You don’t need to know Chris Whyman by name to recognize him on the streets of Kingston, Ont. The 63-year-old is often seen wearing a cardinal red military-style coat and cloak with gold braiding, a white-laced neckpiece, a tricorne hat with feathers, breeches and buckle shoes that sport the crest of Canada’s “Limestone City.”
“Hello, Mr. Town Crier,” says a city employee who passes Mr. Whyman as he walks through Kingston’s historic town hall earlier this month. Outside its steps, Mr. Whyman delivers an improvised town cry, an effortless task for someone with 40 years of practice. It starts with the loud ringing of his brass bell and the familiar call of “oyez” three times, to get silence and attention.
“I cry the praises of the limestone gem, which lies on Lake Ontario shore. Near the River St. Lawrence, where the waters stem, through 1,000 islands – and more. Now, these 1,000 islands are quite notorious, their fame worth expressing. As a once refuge for fleeing pirates, now a type of salad dressing,” he bellows. “The limestone gem with all its charms, welcomes ye all with open arms.”
Town crier, Chris Whyman demonstrates an off the cuff cry outside Kingston’s City Hall.
The Globe and Mail
It’s somewhat of an unusual sight. There are only about 50 town criers that still exist across Canada.
There are varying tales of the origin of town crying, some dating back centuries and others millenniums, but the role was similar across the globe: to share the latest news. This was especially important when most townspeople were unable to read. While it’s often associated with medieval England, some version of the role has long existed in many cultures, such as the Eyapaha of the North American Lakota First Nations or the Onye Ogene of the Igbo in southeast Nigeria.
The advent of the printed word and climbing literacy rates nearly thrust town crying into extinction. For many years, it became nothing more than folklore, but it slowly gained a place in society again. Today, the position is better described as that of a city ambassador. Canadian town criers add a historic flair to special events, introduce dignitaries and even represent their communities at global competitions.
A decades old photograph of Mr. Whyman and his son dressed in crier regalia sits framed in his home in Kingston, Ont.Kaja Tirrul/The Globe and Mail
The positions are mostly volunteer but some money can be made through private proclamations. Think town-crier-for-hire for proposals, weddings and birthdays. During the holiday season, some of the bellmen also take on another role – trading in their old-world hats for one that’s floppy and red with a white pompom. (Mr. Whyman is too well-known to pass for jolly St. Nick. Even his licence plate reads “TCRIER”).
The number of criers in Canada is dwindling as positions are eliminated after their seat holders retire or die. Mr. Whyman, who became the Kingston crier in 1984, knocks on the wooden handle of his bell when asked about whether he thinks his position will outlive him. It’s not something he’s given much thought to.
“I don’t plan on giving it up until they have to bury me. Go down crying, as I say.”
Mr. Whyman almost got cold feet when he competed for the Kingston title four decades ago. It was only supposed to be a one-year position, but smiles in the crowd keep him coming back year after year. He’s proclaimed for royalty, including Queen Elizabeth II and Princess Diana, performed at several hundred charitable events, and is a three-time world champion. He’s even been featured in music videos, on postcards and had a special Pewter ornament modelled after him.
Further east, in the seaside community of Annapolis Royal, N.S., lives one of Canada’s only women town criers. Christine Igot won a cry-off in May, 2022, at the age of 60, to take the town’s post, making her a recent addition to the country’s criers. That day is etched in her memory.
Her predecessor Peter Davies, who was the voice of Annapolis for more than 20 years, watched her first proclamation shortly before he died from cancer. “He didn’t tell me that I had to be him or that I had to do things his way,” said Ms. Igot. “He said, ‘Christine, just enjoy yourself and make the life of a town crier your own.’”
Annapolis Royal, N.S town crier, Christine Igot.Andrew Tolson/Supplied
Ms. Igot, a retired French teacher, said she has always had a love for history. It’s part of what attracted her to the position. Annapolis Royal is considered the birthplace of Acadia in Canada and its founding people are the Mi’kmaq. Its tranquil and historic streets charm tens of thousands of annual visitors, significantly outnumbering the year-round population of just 500.
“To be able to tell the story to visitors and citizens alike of this place is really an honour, a privilege and a duty that I think is really important,” said Ms. Igot, who dons a multicoloured tabard, or sleeveless garment, that represents the Royal Standard of Queen Anne. “It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Ms. Igot said she delivers roughly 85 cries a year, including at Christmas markets and the recent Parade of Lights. She said, as doom and gloom envelops the world, her position allows her to inject joy into people’s lives: “It’s just so darn happy.”
One of the modern-day pleasures of town crying is being able to travel around the world to compete against others. Competitors are judged on their ensemble, entry and exit to the stage, projection and clarity and the content of their announcement. Points can be docked for vocal cracks, going over time or butchering words.
“You add a word, you lose a point. You drop a word, you lose a point. You reverse a word, you lose a point,” explained James Stewart, the decorated town crier for New Glasgow, N.S. He said the contests usually require participants to deliver two proclamations, one of which is a hometown cry – or what he calls an “elevator pitch” to sell one’s community. Typically, criers write their own decrees and read them from a scroll.
Ms. Igot gives around 85 cries a year, including the annual Parade of Lights at Christmas.Andrew Tolson/Supplied
When it comes to the port city, he focuses on its beauty and its history. It was founded in 1784 on the banks of the East River of Pictou and named “New Glasgow” after Glasgow in Scotland. It used to be famous for shipbuilding but is now flourishing with arts and culture, a place transformed from a Scottish stronghold to a multicultural centre.
“I end it with: Come experience New Glasgow, where there are no strangers, only friends we have yet to meet,” he said.
Daniel Richer, the long-time town crier for Ottawa-Gatineau, said in 2015 there was a competition in Pennsylvania where he was penalized for using a traditional Indigenous talking stick instead of a bell because it did not make noise to grab the crowd’s attention.
“The next day, we had to do a cry on the plaza. There was a couple of thousand people. I was going to do it in traditional European garb but I said no, no, no. I have to prove them wrong. So, I did it in regalia and I used this talking stick … I got complete silence,” he remembers. “Then I went over and said: ‘You were saying?’”
Mr. Richer said it’s good for the profession to keep evolving, otherwise it will truly become obsolete. At the heart of it, he believes the charm and elegance of town crying must be maintained – the message, too. “To me, a town crier is all about words.”