Strangers In the Night ...

It's called Hop Tu Naa here on the island and the kids have to sing a little song with that title before they get the hand outs.

My other half, being away for for my sons wedding has been dragged out this evening to do Halloween American style. It's a big thing over there!

 

We always go along with it, adopted Scotland
Kids of our own and now grandkids

Years ago it was all and any kids, roaming themselves, they all were dressed up, and did a turn for their treat, recite a poem, funny joke etc
Then in the 90's it was youths out to make a buck not sweets requested but money and if not given then it was Trick ie throw eggs at the windows

Now it is only kids under 12 with a guardian, visiting other young families homes still dress up all be it mostly bought costumes, (I prefer the DIY Rubbish at least they made an effort)
Most manage a Pathetic joke, then we dish out a bag with fruit, sweets, and 50p
we all know each other so it is good fun again and stops after 19:30

Q what is a mummies favourite music
A wrap

Q what do you call a witch that lives on a beach
A a sandwich

Q what do witches use on their hair
A scare spray

Jack McHammocklashing

 

I don't want any nasty little herberts on my doorstep demanding sweets or money whether it's halloween, they're collecting pennies for the guy or carol singing. Begging is what my Mother used to call it and it's one of the few things upon which we agreed.

People will happily hand over sweets or whatever to some random child who could easily afford to buy their own and whose parents can clearly afford to buy them one of the costumes which have been in the shops/supermarkets for weeks but, later this week, when I'm out collecting on behalf of the Royal British Legion Poppy Appeal, I can guarantee that these same parents will, eventually, drag their sorry arses away from their 40-odd inch TV's, their X-boxes, Wii, computers etc., answer the door and say 'I haven't got any money' or 'I can't afford it.'

And if one more person says 'Ah, but it's tradition and it's only a bit of fun' I may have to hit them. It's not a 'tradition', it's an imported, commercially driven con and my elderly neighbour (who's almost 100) does not find it 'fun' in the least. In fact this lovely man who survived two World Wars and who seems afraid of nothing, rather ashamedly, asked if I'd sit with him for the early part of the evening '.... just in case .... well you know .... in case some children come'. I was happy to, he's got a wicked sense of humour, a very good bottle of single malt and when 'some children' did come they got very short shrift which, in translation, meant 'Please go away'. I suggested they try next door - my temporarily unoccupied house - they said they had but there was a 'fierce dog barking' .... little do they know that that she'd let anyone in and the biggest threat she poses is to merely lick any intruder to death! :D

OK, if that makes me No. 1 in the Wicked Witch category .... then, as the song goes, 'my living has not been in vain.' :yess:

 

I agree that Trick or Treating is an American import (but fun anyway) but going around the houses begging for money has impeccable British pagan credentials, see here.

Hel Calennig | National Museum Wales

I should know, 'cos my sisters and I used to do it, although that was in a far-off innocent era, admittedly.

I had no problems with Hallowe'en because I was out all evening - simples. As a festival, I greatly prefer it to Christmas, because it's optional, anarchic and over quickly.

 

S'mae, Madahlia. Yes, begging has deep roots in England, too. The tradition of the black-faced morris man started as a symbolic way of disguising his identity when he was collecting money. Unfortunately the pc brigade got the wrong end of the stick recently and tried to ban the practice on grounds of racism.

 

British Legion and RNLI

Sympathise with you, I trudge round in the evening for RNLI AND BL
The biggest givers are those thought to have NOWT
BMW/RANGE ROVER IN THE DRIVE guranteed nothing, or disgusting non money contributions in the envelopes, that we have to open and count filth

What the public see are the odd 386 dead bodies returning, What they do not see is that for every dead body they were alongside several maimed for life mates mostly aged around 21 years who now have to live the next 60 bed ridden or in wheelchairs

Sorry just seeing and knowing makes you a little angry

These young men to even get in the forces have to be in perfect health, perfect teeth, eyes, ears and body, come home broken and no one wants to know, usually all that is left to love them is their MUM
Others can not handle it and leave them so every little helps

Once again sorry to the forum

Jack McHammocklashing

 

Here, here.

I usually have two 'patches', (since there's a shortage of people willing to tramp around in the dark and wet of an evening) last year, those in the 40 'social housing' properties, contributed just over £97-odd, whilst, at the 'other end' of the village - the 70 houses owned by the BMW/Range Rover owners club, managed just £38.43p, (several 2 and 5 cent Euros and a smattering of other currency) between them.

And can I just make a plea, not necessarily for members here, but to pass on to others perhaps?

Please, please ....

a) don't allow small children to open the door by themselves especially on a dark evening - you've no idea who it is at the door,
and
b) if you do have to go upstairs, into the kitchen or wherever to get your handbag/purse/wallet - please explain and just shut your door, I/we don't mind waiting, but the number of times I've been left standing on doorsteps, doors wide open whilst the owner disappears, means I've had ample opportunity to 'help myself' to house keys, mobile 'phones, valuable looking ornaments and to see what else might be 'available'.

 

Interesting result, there, Fidgetsmum. It confirms my suspicion that so-called 'professionals' are not what they were. A while back a local independent school tried to stop mums parking their Chelsea tractors right over the school's entrance, as things were becoming very congested and downright dangerous for pedestrians. This meant that little Jocasta and Peregrin had to use their own legs to propel them a few yards down the road, a practice which some parents deemed unacceptable. So they went on parking on double yellows and ignored the parking tickets. What's a fine when your child's legs might wear out? And who cares that someone else's offspring might get squashed?

I always use my cat as an excuse to close the front door while I'm looking for my purse etc. I explain that I'm not being rude, I just happen to have an animal that sometimes gets a sudden urge to launch himself out of the front door and straight into the road.

 

Never fear, Fidgetsmum, it is Kings. Are you St Andrews? I have a funny story about the St Andrews lot too. The school sometimes had the same problem with mums parking where they shouldn't. (As you'll know, parking gets quite competitive in Watts Avenue.) A local councillor happened to be passing a particularly blatant bit of Mum parking, so he stopped and peered into the lady driver's open window. He explained as pleasantly as possible that she really should be parking elsewhere. As he started to expand on the dangers to children, there was a loud 'THANK YOU' from inside the car, followed by a whirring noise as the electric window shot upwards. Our gallant councillor was lucky to escape with his head intact.

 

Phew - not St. Andrews either ..... but then we've got our own car park (although they can't even park properly in that!)

 

Gads? Bryony? I'm fresh out of parking stories about them, although I have a fair number of other anecdotes about Gads. My favourite is about the 'anti-drugs day'. Years ago, Gads got the Boys in Blue to give a solemn talk on the dangers of drugs. Out came a picture of Daniella Westbrook minus bits of her nose. The kids nearly wet themselves laughing. Clearly no one had warned the Old Bill that Ms Westbrook's child attended the school.

(Rumour has it that a talk on the hazards of loose living was cancelled, after it was discovered that one of the parents was funding her children's education with proceeds from her bestseller. It was about her life as an 'escort'.)

 

My favourite Gad's story is the leaflet sent to each parent solemnly informing them the school now had a 'Bullying Policy' - knowing the then Head Teacher as I did, I'm not altogether sure it was entirely a Freudian slip!

 

I wonder whether it's the same one who used to greet the children at morning assembly with the immortal words: 'Be Theated'.