Devils and demons
• Pierrots and pierrot grenades
• Bats • Dame Lorraine •
Negre jardin • Midnight
robber • Moko jumbies • Minstrels • Wild Indians
• Sailors • Baby doll • Animal mas • Burrokeet
and soumary • Alive and kicking
Before the “bikini and bead” bands with their thousands of masqueraders, before the theatrical epics of Peter Minshall, the fantasy portrayals of Wayne Berkeley, Irvin McWilliams, and Edmond and Lil Hart, before the historical epics of George Bailey, Harold Saldenah, and Bobby Ammon, before the Carnival we take for granted today, there were other masquerades — older, and sometimes stranger, stories to tell.
These were the stories of animal mas, of sailors, wild Indians, minstrels, and baby dolls, of parodies like the pierrot grenade, negre jardin, and Dame Lorraine, of sinister characters like devils, moko jumbies, midnight robbers, and jab molassies.
As Carnival was prettified and commercialised in the late 20th century, these traditional masquerades became less visible, their distinctive dances, speeches, and rituals disappearing from living memory, becoming subjects for study by cultural historians.
Carnival as we know it was introduced to Trinidad in the late 18th century by French planters arriving after the Cedula of Population. They brought with them the tradition of pre-Lenten masquerade balls of the kind still celebrated today in some parts of Europe with large Roman Catholic populations. These elegant affairs, which often spilled over into street processions, were soon parodied by the planters’ African slaves and the island’s free coloured population, who also introduced rituals, characters, music, and dance from their own cultural traditions.
Jab jab at Viey la Cou
Mark Lyndersay
After full Emancipation in 1838, the freed slaves — who outnumbered the white population by at least four to one — took over the streets of Port of Spain with wildly exuberant celebrations and “vulgar” displays. They sought to shock and offend the ladies and gentlemen they held responsible for their years of servitude. It worked; the upper and middle classes withdrew their Carnival fetes to behind closed doors, and it was to be a century before polite society rejoined the mas of the streets. In disapproval of these developments among the lower orders, the colonial authorities curtailed the Carnival celebrations, which traditionally lasted from December until Ash Wednesday, to just two days. In 1846, they even banned the wearing of masks.
Nonetheless, new characters, many of them parodies of existing European masquerades with distinct African elements, continued to appear at Carnival. The Cannes Brulées (or Canboulay), during which slaves had been driven with whips, horns, and flambeaux . . .
Before the “bikini and bead” bands with their thousands of masqueraders, before the theatrical epics of Peter Minshall, the fantasy portrayals of Wayne Berkeley, Irvin McWilliams, and Edmond and Lil Hart, before the historical epics of George Bailey, Harold Saldenah, and Bobby Ammon, before the Carnival we take for granted today, there were other masquerades — older, and sometimes stranger, stories to tell.
These were the stories of animal mas, of sailors, wild Indians, minstrels, and baby dolls, of parodies like the pierrot grenade, negre jardin, and Dame Lorraine, of sinister characters like devils, moko jumbies, midnight robbers, and jab molassies.
As Carnival was prettified and commercialised in the late 20th century, these traditional masquerades became less visible, their distinctive dances, speeches, and rituals disappearing from living memory, becoming subjects for study by cultural historians.
Carnival as we know it was introduced to Trinidad in the late 18th century by French planters arriving after the Cedula of Population. They brought with them the tradition of pre-Lenten masquerade balls of the kind still celebrated today in some parts of Europe with large Roman Catholic populations. These elegant affairs, which often spilled over into street processions, were soon parodied by the planters’ African slaves and the island’s free coloured population, who also introduced rituals, characters, music, and dance from their own cultural traditions.
Jab jab at Viey la Cou
Mark Lyndersay
After full Emancipation in 1838, the freed slaves — who outnumbered the white population by at least four to one — took over the streets of Port of Spain with wildly exuberant celebrations and “vulgar” displays. They sought to shock and offend the ladies and gentlemen they held responsible for their years of servitude. It worked; the upper and middle classes withdrew their Carnival fetes to behind closed doors, and it was to be a century before polite society rejoined the mas of the streets. In disapproval of these developments among the lower orders, the colonial authorities curtailed the Carnival celebrations, which traditionally lasted from December until Ash Wednesday, to just two days. In 1846, they even banned the wearing of masks.
Nonetheless, new characters, many of them parodies of existing European masquerades with distinct African elements, continued to appear at Carnival. The Cannes Brulées (or Canboulay), during which slaves had been driven with whips, horns, and flambeaux . . .
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