Autumn vs Halloween - Everyday Knitter
Browsing social media over the last few weeks, you could be forgiven that the season was Halloween rather than autumn. Apart from a bit of autumnal excitement early on, so much social media content from mid-September onwards is based on Halloween. ‘Spooky season’ is a common theme that seems to have been running for weeks and I guess will continue to do so until 1st November at which point we will suddenly, seamlessly morph into festive stuff.
At the risk of sounding slightly pedantic, ‘spooky season’ is actually one day. The evening of 31 October was originally the festival of Samhain - an ancient Celtic festival where people would light fires and dress up in costumes to ward away ghosts and evil spirits. It marked a time between the end of summer and harvest and the start of a long dark winter. It marks the halfway point between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice. A time when the boundaries between this world and the next become blurred.
It then became adopted by Christianity as All Saints Eve - a time to honour all saints, and then at some point it became a ‘thing’ and shops from September onwards started to produce a variety of plastic merchandise with which to decorate our houses.
Growing up in the UK in the 1970s Halloween wasn’t even a thing. Nothing. Never mentioned. No trick or treating, no sweeties or decorations. Just a vague mention of witches - I grew up in the shadow of Pendle Hill - and All Hallows Eve. Some people, I recall took part in a torchlit walk up Pendle Hill on Halloween and probably still do. My Dad dismissed that as ‘daft’ and so we didn’t partake - although I have to admit that the idea did and still does really appeal to me.
All of our childish excitement was reserved for Bonfire Night. That was the night that had everything - huge fires, cinder toffee that could take a wobbly tooth out in seconds and fireworks. The excitement started weeks in advance as a giant bonfire started to be built on the playing fields at the side of the playing fields. Our Dads dragged every scrap of waste wood from the house and back gardens, anything to save a visit to the tip. And for weeks we watched it build.
The evening itself was always a great event, even if it was often damp and wet (This was Lancashire in November after all). The air was thick was bonfire smoke and the imminent threat of stray fireworks. There was a slightly more casual attitude to health and safety back then. Rockets were propped up in glass milk bottles along brick walls and catherine wheels were nailed to fence posts. Men lit the blue touch paper and our mums made us all stand well back.
Overall, I’m happy we don’t do that bit any more. I prefer my fireworks in an organised display these days, without the imminent threat of serious injury. But I do miss standing around a big bonfire.
Do you have any favourite memories of bonfire night? Why not tap the button below and let’s reminisce.
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