What comes into your mind when you think of Samhain? No matter what pictures
or memories you have, I can imagine none are quite like mine. Maybe I'm being
naive, maybe Hallowe'en is the same around the world, or at least everywhere,
where hoards of Irish emigrated. Here in Switzerland it's not like back home,
it doesn't actually really exist, nobody takes much notice, except the Irish
pubs scattered around the country ( but they're only using it as a commercial
scam!), even my "family" of hallowed out pumpkins get rather
strange looks.
Hallowe'en is one of those times of the year when I get homesick, when I
yearn for those images etched into my mind, the memories of my childhood and
my life before I went abroad. Back home Hallowe'en hasn't changed much over
the past few hundreds of years, and the church never managed to stamp it out,
it's still as magical as ever, and as popular as it was during the times of
the Druids, and I miss it like hell. I don't arrange dozens of bowls of
goodies on my dining room table, because nobody calls dressed up as a ghoul,
so I only have a small feast for me and my children. I dress up an old wooden
fork (that thing must be at least a hundred years old), normally in orange
and black ribbons with dried corncobs and sunflowers tied to the prongs. At
the foot of this, I place a few little pumpkins and sawdust. And all my
window sills are decorated with similar items. I'm the only house ever
decorated but I don't care.
I grew up in Dublin city, I'm a native Irish and the blood in my veins is
green, I'm probably not your typical picture of an Irish cailÍn, a little too
delicately built, but the temperament is there and the freckles. I went to
France some years ago and met my husband there, and as he is Swiss, I then
came to Switzerland. It's a beautiful country here, the people are a little
strange, so serious and strict, but it's a country full of history and
ghastly stories, but still it's not Dublin, I'm not saying I hate it here, I
don't really, I just get home sick every now and then.
Growing up, Hallowe'en was one of the most favourite holidays among most of
the children (and adults), it was eagerly awaited for many reasons. In
Ireland there are two weeks holidays especially for the festival, or was it
one? Anyhow, it's hard to pinpoint where the preparations began, for the
under 15 years of age in anyway, the adults could actually do it all in the
week before Hallowe'en, or so they said.
In the housing estate where I lived, the houses were built in squares, making
a quadratic area for the children to play, and the children of one square
rarely played with the children of another square, altogether, in our estate
were about six of these squares. In our square, we started collecting wood
for the bonfire around the end of July, or the beginning of August. Every
square had it's own bonfire, so wood was a cause for fighting. Every tiny
scrap of any flammable material was collected and stored away in a secret
place, ours was under the basement of the "flats." The flats were
cheap apartment blocks with unused basements, where only the rats dared to
go, and us of course, making it the safest place for our treasure. Evenings
where spent walking around the housing estates, even the ones further away,
risking fights with rival gangs, to find wood for our bonfire. It was really
well organised by the older children and teenagers, they sent out
"squads," and told them were to look. So from August until the end
of October, the city was filled with little squads of children walking
around, trying their best to look innocent, and searching for wood in the
area they were told to check out.
Our Fire had to be bigger than all the rest, especially than the
"Kalls." They were on the field next to us and every year it was a
big thing to see which gang had the biggest fire. It was like being
patriotic: generations of "Squares" had competed against one
another to be the pride of the estate, the square with the biggest bonfire.
The Kalls had one advantage over us--"Caesar." He was a bull with
no front teeth, the stories of how he lost his teeth were famous, the one
that stuck in my head was something about him biting his owner, and his owner
who was on crutches at that time, hit him in the mouth with a crutch. I never
found out if was true, most probably not, most probably they were removed to
avoid him ever biting a child and being put down. But anyway, they were the
biggest threat to our bonfire, The Kalls.
After months of collecting firewood, the day finally comes, we're all on
holidays and everyone got up early and waited at the kitchen window for the
first of the older boys to come out. We started at about ten o' clock in the
morning bringing the wood out of our hiding places and arranging it in the
middle of the square, we looked in awe as it lay there in all it's glory, the
result of many months worry and struggle, even the small children had been
collecting and gleefully placed their little bundles at the side of the pile,
the older children where always so proud of the little ones. Some of the wood
had always been found by others and stolen, and the risk of last minute raids
were fairly high, so older boys escorted the girls to secret places to obtain
the hidden treasure, and many more prowled around making sure nobody was
spying on us, this was a great moment and no-one was going to ruin it. I
remember one year we had a particularly bad time with the Kalls, they had
stolen a lot of our wood, we looked upon the smaller than usual pile in the
square, some of us ready to cry, some of us just plain angry,and all of us
disappointed. They had raided one of our hideouts just a few nights before,
and some of the boys still had bruised eyes.
At about three o' clock in the afternoon, after we had finished piling the
wood, my dad came out of his garage grinning like a Cheshire cat. He made a
comment on how small the bonfire would be and laughed as the boys went into a
frenzy recalling the struggle only nights before, of course exaggerating
about how many Kalls had actually participated in the raid, and then they
fell quiet, because just then we caught site of something behind my dad on
the ground...
My dear dad who kept every tiny scrap of wood ever to fall into his hands,
all neatly stored on top of the rafters in his almost house like garage
(which he had built himself mind you!), had felt sorry for us and decided to
donate us some of his precious wood. We could have cried for joy, we had eyed
this lot up for years and never got so much as a match stick, and now we were
being handed it for the best use ever imagined for wood--our Hallowe'en
Bonfire. I was so proud in that moment, I nearly cried I was so proud, that
was my Dad who had saved us the humility of a less than the size of a garden
shed bonfire. I couldn't wait to see the look on the faces of those Kalls, to
see all their jaws drop, because they were expecting an easy victory, and
weren't going to get it.
It was late before we had finished hauling sheets of chipboard and timber
from my dad's garage, and some of the boys had already started bringing wood
up to our traditional fire place, some of the boys stayed chatting to my dad,
thanking him over and over, until he finally reminded them of the time, time
to get the fire ready. Every year it was placed in the exact same place, and
throughout the whole year the five meter in diameter charred circle was to be
seen. Carefully the wood would be piled up, only experienced children where
allowed to help, and now there were parents around to supervise and also to
make sure no thieves would pop up anywhere. Standing around the site like
soldiers, they too were proud of this moment, it was, after all, their
children who had spent months making sure this would be possible.
At last it was ready, the smaller children were already dressed up and doing
their rounds under the escort of older siblings. Darkness was nearing and one
of the fathers stood ready with a can of petrol. I normally had to go home
around now for dinner, as with a lot of the kids, but about ten people stood
watch over the fire. And funny enough, I guess it was always at this time the
mascot was placed at the top of the fire, I never actually witnessed this,
and I always wondered how they got it up there! Every year without fail, a
large stuffed animal was found somewhere and was adopted as mascot, it was
never a really important thing, but where else were we to put a great big
stuffed animal? So each year it landed on the peek.
For dinner we always got Witches dinner, also called Call-cannon or curly
kail, I loved it, it was made of mashed potato with chopped raw onions and
kail (frizzy or curly cabbage), there were always coins hidden in it, and we
shovelled it down in the hope of finding them. Then my mother arranged the
large bowls of fruit and sweets and Bairm Breac on the table, these were for
the children who knocked on the door dressed up, and my mam loved the kids,
she would ask them all silly questions, and she was always very generous with
what she gave, she then reminded them that Mrs. Broe had made little bags of
goodies so they better hurry before they're all gone. The idea was that the
kids frightened whoever opened the door, but I loved Hallowe'en and always
got in the mood of the evening, normally this meant keeping watch out the
window so I could frighten whoever knocked, one favourite was opening the
door so they couldn't see me while they were still coming down the path, I
would then jump out dressed up as some horrific being, but they loved it! The
Breac was a traditional cake with a ring hidden in it, this ring was also the
only reason why a child would ever touch this fruit loaf served with a thick
coat of butter, and although back then I also only ate until the ring was
found, I now years on, bake tons of these cakes at Hallowe'en, I eat most
myself, but a few are given to close friends, I guess this is one of those
foods that grow on you over the years.
It's dark now and the smaller children will be going to bed soon, as I make
my way back up to the fire amid the scurry of tiny ghouls and witches, a
wonderful feeling always comes over me at this time, after months of hard
work the time had come to set it all ablaze. This great ceremony was always
done by a parent, and I guess he or she was always honoured to do it (no need
to say this was also the start of many an argument). Petrol was poured over
the wood and slowly a single match was held up to it, the crowd gave great
cheers, bottles of beer popped and the odd illegal banger went off, and now
for most started the fun part.
After the smaller children went home, and most mothers, - yea someone has to
open the door to all those ghouls!- the older children gathered around to
listen to some teenager tell tales of ghostly encounters, I must admit, I've
also told the odd tale on this night! Stories were told and bravery was
tried, it was said, and still is, that whoever walks counter clockwise around
the bonfire six times, would see the devil. I never tried it myself, I didn't
fancy seeing old Nick himself, then again I can't remember anybody trying it,
although the odd boy boasted that he did it the year before and had told the
devil he was a stupid looking so and so.. but if taunted to prove he wasn't
scared...
If you walked around the Dublin suburbs now, you could see thousands of
fires, big as houses, literally. I only ever once drove around Dublin on this
night, with a friend of mine, he was seventeen, so was I. But I can still see
it clearly, it was beautiful, the whole city was ablaze, hundreds and
thousands of ghastly figures, walked the street, some playing pranks on
friends, and others on their way to a fancy dress ball. All who were wearing
a costume got into every disco free of charge tonight, and all who were not
wearing a costume were not looked upon with a friendly manner, and the best
costume always got a prize. And we drove around silently, watching the best
loved celtic holiday in all it's glory.
It's summer now, every year I think about going home for Hallowe'en, but
every year I end up staying in Switzerland, baking tons of Breac, and cooking
Witches dinner. Pity really, it's always because of some little thing that
pops up out of nowhere, like a last minute business trip for my husband. Well
at least I'll be spending it with other witches, even if our fire is not big
as a house, and even if it's the only one in the whole country at the time,
my memories still make it a special night for me, and it comforts me to know
that not too far away, at this very moment, thousands of fires, big as
houses, are burning brightly, in a country where you don't have to be pagan
to take part in this wonderful festival, and I will be there in my mind,
beside the fire, throwing nuts into it, nuts that Mrs. O'Brien had, as
always, given me, listening to the stories and singing with friends. And one
of these days I'll tell my husbands boss to "Sod off, we're going to
Dublin next week, so my hubby can't pop down to Geneva, mate!"
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