Every year, at Halloween I think about this article. And I am, apparently, not alone.
When I was a child, the following were standard at Halloween: Barmbrack; bobbing for apples (and pennies); trying to bite an apple hung on a string from the door frame; and getting your face covered in flour (surely you are familiar with the game where a grape is placed on top of a heap of flour and you each cut at the flour mountain in turn until the grape falls down and then get your face rubbed in the flour? No? Your loss.). As I write this list it seems bizarrely Victorian. There were, of course, plastic face masks held in place by elastic but they were barred in our house as my father was convinced that we would somehow melt them to our faces. He had a bizarre list of potential injuries to which he feared his children would succumb, these included, but were not at all limited to, fears that we would set ourselves on fire with the aid of our acrylic pyjamas; poke out each other’s eyeballs by looking through keyholes and putting pencils or screwdrivers through them; choke on chewing gum; and fall off the banisters and split our heads open on the cast iron radiator in the hall. I often think his time as a junior doctor in A&E must have been particularly formative.
Not at all standard were the American pumpkin and trick or treating and decorating your house. I thought I was above these vulgar things (what a tiresome ten year old I must have been, I blame my parents). Well, I’m not too proud to admit it, I was a fool. My objection to trick or treating was demolished by a trip to a friend’s house at Halloween in about 1980. We dressed up and went out to her neighbours and it was very exciting; I didn’t quite understand what we were doing but I liked it. I think it must have been the very beginning of trick or treating in Ireland. My father had heard of tick or treating and was appalled. He called it begging from the neighbours; little did he know that his first born and her best friend were out shaking down the wealthy of Sunday’s Well for their monkey nuts and satsumas. Sweets came later, I think. Then when I had children of my own, they had a fantastic time getting dressed and going around to the neighbours; it wasn’t just the sweets (and, honestly, 15 years ago still quite a few monkey nuts and satsumas), it was the feeling of mild danger being out in the dark with all of the decorations and other costumed children.
And the pumpkins. What fun we had decorating them (far superior to the traditional Irish turnip which is almost impossible to cut up even when you want to eat it let alone for decoration) and even though the children now have no interest, I enjoy it. Behold my selection for this year.
I am particularly proud of the eyeball, I can tell you.
And then cycling home from work after dark at Halloween is quite a thrill. The city is alive with illegal firework displays. Dangerous, I know, and alarmingly noisy too but undeniably pretty and exciting.
And how are you enjoying decorative gourd season yourself?
Slightly surprised about the fireworks (given the association here with Guy Fawkes). I was interested when we were in Northern Ireland last week how much bigger Halloween was than in Scotland, in terms of decorated houses and shops and cafes with themed displays. And why not…
It’s not at all associated with Guy Fawkes. For obvious reasons. I am trying to remember whether we had fireworks at Halloween when I was a child and I rather think not so possibly a more recent arrival. The authorities are very against it – for safety reasons – and there are no official fireworks at all but it seems to be a big thing now in more deprived parts of the city.