Halloween

It is Halloween today.  In Wales, where I come from,  it is known as ‘Nos Galan Gaeaf.’ Loosely translated it means Winter’s Eve. It is the night of ‘An Ysbrydnos,’ The spirit night. When the veil between our world and the next is thinnest. 

It wasn’t all dress ups and sweet treats in Wales. The Welsh take their scary stories to the next level. I was quite young when I lived there so mostly, I was terrified. To be fair, it was fun as well as scary.

Historically speaking, Nos Galan Gaeaf was a traditional celebration of the end of harvest and the ushering in of Winter. Large bonfires were lit to ward off evil spirits and were central to the celebration. Everyone would dance around the bonfire and write their names on rocks and place them in and around the fire. 

 

 

Being chased by a black pig or a headless woman in a white dress, is my idea of a nightmare. There was a rhyme that went with it: ‘Adref, adref, am y cyntaf, Hwch ddu guta a gipio’r ola.’ Home, home at once! The tailless black sow shall snatch the last one.

The next day, everyone would look for their stones in the ashes. If yours wasn’t there it meant you would die within a year. This was all a very long time ago but honestly, can you imagine? Over the years, the church had a big influence on taming some of the more freaky tradition. The pagan elements of the celebration have been toned down quite a lot. 

The traditions that stayed were telling ghost stories, spooky dress ups and for some weird reason, eating lots of sweets. I am glad I didn’t put my name on a rock and see if it was there the next day. I had an older brother who would have made sure mine was missing. I would have freaked out and thought I was going to die. 

I don’t remember bonfires being part of the whole Halloween thing anywhere we lived. We didn’t live in a farming community and the whole celebrating the harvest thing had out faded over the years. We did play some games that have been played for centuries. 

Apple bobbing dates back to Roman times. The Roman army merged some of their traditions with the Celtic festivals.It all became a mishmash. They would play apple bobbing to decide who would be allowed to marry. Sometimes the apples were dangled on strings from trees. The first person to bite into the apple would be the next one allowed to marry. No doubt the Vikings had a hand in some of the modified traditions as well.

Then there was the game of who could peel an apple in one go. This was done in front of a mirror in a darkened room. Cue the spooky music. I don’t think we ever dressed up for Halloween or decorated the house. We never went trick or treating, not like they do now. That was more of an American tradition. It has become more popular with the advent of having the world in our pockets. 

To me Halloween meant that Guy Fawkes night was almost upon us. That was the best night of all. I loved the smell of fireworks. The sizzle and zing and pop as dad lit them in the back garden. 

When we moved to Australia, we lived in a street that was L shaped. It had a court in the middle where the road bent. Every year we would build a massive (to me) bonfire in the court, all the neighbours brought anything flammable. Being Brits, we always made a ‘guy.’ We would take a worn out pair of pants and a shirt and stuff them with old newspapers. Then we had to make the head out of an old t-shirt. It was stuffed then attached to the body. Someone would draw a face on the guy which was always gruesome. The ‘guy’ would be ceremoniously thrown onto the bonfire. Usually by my brother, then someone would light it and whoosh, he would burn to a crisp. Everyone from the neighbourhood stood around watching it burn. 

Then came the fireworks. Dad was the only one allowed to light them, especially the rockets. He would stand them in a glass milk bottle in the middle of our back garden. He would light the fuse and run for cover. Sometimes nothing happened. Dad would have to relight them only to have them explode and take off as he got close. It was terrifying and exhilarating. They’d swoosh into the air. To our delight they would explode in the sky in an endless array of colours and shapes. 

My brother was allowed to light jumping jacks. Tiny crackers that were strung together that lit each other one after another while they jumped around exploding. He would throw them at our feet and my sister and I would run off screaming. He thought it was hilarious, so did dad who turned into a big kid every Guy Fawkes.

One year dad lit a Catherine wheel. It was a coiled tube filled with gunpowder. Wait, is it gunpowder? That’s what I thought as a kid, it was filled with whatever makes fireworks go. Can you tell I didn’t inherit my dad’s science brain? It had a fuse at one end it would spin like a wheel while spitting out sparks. Mum, never missing an opportunity to give us a history lesson. She delighted in telling us it was a named after St Catherine of Alexandria. She condemned to death by ‘breaking on the wheel,’ whatever that was. It didn’t happen because the wheel miraculously broke when Catherine touched it. They chopped her head off instead.

Our Catherine Wheel was carefully nailed to the wooden fence by my, not very handyman, dad. He lit the fuse and it spun and fizzed and popped a few times to our disappointment. Then suddenly it took off and lit the fence on fire, that was very exciting. 

Photo by Arthur Chauvineau on Unsplash

 The next day there would be reports in the newspapers of how many people had been injured. Hands or fingers blown off, terrible burns and worse. Ahh, those were the days. 

I hope your Halloween is not too scary and that you get to spend some time with family and friends. If the veil is thinnest today, let’s remember loved ones who are no longer with us. Give thanks for the lives they led. For the influence they had on the world, no matter how large or small.

I’d love to hear, in the comments, how you spent your Halloween or Guy Fawkes night. What were your family traditions? Thank you for hanging out with me and for reading my thoughts. It means a great deal to me.