| Once upon a time, when our generation was a bit younger and a bit more innocent, we would cherish the years’ celebrations - we’d have egg hunts for Easter, buy advent calendars in anticipation of Christmas, and for Halloween dress up as Dracula and go ‘trick-or-treating’ - and all for Christ, our saviour. Like so many other notable dates in the calendar year, however, with age the magic of Halloween has evaporated. And like Easter, like Christmas, like Ascension Day, Halloween has become just another Excuse To Get Pissed. My earliest memory of Halloween was being wrapped from head to toe in toilet paper by my parents to go as a mummy, only I couldn’t move my limbs without my costume breaking so my dad had to carry me from door to door. Yes, I learnt an important lesson that year – mummies wore bandages. It’s a lesson I’ve never forgotten. Those early days of trick-or-treating were hampered – I could only knock on houses I ‘knew’ which sucked ‘cause I was like seven and didn’t have half my primary school colleagues’ addresses so we had to go to my parents’ friends’ instead which made me self-conscious because I didn’t know them too well, I mean we’d spoken but I wouldn’t say we’d had conversations. They consistently gave good stuff though like a packet of ‘Refreshers’ or a ‘Wispa’ bar or a bag of ‘Tutti-Frutti’, not like the erratic neighbours of later Halloweens. Mmm... ‘Tutti-Frutti’. One of my saddest memories of Halloween was the year I was considered too old be taken out by my parents yet too young to go out on my own. I remember it was a Saturday, and I was stuck inside watching TV – a prisoner. I pondered pensively at the blackness of the window. Everyone else was out there, I thought, creating mischief on the moonlit streets, earning delightful treats and wicked loot for their folly, cheeks reddened with glee, their youthful breath visible in the autumn cold - while I was here inside, warm yet somehow so cold at the same time, watching Beverly Hills 90210. I usually enjoyed catching up on Jason Priestly and the gang but today’s episode felt somewhat run-of-the-mill. Amongst many others who came to our door that evening to trick-or-treat was my brother, two years my senior and dressed as Frankenstein’s monster, who also came - to generously pour salt into my gaping wound. Some trick! After the lows came the highs, when a couple of years later, I was able to go Halloweening with my pals. As each year neared adolescence the costume became increasingly subordinated, as did the need to knock on houses we were familiar with. While this improved profit it was also much more difficult. You’d have to wait for ages at some houses in hope they’d answer, and when they did, a lot of the time they just gave you crap. Like maybe they’d give you a few ‘Opal Fruits’, or a couple of apples from their back garden - that was always a bad one - or, worst of all, they’d give you a few of those biscuits with the cow on them. I hate those biscuits - they’re so damn plain and it’s like you’re meant to be grateful because they have a cow on them. Man, I hate those biscuits - and generally I like biscuits. These were great years, though I am brought to one occasion of joyful spirits at the age of 15, my mates and I our hearts filled with the good-natured glee Halloween infused. Having received no answer for a few houses in succession, we came upon one very pleasant looking house which had all its lights on and visible movement - we skipped towards it merrily and rang the doorbell with great anticipation. The two young females who answered, however, greeted us not with light-hearted surprise, but with a faint desperation. They rummaged hurriedly in their purses and upon finding a wage for us, £2 I think it was, did not say “Happy Halloween”. They did not ask us what our trick would have been as wittier clientele have been known to ask. They did not even simply smile and speed us on our way as most people do. Instead, one of them said “Just don’t damage the car”, and they closed the door. That was the last night I ever went trick-or-treating. I’ll tell you; those words have stayed with me to this day. Whenever that sentence replays itself in my mind it never fails to make me feel melancholic. In hindsight I suppose they represent the loss of innocence in my youth. I remember just being struck with a feeling of complete despair that these people would never know just how good-natured we were, how we would never conceive to do something like that. They would just never know. So me and my mates decided we would change that - and you know what? The following morning we hid and waited for them to go to work and then we broke into their house, ransacked the place and defecated on the mantelpiece. It sure did show that family; they wouldn’t go carelessly judging innocent Halloweeners anytime soon! Hell, £2 isn’t much when you split between five anyway – they deserved it, the cheapskates. So what can we learn from this generalised look back at Halloween over the years – that Beverly Hills 90210 was an underrated show? Possibly - but I say we should just try to let go the Halloween of our youth with dignity, if possible to cherish it’s memory as best we can, and, if the only way we know how to celebrate today is to drink too much and try and punch Christine Hamilton at the Halloween Ball, then so be it. Mutt's Nuts contributer Kieran Humphries obviously had a disturbing childhood. |
| ~ The Spoof~ A Nostalgic Look at HALLOWEEN |
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