Landmarks tend to spark new inspirations. As I entered a new decade, I declared to my family and friends that it was time to being a blog.  I just wanted to capture some of the moments that seem like markers along the way.  I use the heading “Meanderings” as that is all they will likely to be…my thoughts on a moment as I carry on with this winding path of life.  Feel free to read on, comment, share or ignore.  For any of my American friends reading this, my computer prefers British spellings!

7 November 2015

I like traditions. I like the fact they indicate what is important to us in big and small ways.  In my need for tradition, my patient husband and loving son and allowed me to install some of our traditions over time, for which I thank them.

Last Saturday was Halloween, an increasingly popular activity in England but certainly not endorsed by all. In the emerging practice of “Trick or Treat” those who have something to offer need to carve a pumpkin into a jack o lantern and leave it in view of the street.  The light over the front door needs to be on.  It helps to have some further indication but the carved pumpkin is normally enough for accompanying parents allow their children to ring the bell or knock on the door.

In our early married life, the street knew that the American on the street was a good bet for offering a treat. Annually I had my husband and son carve a pumpkin while I videoed their efforts.  Martin recognised my need for American moments to evolve in our British lifestyle.  I encouraged neighbours to consider sending their children to me for the experience of trick or treating.  I felt lucky if one or two people knocked on the door with each year, the numbers increased.  By the time Timothy was born, I knew to have a bowl of sweets on hand even the day before as the day of Halloween wasn’t what decreed the practice as much as the weather.  Heavy rain meant no visitors.  Costumes varied from crude sheets with cut out eyes to Disney princesses dressed and accessorised.  Some teenagers came as teenagers.  I wore a cape and witches hat to the door and when I asked them “what are you meant to be,” their response of “Teenagers” was straightforward.  “Your costumes are really convincing,” I assured them.  I put a few sweets into their plastic Tesco bags and waved them off.

There was one incident though, that has become the family story around Halloween. Timothy was all of six weeks old.  Martin had been working away from Oxford, requiring him to drive 90 minutes in each direction.  He left in the dark and returned in the dark after the clocks changed.  When I heard the knock at the door, I thought he must have forgotten his key.  I opened to door to find a tall person covered in a sheet “booing” at me.  I immediately slammed the door and screamed, setting my baby to a startled cry.  In a moment, I though “was he supposed to be a ghost?”  I opened the door as I bounced Timothy on my shoulder.  The teenager had pulled the sheet from his face and had made his way back to the street.  When the door opened again, he turned. I shouted after him “Hey, are you ‘Trick or Treating?’  The boy ran back to the door eagerly, claiming “Yes…I’m a ghost.”  “Halloween isn’t for another four days,” I instructed.  “But I’m going to Mallorca tomorrow, aren’t I?”  he explained, holding out his plastic bag.  I gave him brownie I had made for guests earlier that day and he went running off.

Martin came through the door moments later. “Crazy kids…I almost hit one.”  I told him that I had just screamed at one and we began to overlap our stories.  It seemed the boy was so excited to have made me scream in fear that he went running out into the street just as Martin was trying to park.  If it hadn’t been for the white sheet, Martin might have bumped him.  As Martin got out of the car to call after him, he heard the boy call to his mother “Mum, Mum…I made a woman scream”.

“Doesn’t he realise Halloween isn’t until Friday” Martin asked. “He’s going to Mallorca in the morning, isn’t he.” I explained.

As Timothy went through primary school, I wanted him to know the pleasure of trick or treating as I had known at his age. I arranged half a dozen neighbours with children about his age to agree that small groups of costumed children came calling.  We identified these as “safe houses”.  The children travelled in packs, even going to their own homes and then ended up at our house for a small party of snacks and games before heading back home.

In part because Halloween always falls during the school children’s half term break and in part because it appeals to young and old alike to be given free goodies, the popularity of ringing a stranger’s bell has increased. Supermarkets went from having a small display of witches hats, modest face paints and rubber fingers and teeth to committing a full aisle of costumes for young and old alike, buckets of candy and decorations for homes willing to offer treats. Our house carries on this tradition but has broadened the understanding.  I make shaped cookies of cats, bats, ghosts, skulls and pumpkins…the majority are pumpkins.  Martin and Timothy accommodate my need to decorate by applying faces and features to the iced cookies.  When children come to the door, Martin proudly declares that they were made of bats’ blood.  Of course we have sweet packets as well but it is the cookies that go first.  We even offer them to parents standing in the dark behind the garden fence who eagerly accept and come running up to the door.  Health and safety has yet to hit the British mind set.

Five days after Halloween comes Guy Fawkes Day. This is a celebration everyone seems to participate in for its requirement of setting off fireworks.  History in England is different from that in my native America.  Guy Fawkes Day goes back to 1605 when thirteen young men planned to blow up the Houses of Parliament in an attempt to assassinate King James I and restore a Catholic monarch to the throne. Among them was Guy Fawkes, Britain’s most notorious traitor. As I understand it, he was the one left guarding the explosives and was caught.

Since that date, “Remember, remember the 5^th of November,” bonfires were set alight to celebrate the safety of the King.  Today neighbourhoods, villages, towns and cities hold a bonfire night where fireworks are set off, a bonfire is lit, often with an effigy -historically of the Pope but now most believe it is of Guy Fawkes.  In earlier days children wandered their neighbourhoods collecting scraps of wood for the bonfire and asking all to contribute “a penny for the Guy” to fund the fireworks display.

In Oxford, this is a community affair that takes place in South Parks. This vast open space just at the threshold of the city used to be covered with English Oaks.  Oxford was the home of Charles I during Oliver Cromwell’s time. The King, in fear of Cromwell’s army and their advancement from London, had all the trees felled.  Now this rolling hilly area is covered in grass with trees bordering it that begins in Headington and slopes down to St. Clements Road.  South Parks is the popular spot for university students to picnic and gather on sunny days and winter sledging on snow days.  The base of the park is often used during Bank Holiday weekends for temporary fun parks, food festivals, concerts or even the circus visiting.  On or near the 5^th of November, the fireworks display offers a show of thousands willing to trek out in the autumn damp and cold to watch a spectacular shower of light, filling the blackened skies with a power, rhythm and brilliance. The relentless searing, crackling and popping of the fireworks, followed by a thick white smoke pressed to the ground by the cold air above wraps the crowd in a communal awe of the show.  As the final grandstand of fireworks burst forth followed by silence, the crowd takes in the entirety of what they have seen.  Applause begins to rise and continues until the bonfire is lit.  The damp tower of wood becomes initially enshrined by billows of white smoke with flames flickering through.  The smoke gives way to powerful flames, giving off a fierce warmth to those closer to it.  The flames begin to lick the sky in a dance that casts a spell on the audience and a subdued murmur of admiration replaces the applause.  It is bonfire night in all its history.  The Houses of Parliament remain but the reminder of what might have happened is re-enacted annually across the land.