Bernard O'Shea: Christmas aisles are back, but why is Halloween being left in the shade?

Bernard O'Shea. Photograph Moya Nolan

When I was in the supermarket last week, I noticed something that made me feel slightly unhinged. I wandered down what I thought was a dedicated Christmas aisle. It being September, I put it down to mistaken identity. I thought, “Ah, it must be sweets for Halloween”, But then I saw happily protruding between a box of Chocolate Kimberly and USA Assorted Biscuits a chocolate Santa. I turned to a woman beside me and asked her, “Is this Christmas stuff?” “Yeah, it’s terrible, isn’t it ?” she replied.

I was shocked by how soon Christmas had come but more irked that poor old Halloween isn’t getting a look-in on our seasonal calendar anymore. Confession: I did buy a chocolate Santa and eat it on the drive home. We all know that chocolate shaped in the form of a human or animal always tastes better. But it begs the question; Where has Halloween gone?

Halloween is uniquely Irish, and we came up with it. According to history.com, “Early texts present Samhain as a mandatory celebration lasting three days and three nights where the community was required to show themselves to local kings or chieftains. Failure to participate was believed to result in punishment from the gods, usually illness or death.”

Thankfully we have modified its participatory requirements over the years. But I fear some modern traditions might be evaporating in front of our eyes.

When I was a child, we would “call” our costumes in early September. By the time it got to me, my alternatives would be “ghost” or “scary something”. “Scary Something” is the easiest of outfits to arrange. You dress up as anything, say a farmer and call yourself a scary farmer. But every Halloween, I would just put a black bin liner on myself, and when asked, “Who are you dressed up as ?” I would reply in a hushed tone, “A scary bin."

Then there was the ancient Irish Tradition of “Beagnach báite ag iarraidh 50 pingin a bhaint as imchuach buí neamhshruthaithe”. Which in English translates to “Nearly drowning trying to get 50 pence out of an unwashed yellow basin.” 

Nearly every house, including our own, would throw money in a bucket or basin full of water for trick and treaters to get. There was a catch, however. You could only get the money if your hands were behind your back, thus making you use your mouth or face depending on how prominent your features were. Essentially it was a cross between bobbing for apples and waterboarding.

There are always parents that will ask you to sing a song for your treats. Embarrassingly I and about twelve others would start “Ole Ole Ole.” I know that it’s more of a chant, but hey, any port in a storm. But to counterbalance this, there was the joy of calling to a house with unsuspecting occupants who had no idea it was Halloween. That meant only one thing, no sweets, no apples or nuts but money. Which ironically was used to buy sweets the next day.

But the most prominent tradition on our road was the bonfire. For a good week before Halloween night, we would assembly a crack commando unit. Sent home from school for a weeks holiday their parents didn’t want. These kids promptly escaped from a maximum-security bedtime to the Laois underground. Today, still wanted by the government (due to burning Bernard’s Mammy’s coal and briquettes that he borrowed). They survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a bonfire if no one else can help, and if you can find them... maybe you can hire The A-Team. 

I’m painting a slightly dramatic picture. It generally was just a well-worn smouldering tyre seasoned with caps and a firelighter. We didn’t do s’mores as they would have tasted heavily of Michelin.

Don’t get me wrong; I’ve nothing against dedicated shelves of seasonal goodies. I’m obsessed with shopping and with food retail. Genuinely, I get excited when a supermarket redesigns its layout. I read food science and retail publications for fun. If it weren’t for what was on the shelf, I wouldn’t know what holiday it was. But a chocolate Santa on the shelf in September is nature’s equivalent of snow falling in August (I’m aware with global warming combined with the erratic Irish weather, this is a real possibility.)

So I would like to take this opportunity to ask the supermarkets to make some minor modifications to their displays.

• No chocolate Santa’s for sale until the middle of November, please.
• No selection boxes on the shelf until December.
• And finally, the government should pass a law only allowing the sale of Chocolate Kimberlys between December 24 to the 26.

On a tangential note, there’s the display of Easter eggs in the shops after Christmas. I have never been a fan of Easter; it’s flaky, and Easter doesn’t even know when it’s on or cares. It might be February; maybe sometimes April. EASTER MAKE UP YOUR MIND! 

However, we all know chocolate shaped in the form of an egg always tastes better. But at least Christmas and Halloween know when they are on.

So I’m off to prepare my Halloween costume. This year I’m dressing up like the inside of a bin that has let itself go a bit. I’m also practising holding my breath underwater. But moreover, I will refrain from purchasing another Chocolate Santa. That is until I hear Fairy tale of New York on the radio because that, in my opinion, is when Christmas officially begins.