halloween

BY DOROTHY HENDERSON, WESTERN AUSTRALIA-BASED MEDIA STRINGER

As a child, my memories of Halloween were very down to earth; a father carving ghoulish faces into large, hollowed out turnips, and then placing candles in the centre of the eviscerated vegetables. The soft, wax-fuelled glow allowed the inner spirit of the Jack-o’-lanterns to spill out menacingly or cheerfully, depending on the manner in which our father had wielded his pocket knife.

Those memories were forged in the United Kingdom, in the part of the world where the rituals associated with Halloween were first practiced.

I remember nothing of the industrialised and commercialised, pre-packaged and plastic wrapped Halloweens we now experience. Since then, we have experienced other northern hemisphere Halloweens, where the division between the longer days of warmers seasons and the impending darkness of the coming winter makes sense and rituals associated with pumpkins, turnips, candles and bonfires fit with the seasons they were borne of.

So why, on the other side of the world, are we compelled to continue with a day of observation that has nothing to do with where we are? I am not so sure I know the answer to that question, but in our household, the history of Halloween has long been part of our school routine. Making cut-out cardboard witches to hang from the rafters; pumpkin soup from a home-grown carved out pumpkin…dressing up as witches and warlocks…clambering on to patient ponies and traipsing to neighbouring farmhouses to trick or treat, receiving specially prepared ghost shaped meringues as part of a joyful interaction, Maybe these things are culturally inappropriate in our new home, but as first generation Australians from a Celtic background, I find it hard to deny Halloween’s existence on my inbuilt calendar!

For over a 1000 years, the Christian festival of All Saints’ Day, or “All Hallows” has been celebrated on November 1. Consequently “All Hallows Eve” became “Hallowe’en” – the eve of All Saints’ Day. All Saints’ Day is a day on which Christians remember: on this day all believers were regarded as saints so it is a day for all those who have died.

Writing in The Conversation today, Robyn J. Whitaker talks of the Celtic origins of Halloween, known as Samhain, and the actions taken by Celts to fend off fears that spirits and ghosts could enter the realm of the living, and maybe even spirit the living away with them. Tactics included gifts for the dead, costumes to disguise the living from ghosts and bonfires to ward off bad spirits, and offerings of food to appease the ghosts.

While musing on the growth of the Halloween industry in Australia, and the environmental impact of the treats produced as part of the burgeoning celebrations, Whitaker reflects on the deeper meaning of Halloween and the need for such death focused traditions as they enable us to remember and honour the dead.

“Divorced from religious traditions of various kinds, we are in danger of being a culture that lacks the rituals that help us pause, remember, give thanks and take stock of both death and life,” Whitaker said.

As she says, “remembering the dead (or dressing up like them) reminds us to be grateful for life”.

And gratitude, in its many forms, is a feeling which brings with it benefits that last way beyond the pumpkin soup and cardboard witches.

As I read Whitaker’s words, I find myself pausing, feeling slightly numb. I realise that in my search for photographs to go with this story, I have strayed into an A4 sized visual art diary. Its black covers deny the joy that lies within, with page upon page of colourfully happy pics of children. Our children, taken during the early years of their home-schooling journey.

Amongst these photographs are images of them on different Halloween’s in different years, some dressed in witches’ attire with faces painted accordingly, some with sequined facemasks on, and some with lanterns made from apples. One of the children in those images is no longer with us, and I see her smiling young face lit up by her candle illuminated apple and I feel happy. Indulging in the occasion that is a festival, by any standards, created memories. Memories that bring pleasure later in life and if there is the chance to reflect on something serious, like the value of those that have left us too soon for our liking, while bringing pleasure to those of us that are left behind, is that not a good thing?

Link to reference, Robyn J. Whitaker’s article featured onThe Conversation