Another soul has sent more on the origin of

All Hallows Eve

~ or ~

Halloween

Excerpt #1

Of all the holidays we celebrate, none has a history or reason which quite rivals that of Halloween. We have our religious holidays such as Christmas and Easter and national holidays like Memorial Day and the 4th of July but none of them are as unique and singular as Halloween.

Halloween has its origins in the second century B.C. The whole confab started with the Druids who were the high priests for the Celts. The Celts were a truly handsome people ...tall, red haired, originally from Gaul, what is now France and Belgium. These folks were, however, a superstitious lot and they put quite a bit of faith in demons, sibyls, ghosts, and the like. The Druids, knowing this, relied on a goodly amount of trudging around, chanting, piling rocks on other rocks and other sorts of primeval chicanery. Throw in your occasional eclipse, tidal wave, or tornado, and they could pretty much keep the Celts faithful to the sorcery.

Well, it seems a lot of this chanting and bantering about was for the benefit of Samhain, Lord of the Dead. Samhain's Day, as it was, fell on the Celtic New Year's Day, which is our November 1st. Historic legend has it that Samhain kept all the souls of those who had died in the past year, and interred them in the form of cats and other sly creatures. Well the night before Samhain's Day was supposed to be prime time to free these souls. This soul-freeing was not, by modern standards, socially acceptable. It did, I suspect give rise to that saying about skinning a cat. Still, if most of the rest of the year is spent prancing around fires, mumbling and chanting, I can see where this event may rank high on the calendar of events.

Now, most of these ancient holidays gave way through the ages to more civilized events, like disco. But not old Samhain's Day Eve. Nope, the Scots and the Irish got their hands on this event and turned it from a pagan ritual of random chanting, prancing and socially unacceptable behavior into an organized cultural paradigm complete with poems, rituals, ghosts and cures.

When the Scots first really started to get into the Halloween spirit, it was the Dark Ages in Europe. There was enough ignorance and fear in the countryside to support a whole slew of demons and witches, and there were those who would take advantage and profit from all this. By this time, what was Samhain's Day was now All Hallows's Day, a day to recognize all the saints. All Hallows's Eve, however, retained all the dread and fright that it had when the Druids were prancing around in animal heads. The Scots and Irish, however, had either better imaginations than the Druids, or perhaps better ale and rye, because the spirits became more numerous, more powerful, and far more devilish.

All Hallows's Eve became the time when ghosts and fairies circled over the houses, waiting to drag the souls of innocent lasses into the dark underworld. Brave men lit fires of brush and peat and threw pitchforks of burning wood into the air in an attempt to singe the witch's brooms and drive them away. Inside the homes, families gathered around the fire. The pipes wailed and the people chanted, all to divert the demons. Those same lasses set nuts by the fire and cut apples to determine to whom and when they would marry and if it were to be a happy marriage. From these dark and eerie times came many of the myths and customs of Halloween, including the Jack-O-Lantern, originally a chewed up turnip used to carry an ember from the depths of hell.

Over the years, a lot of things have been added; trolls, more witches, Ninja Turtles and Richard Nixon. Still, this most ancient of holidays retains some of the original mystery and fantasy first contrived in dank huts by Druid hustlers. Tonight is the night for goblins and ghosts, and other creatures from a dimension we can either only imagine or perhaps, barely perceive. We still recognize the spooks and fears of the dark corners of our minds, and, with all our sophistication, still chill at the telling of a good ghost story.

So, were the Druids just chanting in the wind? Did the ancient Scots hide their children out of empty fear? Or were they, perhaps, responding to a far more ancient call? A call, some say, from the far distant past, when they say, the spirits ruled the world. Do you still dream, and awake in a cold sweat, knowing that you do not lie alone, that you are being...watched?

So, sleep well, tonight. Sleep well in the knowledge that the demons in your mind are the demons of the Druids. Sleep well in knowing that this is all just superstition and jest. Sleep well secure that your lads and lasses are snuggled safe from the witches and warlocks. But still, just think that these fears and conjurations are the same as those ancients had when the wind blew cold and whistled through the trees, sending an eerie wail past the hearth. But no, today we stand on our science, and our sense, and we all know these hauntings aren't so. But the Druids built Stonehenge, and Stonehenge still stands.

Kind of makes you wonder just how much these ancients knew when a they can pile up a bunch of rocks over 2000 years ago, and have them still standing today. Any wagers on how many mobile homes will still be standing 2000 years from now?

So, we all know that all this woo-dah about ghosts and goblins is just a pile of old tales built on a lot of events which cannot be explained in any other way, which not only have survived the test of time, but, in fact have been enhanced and compounded by the ages. So what if every culture has it's witches and trolls, so what if we still celebrate this same feast on the same pagan holiday. Except for a half-dozen or so events in my life which I can't explain, I don't believe in ghosts. Sure, I've seen the video tapes of dishes and such flying around in people's houses. O.K., so I can't explain, the lights going on, and the creaking floorboards in the old house in my neighborhood where I grew up. But hey, I'm a contemporary guy. These things don't scare me. I've got my garlic and my rabbits foot. And so what if I did learn those Druid chants, and, sure I've got some animal skins, and a few beads. But I'm not scared of Halloween, or witches, or trolls, or warlocks. But you can find me tonight. I'll be the one outside my house, dancing around the fire in a moose skin, waving my pitchfork at the witches. But, if you think all this chanting and wailing is just foolish, or if you think the demons and devils are scary and wicked, just wait. We Americans topped all the ancients for a day of fear and loathing. We call it Election Day.

~ Silent Q.

Excerpt #2

Aye, 'tis the eve of ghosts 'n goblins, and a night it 'taint fer sane man ner' hearty beast. Fer tonight it tis' when the spirits and sibyls arise from the depths an' come t' claim the innocent an' the unwary. Most certain it 'tis this most pagan of days when the cold, dark shadows of winter a come creepin' across and take the life breath from the summer warmed earth. Fer ages, I tell ye, this has been the festival of darkness, the celebration of the netherworld.

The Druids, yes the Druids, they were a mysterious lot, and the first to dare venture 'neath the veil of nightfall. As dire an' forebodin' a bunch as there ever was, fer they were the High Priests of the Celts, and they settled the misty moors an' boggy tarns of Scotland an' Ireland. It was no gay holiday to which they danced, and to no good they paid their time, fer it was Samhain, the Lord of the Dead fer whom they toiled. An' Samhain, it was he who held the souls of the past year's dead, an' he held those souls in cats and other sly animals. An' so, on this eve, the eve of the New Year, the Celts came, an' feasted, to release the souls. An' all this, back over 2200 years ago.

Ach, but it were not jus' the Druids an' Celts mind ye. No, fer it was Christians an' heathens alike who brought flesh to the legend. Twas' the Scots an' the Irish who gave us the spirits of the night, an' dread spirits they were. Fer they were the ghosts and souls of ancient kings an' warriors, and the spirits of the elder gods. (ed. note - small "g") But these spirits could nay tolerate Christian bells an' holy water, an' lo, they shrunk to the wee folk of legend and verse. Even the luminent Maeve, warrior queen of Connacht, was, too, a mere nymph before the Church's powers.

It 'twas on Allhallows' Eve when Martin Luther nailed his proclamation of ninety-five theses on the Wittenburg church, knowin' full well the folk would gather in the morn. It is that same Allhallows Day, the day to honor all Saints and martyrs, which is the day to honor the souls of the goodly dead, and 'tis the eve before to fear the restless souls of the forgotten and the evil. It 'twas, in fact the eve to fear the incantations an' powers of the witches, the mischief of elves and trolls, an' the mysteries an' secrets of the night.

Yes, for it 'twas on the Eve of Allhallows when the fair lasses on the moors were kept, and hidden by their folk. Fer on this dark eve there were spirits which floated o'er the lintel of many a Scottish home, awaitin' the chance to capture the soul of an innocent, draggin' her to the netherworld, into the dark. An' near the hearth of many a home, came the skirl an' wail of the pipes, amusin' the witches an' warlocks with dance, an' keepin' the kin from harm. An' in the glen, the peat fires were lit, an' the brave menfolks speared the flames with pitchforks, sending the fires aloft, singein' the brooms of the witches, drivin' 'em from the village. Aye, 'twas an eerie sight, an' an eerie sound, but no harm came to those when the proper precautions were made.

'Tis sad is 'tis that great Potato Famine of 1846-1848 was what brought the Allhallows Eve festival to the New World. But not, mind ye, that the New World hadn't a witch 'ere a warlock 'afore. For it 'twas the English an' the Welsh who had their own demons and trolls, at it was they who gave 'em powers to frighten small children, slay strong men, an' make sound oxen go lame. An' it was they, too, who found the witches. As no witch could tolerate a pure element, an'as a pure element was water, a witch would surely float, an' so many of the accused, did, indeed float! An so many of the guilty could na' tolerate as pure an element as fire, an' so many of the guilty were set upon a dry stack o'wood.

It 'twas though, the Devil himself who gave us the Jack-o'-lantern, an 'twas Jack himself which saved us the only light on this dark night. Fer it 'twas on a cold Irish Allhallows' Eve when the stout man Jack tarried too long over his ale an' rye, and ran the gamut to get home. It was a dark and windy eve, an' the spirits hovered, an' the frail shivered near the hearth. In the gloom, Jack lay down, too drunk to find the safe port of his door. As the cold grip of death pulled the soul from his body, the Devil came up to claim the lost spirit. But Jack, made a pact with Lucifer; one last ale' 'afore he lost his soul to the demons. But sly Jack lied to the Demon, that he hadn't a sixpence for the keeper. The Devil then turned himself into a sixpence to trade for the ale (knowin' full well he could change back into a Demon). But sly Jack grabbed the sixpence, and dropped it in his purse, and latched it with a silver cross, for the Devil canna' pass through the sign of the cross. So Jack made a bargain with the Devil. He would release the spirit from the purse, if the Devil promised not to ever take his soul.

An so Jack saved his soul. But it was on the next Allhallows' Eve, an' Jack was again drunk. But now, 'is time was near, an his soul left his body. As was his misfortune, he was no good enough ta' get into heaven, and so he went to hell. He again met the Devil, an Satan kept his word, never to take 'is soul. And so Jack still wanders 'tween earth, an' heaven, an' hell. His only light is a glowing ember from the Inferno, which he keeps in a turnip on which he was gnawin' when he died.

So tonight, to the timid an' the bold, I'm a beseachin' yer good sense. For it's the spirits an' goblins of eons and peoples which haunt yer chimney. An' it's the fears and nightmares of your ancestors which chill yer spine. It's the ages which give ya yer shadows and trolls, an' it's a deep, dark corner which stores 'em, lurkin', waitin' fer the next Allhallows' Eve. Do ye dare set yer head to rest tonight? Have ye made a pact with the Prince of the Netherworld? Did ye skirl and dance, and are ye fair lasses by the hearth? Do ye dare to answer the knock on the door? For better ye should, fer the tiny pans and muses need to be attended, fer they are the images of the ancient Druids. Sleep well.

~ Silent Q.

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