Hallow E'en O NCE, (it was in 1916 to be precise)
I remarked to some English soldiers that it was Hallow E'en. They seemed not one pin the wiser. But a Jock, lately wounded at Loos, murmured, " Och-aye," and I felt he understood.
I produced at tea-time a barmbrack with a ring in it and some fairy nuts. But I felt that the barmbrack was not really liked, and no one bothered about the ring ; and as for the nuts—those soldiers bit them and choked over the " hundreds and thousands," or whatever you call those tiny sweets which fill fairy nuts. No one cared about Hallow E'en. In Lancashire October 31st was only the day before November 1st, instead of the most magical day in the year except Midsummer Eve and Christmas EVe. How much English people miss in not observing Hallow E'en.
The charm of it may begin at lunch when you and the maids all hope to find the ring in the Kale Kannel.
And then when dusk falls the lovely eerie expectancy grows and grows. Either you go to a children's party or you are grown up and give one. At some period you must rush out to the garden and pull up cabbage stumps.
If a lot of earth sticks to the root you will be rich, and if not—well, you must face poverty. Then at tea—and how cheerful and yet mysterious is a Hallow E'en tea—you try your fate again with the Barmbrack. However solid you may feel on other fare you must tackle a slice large enough to conceal a paper-wrapped ring. However young you may be it becomes a vital matter that you should be married and not be fobbed off with a button or a thimble.
After tea you may try your fate in several other ways. A wise hostess will blindfold her guests and lead them up to a row of saucers. One has earth for a gardener, pins for a tailor, water for a sailor, and so on. These may vary but they must include a saucer of soot for the sweep. The blindfold one chooses his own profession or the girl finds her husband's lot. Next there is the really rather thrilling job of melting lead in a kitchen spoon and pouring it through the handle of the back-door key. Did I say that all these sports belong by right to the kitchen ?
The kitchen's paved floor and wooden table are the proper things. Besides it is a democratic festival and you want the cook's spoons. As for the lead which is poured through the key handle it assumes enchanting shapes in the water, and you use your ingenuity to decide what it looks like and to guess your fate thereby.
Then you must dip for apples, and here towels and waterproofs may be useful. The tin bath must be deep enough. It is only fun for the onlookers when the dippers get their heads well under water and come out dripping. Two or three of the apples contain a sixpenny-bit. There are few ages when a sixpence is not worth an effort and a little ducking. Two people should try at once and the apples should be stirred up to real activity. Your apple is wonderfully elusive when wet.
In the meantime the elders are roasting hazel nuts in pairs, naming them after possible pairs of lovers. I knew a lady nut which was burnt with seven gentlemen nuts. Later she married one of them. I hope he was the one which smouldered steadily and not a high jumper.
I have seen a dish of Snapdragon appear on Hallow E'en. But this was an English innovation, for Snapdragon belongs to Twelfth Night.
But many a secret rite remains: A girl may peel an apple before a mirror till her future husband looks over her shoulder and she sees his reflection. I know an old Wexford woman, a family nurse, who terrified her young- lings on this night by putting a chair before the nurserj, fire for any wandering spirit who might chance that way.
For the rest, we elders are inclined to sit long by the fire thinking of days gone by and of children who came to our parties, children now grown up and married and in different quarters of the world. I see a little boy whose soldier's grave is on the Indian frontier. I see a little girl who made a lovely bride last year. I see the smile of one whose faithful heart watched over us all until she could say no longer, " Don't worry about me, it's only the mistress that matters." Her grave, too, is green.
Yes, I would not miss Hallow E'en out of the Calendar, not for all the fireworks of Guy Fawkes Day, nor exchange its pleasant currant barmbrack for that treacly confection called " Parkin," which children in Lancashire may eat on November 5th. For thinking of many a Hallow E'en I say that gentle Irish blessing, " God be with the day."
W. M. LErrs.
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