Halloween Part Two: Halloweve, before it was Halloween in Ireland

 When I was a kid, Halloween in Ireland was Halloweve, or indeed, Hallows 'Eve, if you listened to my third class teacher. Halloween was an "Americanism" and before the deluge of seasonally themed horror movies and spooky family films, it was rarely used. Hallow'eve was the norm. 

Costumes consisted of black bin liners, with shop bought or homemade masks. In school, if you were lucky to have a teacher willing to enter into the spirit of the occasion, we painted cardboard masks, begged a length of knicker elastic from our parents and ventured forth into the night proudly sporting our creations. If there was no mask making in school, you were given a plastic mask from the local shop - it was too big, sweaty, hard sharp edges that cut into the side of your cheeks, and the elastic had to be tied tightly at the back to stop it slipping off. But they came in Witch, Frankenstein, Vampire and Generic Monster, and were highly prized.

Unlike my children, who received obscenely large hauls of sweets and treats every year, we counted ourselves fortunate to get a couple of packets of unbranded crisps and a packet or two of smarties. In the country, kids asked for "A penny for the Pookie" whereas in Dublin, we usually asked, "A penny for the Party." You might actually get a penny, or a bottle of TK minerals, or some small token towards the festivities. But the main treats to be had were fruit and nuts; apples and pears and monkey nuts, with a bag of hard shelled mixed nuts. We had a huge brass nutcracker that was pressed into service once a year, and which was reputed to have belonged to my maternal great grandmother. 

 But if our parties were simple, 1970s Dublin played host to some excellent bonfires, back in the days when health and safety took a backseat to "Arrah, be grand." I have vivid memories of standing close enough to be scorched, and my parents were the seventies' equivalent of helicopter parents. My husband had far more exciting experiences, in Newbridge Co. Kildare. His favourite is of the Halloweve when a giant bonfire was built in his housing estate, on a pile of spoil left over from the construction of the new neighbouring estate. Twenty feet high, this abandoned "hill" provided the perfect place to build a bonfire, visible for miles around. As was common then (and probably still is now) tyres, pallets, wood and debris were collected for weeks beforehand. The local kids dragged it all to the top of the mound, and piled it high.

Then some mischievous soul decided that a really fun prank would be to place a gas canister at its heart. The evening wore on, the flames burnt high, the canister heated up. At last, when only the "hardshaws" - the tough young fellas of the area - were left, drinking and messing, luckily around the lower slopes of the hill, the gas cannister exploded with spectacular results. It blew the stragglers down the hill, knocking some out, and lit up the sky like a war zone. If it had been on level ground, both housing estates might have needed reconstruction.

You can see why the eighties and nineties saw a crackdown on these traditional amusements...but it was far from a modern development. Pranks, some with unintended consequences, were an age old part of the night as we can see from the following report from 1900. An alarming report of a hanging body turned out to be nothing more than an effigy, left behind after the festivities.

We carved turnips rather than pumpkins, which were definitely a import from the USA. I was well into adulthood before I saw a pumpkin in the flesh, as it were. While some decry the modernity of this imported orange vegetable, they are exponentially easier to carve and less bloodcurdlingly horrifying than the turnip. 

However the turnip could be carried from house to house, adding a truly terrifying dimension to the parade of binbag clad youngsters.

Once safely home, we had traditional games, including apple bobbing and divination. I remember peeling apples, despairing of ever managing to get one continuous peel so I could throw it over my shoulder and see the initial of my future husband.  Barm Brack (Breac) was eaten, with much competition to receive the hidden ring. My mother always tried to give me, the youngest, the slice containing either the ring or the coin but my sister's were vigilant and uncompromising and often the lucky slice was lifted off my plate under threat of future violence, when parental backs were turned. Other little tricks of future telling abounded, from placing nuts in the fire to combing hair by candlelight while looking in a mirror. My dad only let us try that one once though, as it resulted in hysterics when one sister claimed to have in fact seen a ghostly apparition and the rest howled with terror. 

Of course, for the older people, the grandparents when we were young, had even more vivid memories of these folk practices. My friend's granddad regaled us with stories of his youth in Clare, and of the long night of Samhain spent in each other's houses, enjoying the fun. He put nuts in the fireplace and if they jumped, it was a sign (what of, depended on many factors.) My Dad had similar stories of his boyhood both in Dublin and Wicklow, of cream left out with tots of whiskey for the Good Neighbours and of the poignant empty seats left at the table, and by the hearth, so the visiting spirits would feel welcome. The next day, they would go to Mass and to the graveyard and tend the graves, but on Halloweve, on Oiche Shamhna, the loved ones came home to their own places.

 My mother told us of the famous Lyon's Bracks, the barmbracks with "real gold rings" inside, with lucky winners writing to the newspapers to express their joy at finding one.

Colcannon is another tradition, and whether it was a truly traditional dish or a USA invention has been hotly debated in recent times. I grew up with this dish, curly kale and mashed potatoes with diced onion and a pound of butter. My mother grew up with it too and she is 93 now. There are references to it from as early as 1735, by a welsh traveller, who attempted to render the  Irish (Gaeilge) name as Coel Callen, but it was almost certainly "Cal Ceannann" a reference to the white headed cabbage originally used before Kale became popular.

One of my favourite old songs is he Old Skillet Pot:

Ghost stories featured in our childhood celebrations but my dad could recall professional seanchaí, local celebrities, who were invited to tell tales of otherworldly apparitions and phantasms. The older generation believed without any irony; they lived in a world where these things existed, and should be respected, and they were neither dismissive nor overly squeamish about them. 

A report from the Saturday Herald October 30th 1909 by Nora Tynan O'Mahony, shows the affection and importance that Halloweve held in the public imagination. Despite the decline of other traditional celebrations like Michealmas, Candlemas, and St. John's Eve, Hallow-Eve remained a cherished occasion, particularly for children with the report praising its ability, like Christmas, to bring families together, as parents set aside worries to create a festive atmosphere. It was credited with a unique ability to unite communities, and bring neighbours together. The love spells and divination aspect was important for young adults and while she concedes that some of the old customs are fading, many retain their popularity. The belief in the Sidhe and all that might walk abroad that night is matter-of-factly recounted. 

An earlier report, this time in the Freeman's Journal, over thirty years earlier, on October 31st 1873, underlines the place Halloweve held in our national psyche. It confirms the widespread belief in the Sidhe, in púca and sprites, in ghosts and other entities. The same divination games are recounted, for the same reasons - to see future lovers, to find out if one was destined to be rich or poor. It highlighted the cultural importance to Ireland, a defiant note considering the politics of the era. Earlier newspaper articles sought to connect Irish traditions to Scotland, and even England, while by the later 19th century, Irish cultural identity was more publicly celebrated. 

We are a little more sophisticated nowadays; pop up costume shops appear in every shopping centre before the last day of Summer has fled. Elaborate disguises, grown-up parties, commercial events have all replaced the more homely, local activities of my childhood. But, the kids still go door to door and the neighbours stand outside to see the costumes. Bonfires still burn, some official and some highly illegal. The magic has changed a little, I concede, but there is a growing resurgence in affection and respect for the older traditions. We are beginning to reevaluate and consequently, re-value, the power and importance of Halloweve. We might call it Halloween now, but it's still the ancient festival our ancestors observed. 

Long may it continue. Oiche Shamhna Shona Daoibh. 

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