A Micro History of Halloween
Bound
for the New World, they boarded ships, away from Ireland, away from famine.
Their belongings were scant, but their lore was plenty and Halloween arrived in
America. The Celtic Festival of Samhain (sow-wen) absorbed by the
church.
All
Saints’ Eve, All Hallows’ Eve, Halloween; Samhain is at their core. The
end of a lunar year. The split between the light time and the dark. The
thinning veil between this world and the Other. Samhain, three nights of
ritual and revelry under a full, autumnal moon.
Turnips
now pumpkins; commercialised, plasticized and much-loved; Halloween returned
home as an American holiday.
THE ONES
WHO WERE HERE
As darkness shrouds the land, the others
emerge, one by one, slipping through the now open portal of Uaimh na gCat.
It is the night of Samhain and
some come to wreak havoc on the countryside, some to visit their loved ones
still of flesh.
Or these are the stories told.
Face close to the window, a boy
searches the night for them. Monsters? Spirits? He hopes for a spirit. But
could you imagine seeing an actual monster? He knows there is a hawthorn tree
out there in a dark field that guards the even darker entrance to the cave. The
true home of Halloween, the night when the gate between this world and the
other opens. Liam has known this since he can remember. Every October as the days
grew shorter his granddad had told him the stories of Samhain.
“As
the dark time takes hold, the otherworld stirs until, overwhelmed with a yearn
for freedom, they pace with a ferocious restlessness, waiting, waiting.”
Eyes wide, Liam always asked the
same question. “Did you ever see them?”
Granddad was quiet a moment.
“Sometimes I sensed them, but after your granny passed, I swear I saw her.” He
stood and pointed to the front gate. “There. Just standing there.”
A shiver moves through Liam. Of
fear, yes, but equally excitement. And longing. While the other children don
costumes and go door to door gathering sweets, Liam watches and waits. Will Granddad be among the spirits? His cap
and a glass of whiskey have been placed on a table by his chair.
“He really took those stories to
heart,” he hears his mammy say. “Those two were cut from the same cloth.”
His dad mumbles something, walks into
the sitting room and once again offers to take him into town for trick-or-treating.
“Are ya sure?”
Liam nods. Two mini chocolate bars
are placed before him and his dad’s sturdy hand pats him on the shoulder. The
scent of brack wafts into the room. Liam pictures the loaf set out to cool. He
looks forward to a slice later, but now he must watch. Next to him, the glowing
eyes of a carved turnip also keep vigil.
