 
into the Gander bog and the Fogo sea;  
falling faintly through the universe, and 
faintly falling, Billy, like the descent of their 
last end, upon all the living and the dead, 
the sick and the destitute, the good the bad 
and the ugly.

BILLY:	Yeah, sure, Santa, whatever you say.  Look, 
Scamp, there’s people down there fishing !  
And they’re waving !  Merry Christmas, 
everybody !  

SCAMP:	Woof woof !  

BILLY:	Merry Christmas, Newfoundland !  

SCAMP:	Woof woof !  

BILLY:	We’re goin’ home !   We’re goin’ 
hoooooome !  God bless us, every man jack 
of us !  God bless every cod-jiggin’, tree-
cuttin’, coal-scuttlin’ one of us !

SANTA:	 Yo, ho, ho !

ISH:	They rowed in their dory, to the height of 
the sky, And away they took off, like a 
ginger and rye, And Santa exclaimed ere 
they flew into the night,  “Hang over the 
side, Billy !  What a fantastic sight !"

STOKERS:	[“GHOST RIDERS IN THE SKY”]

	That’s the tale we promised you,
	‘Bout Little Billy’s Christmas,
	A tale stogged full of woe and mirth
	For Mister and for Missus,
	For boys and girls of any year (age)
	A yarn that spins a spell
	It tells of Christmas wonders,
	And it warns of Christmas hell.

	Little Billy Penton, the foundling of our 
hearts,
	Little Billy Penton, known throughout these 
parts,
	Little Billy Penton, his spirit is unbeaten,
	Amazing when you think about
	How other people treat ‘en.

	[OOH’S AND AAH’S UNDERNEATH 
FOR AWHILE, OR COULD REPEAT 
REFRAIN.]

ISH:	That’s it, Paul, and on behalf of all the 
employees of the Broadcasting Corporation 
of Nfld., I’d like to take this opportunity and 
wish all our listeners across Canada, the 
United States, and Iceland, a very Happy 
Christmas and a healthy New Year.  Now, is 
there any more nog left ?

PAUL:	The Great Eastern’s special reading of 
“Little Billy Penton’s Christmas in the 
Mines” featured:  Ish Lundrigan as the 
Narrator;  Kathleen Hanrahan was Little 
Billy Penton and a part-time narrator 
helping Ish out;  Ariel Flint as Mary Penton, 
Sister Charity and a Miner;  Erling Biggs 
played Scamp;  Morris Jesso was Seafarin’ 
Santa;  Jerome Granger played the warden 
and the Ghost of the Subjunctive 
Conditional;  and yours truly, Paul Moth, 
was Jabez Wareham.  

We hope you enjoyed our little seasonal 
tale, and that you also will enjoy the true 
peace and happiness that is the legacy of 
Christmas.  “Little Billy Penton’s Christmas 
in the Mines” was brought to you by 
Furlong’s Confections - Furlong’s Knobs, a 
Christmas Tradition (Sucker ?) in Nfld. 
Stockings. 

ALL:	Merry Christmas ! 
Page 41 of 40	Little Billy Penton’s Xmas in the Mines