The Hearse Song.

The Hearse Song.

Do you ever think as a hearse goes by,

that you may be the next to die?

They wrap you up in a big white sheet

From your head down to your feet.

They put you in a big black box,

And cover you up with dirt and rocks.

All goes well for about a week,

Then your coffin begins to leak.

The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,

The worms play pinochle on your snout.

They eat your eyes, they eat your nose,

They eat the jelly between your toes.

A big green worm with rolling eyes,

Crawls in your stomach and out your eyes.

Your stomach turns a slimy green,

And pus pours out like whipping cream.

You spread it on a slice of bread,

And that's what you eat when you are dead.

Ghost Dolls.

Ghost dolls.

There are two things that creep me out. Clown’s and dolls. Don’t ask me why, I know it’s an irrational fear but there you have it we’re all afraid of something, whether its things that go bump in the night or something as simple as a knock on the door. I’d hate to be locked into a dolls museum late at night with those evil little glass eyes following me everywhere.  Now as a reasonably sane person (depending on your point of view) I realise that ghost dolls or haunted dolls aren’t real, or are they?

This is a story that I’ve adapted from the many stories written concerning possessed dolls. Simply called:

Noreen.

A few years ago a woman that I’ll call Mary, bought an old doll that she saw in a charity shop window, it was worn and a little sorry looking but it seemed to have a certain attraction that she couldn’t explain...at the time.

When Mary returned home she put the doll on a chair in her bedroom and went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea.  All went well for a couple of weeks but one night Mary had difficulty sleeping, she kept waking up from a nightmare, this was to happen night after night.  Mary said that in her dream she was starving and her clothes hung loose and ragged from her thin body.

“I remember looking out through a small window into the yard and seeing other people, they had the appearance of skeletons covered with yellow looking skin. They didn’t walk it was more of a shuffle. It was then that I would wake up with a terrible thirst”.

Mary started to leave a sandwich and a drink on her bedside table so that she could eat if she woke up in the middle of the night but even though she ate a big meal before bedtime and even consumed the sandwich and drink when she woke through the night it didn’t seem to work. She still woke up in the morning starving hungry.

A visit to her doctor didn’t help either; she was given sleeping pills and told that she was suffering from anxiety brought about by some as yet unknown cause. The doctor told her to try to think of any changes that she may have made in her life recently, any new people she may have met or new foods that she may have eaten but Mary couldn’t think of any reason that would account for her strange dreams.  She began to look very drawn, dark shadows appeared under her red bloodshot and tired looking eyes. She became nervous and was afraid to sleep and soon people who knew her began to comment on her appearance, some even began to suspect that she was suffering from some illness. 

Her best friend eventually decided to question Mary to see if she could offer her any help. They sat at the kitchen table and one of the questions she asked her was about anything new or different that Mary may have brought into the home recently. The only thing Mary could think of was her purchase from the charity shop, the old doll. Her friend asked Mary if she could see the doll, of course Mary thought that her friend had lost her mind but nevertheless she went to her bedroom and brought the doll into the kitchen.

As soon as she saw the doll her friends face changed, she began to cry and she looked incredibly sad. She told Mary that the doll was extremely sad and didn’t know where she was. She desperately wanted love and missed her mammy.  Over the next couple of weeks things got worse, cold air, unexplained noises, and the sound of a young child crying. Mary called her friend.

Her friend suggested that they call on the services of a local woman who had a reputation for being sensitive to those who have gone before; some suggested that she had psychic abilities.  Mary didn’t really believe in that sort of thing but to be honest at this stage she was willing to try anything so she agreed. 

When she arrived she instantly knew there was a spirit in the house. She decided to conduct a séance and found that the spirit was willing and eager to communicate.  The spirit was within the body of the doll, it said that her name was Noreen and that she was only six years old when she died. Her father had left her and her mammy to find work on the roads scheme but didn’t come home so after a week or two her mammy had gone to look for him. She was left with what little food they had and her mammy promised to be back shortly and told her to be a good girl. But even though she had been very good her mammy and daddy didn’t come home.  Eventually Noreen decided to go and look for her parents as she had no food left, no water, and was very hungry. She walked for days but the only people she saw were also starving, there was a very bad smell in the air and it made her feel sick.

Eventually she reached a small town and there she saw a big stone building. She thought it was bigger than the Landlords house and was not surprised when she saw some nuns outside. They were handing out bowls of something hot as Noreen could see smoke rising from the bowls so she joined the long line. She said she was afraid that it would all be gone by the time she got to the front but eventually she was given a bowl of thin soup. The nun asked her where her parents were, Noreen didn’t know so she said the nun took her into the building and there she remained. She couldn’t get out, she said that shortly afterwards she began to feel very cold and everything was dark.

Mary couldn’t understand this until the medium explained that Noreen was describing her death. After some research Mary and her friends discovered the place that Noreen described, the stone building turned out to be a workhouse long gone now. The people who died there were buried in a mass grave, men, women, and children all thrown in together with no proper burial service. No record was kept of the children who died and were buried there so nothing could be done for Noreen’s spirit.

 She still sits on her little chair in Mary’s bedroom but now she appears to be a little happier. Mary talks to her every night and Noreen feels loved at last. Sometimes Mary can hear singing at night, it is the sound of a child’s voice and Noreen no longer feels lonely and afraid.

5mins 34secs.

That was the Owl Goes Who.  3mins 20secs.

 

I hope you have a very enjoyable Halloween and please keep safe.

Don’t forget your pets and domestic animals, they don’t understand what’s going on and the sound of fireworks will frighten them.

 

The House of Mystery.

This is a story that I wrote a while ago. I thought it might be a good story for Halloween. I’ve called it,

 

The House of Mystery.

 

There is a lovely rustic house on the banks of the Bundorragha River in a small area known as Baile An Taibhse. It is a small rural village in County Mayo surrounded by the highest mountains in the west of Ireland, Secluded and unspoilt it’s shown on records as far back as 1715. It was previously owned by the McDermott family until 1975 and was said to have had a tragic and sordid history whilst under their ownership. Was it this history that some say caused it to have been possessed by evil forces?

 

In the year 1975 a good and gentle man called John Murphy killed his entire family and then in desperation killed himself. Was it murder-suicide or was there some other darker force at work?

 

John Murphy wasn’t a local man but those who had got to know him didn’t believe him capable of such horrific crimes. When the last remaining member of the McDermott family had died the house had been placed on the market but due to its dark history there was no local interest. However, it was seen by John Murphy who yearned for a simpler life and bought by him in 1975. He was living in Belfast at the time but as soon as the papers were signed he, his wife and three children relocated. As a painter he was able to work from home, setting up a studio in one of the out buildings. May of 1975 was for the time being a happy time.

 

They say John had an interest in the supernatural and that he began to research the history of the house. Was it this interest that set the wheels in motion? His mental health began to suffer, he began to hear voices and he became paranoid suffering from feelings of persecution. His family became withdrawn and isolated; they refused to talk with their neighbours deciding instead to remain indoors as much as possible.

 

It was round the end of October when it happened. John had a huge row with some of the locals; the reasons are now all but forgotten. He stormed off and went home, later that night and for the next two nights passerby’s said they heard raised voices, yelling, angry voices, and then....

 

The Gardaí called at the house, receiving no answer they forced an entry, what they found caused some of the officers to become violently sick....It was a terrible sight. Dressed only in their nightclothes, Yvonne (the wife) and the three children Claire (age 8), Anne (age 5), and Sabrina (age 4), were brutally murdered. Yvonne’s throat had been slit; a later autopsy indicated that this had been done after death. All the children had knife wounds. To make matters worse all four bodies had been propped up against the wall in a sitting position, eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling where John Murphy was hanging from an electrical cord tied to a wooden beam. He was covered in blood.

 

Yvonne and the children had been murdered in their own bedrooms and their bodies moved to the room in which they were found by the Gardaí. Above each of these four victims was a message, written in their own blood. The message was never disclosed. The murder weapon turned out to belong to John Murphy and the Gardaí decided that it was an open and shut case. One of murder and suicide. Case closed.

 

However, unless John had superhuman powers how did he get up to the ceiling? No ladder was present, no chair, no way he could have possibly lifted himself up never mind tie the cord around his neck.

Even so, he was a quiet man, non-violent. Had he become mentally ill and finally cracked? Had evil forces made him mentally ill? Was he under some demonic possession from the house? How did he end up hanging from the beam? Did some evil force kill him once he had carried out the murders?

 

So many unanswered questions. None of the locals will talk about the house even now. It is known that John had argued with some of the locals just before the murders, were they the victims of some horrific crime and cover-up. The house and its reputation conveniently perpetuating folklore and keeping the truth hidden.

 

Some years later, the mystery of the house and the tragic events were still generating a lot of interest, in fact it had become quite infamous, so much so that a group of young people from a local paranormal group decided they would carry out their own investigation. They planned to break into the now boarded up house and spend a few nights there to see what they could discover. 

 

At first all went well, they set up the equipment they had brought in order to assist them in their endeavours and they settled down for the night. Some locals reported hearing angry voices, raised voices quarrelling, just like before. Of course no one realised that there was anyone in the house, they just thought it was the sounds of the house and its history and hurried pass.

 

Eventually, worried that no communication had been received from any of the young members of the paranormal group their families decided to contact the Gardaí in Castlebar and they sent some guards to gain access to the house. The equipment set up by the paranormal group was still running and there was even music playing on the radio. The young people, however, were nowhere to be found. They had simply vanished without trace.

 

Had the house claimed more victims? Did the evil forces within the walls of the house drive them away, if so where were they? Had they been murdered because they had discovered the secret of the previous killings? Again so many unanswered questions.

 

We may never know the truth, the truth lies buried within the walls of the house and the house remains silent. Some say as you walk past on a lonely winters evening you can hear moaning coming from the house. Or is it just the wind. I’ll let you decide.

The Death Coach.

The Death Coach.

 

In Irish Folklore the Death Coach is known as Cóiste Bodhar (Koe-shta-bower), meaning death or silent coach and if you see or even hear it then either you or a close relative will die in the very near future. The belief is that once the coach has come to the land of the living it cannot return empty. Once death has come to collect there is nothing on earth you can do to prevent it. The headless horseman that drives the coach is known as the Dullahan. The Dullahan is also known in Irish as Gan Ceann, meaning without head and it is usually seen either driving the coach that is pulled by six black horses or riding alongside on a black stallion. The eyes of the Dullahan are massive and are always darting around and the mouth is constantly grinning and showing a nasty row of sharp teeth. The flesh of the head has been described as smelling, looking, and having the feel of rotten cheese.

 

The Dullahan carries a whip and this is said to be the spinal column of a human corpse, the coach is also decorated with the remains of corpses, skulls take the place of candle holders, the cover of the coach is usually made from the shroud off a coffin. When the coach reaches the abode of the person picked by death the Dullahan calls out their name and they immediately die. There is no point trying to block the road against the horseman for as he approaches all locks and gates open and if you look upon him he will throw blood at you and this is said to mark you for death. They have even been said to snatch your eyes out with the whip. One way of protecting yourself is through the use of gold. Carry a gold pin or coin for they are said to be frightened of the yellow metal.

 

The Banshee,  sometimes accompanies the death coach flying alongside wailing and screeching out a warning to certain families that one of their members is about to die.

 

You will find the legend of The Death Coach in folklore throughout Europe but especially in Ireland and it is a legend that is both widely known and feared. In every country where it is recorded in folklore it is treated with fear and respect for it always represents death. It seems that the one thing that unites all people is the fear of the unknown, especially when it comes to death. Why do we still believe in these old tales of superstition and signs of ill omen? Maybe it’s because it is still the one thing we have no control over, yes we may put it off for a time, but in the end it is inevitable. It is the one journey that we will all take for as the old saying goes “There are only two things we can say are certain in this life, death and taxes”.

 

Here follows a story that I wrote a couple of years ago. It’s about a man and a woman and how they both listen for the sound of horse’s hooves. However, the sound has a different meaning for each of them. I have called it simply:

 

 

The Death Coach.

 

The sound of the church bell can be heard in the distance. It is midnight on a cold winters evening. The streets of Westport are silent and most people are tucked up safely in their beds after a hard day’s work. The night is dark, clouds blocking out the moonlight, the wind sounds mournful as it rattles the window pane.

 

In one of the houses a man sits by the window waiting patiently for a sign that the doctor approaches. In the bed his dear wife lies silent. By the flickering light of the fire he can see her face, older now but still as beautiful as she was the first day he saw her at the village dance all those years ago.

 

She looks drawn and every so often her face wrinkles as if in pain, the herbs and medicines don’t seem to work as they used to and it upsets him to see her so. He walks over to the bedside and strokes her brow, she holds his hand tightly and he can feel the coldness of her skin.

 

She is barely breathing now, shallow and quickly and he knows in his heart and soul that she is slowly drifting away. In one way he is happy for her as it means she will be free from pain but for this he feels guilty, he cannot bear to see her in so much pain, sometimes she looks as if she wants to scream out in desperation,

 “Don’t leave me”

 

Yet he knows he must for he cannot go with her on this journey. Not tonight, not yet.

 

He hears the sound of horse’s hoofs and the clatter of wheels rolling over the cobbles. He gently frees his hand and walks over to the window expecting to see the doctor arriving. It’s not the doctor’s carriage he sees outside, it’s a black coach that has no horses for the shafts are empty, and yet he can still hear the sounds of hoofs and heavy breathing. The doors of the coach are closed; there are black holes where there should be windows. Slowly the coach approaches.

 

He breathes out a heavy sigh and is filled with deep sorrow for he knows it is the Death Coach. His wife knew that it would come for her tonight but he had told her not to be silly, she would soon be up and about, wasn’t the doctor coming and he’d give her some medicine. He didn’t believe in such nonsense, he didn’t want to believe.

 

However, his eyes told him what his heart knew to be true for now it stopped outside and the door slowly opened. His heart was thumping in his chest as he looked upon the terrible sight and he walked over to the bed, he clutches his wife’s hand once again, she opens her eyes and smiles, that gentle smile he knows so well, she tries to squeeze his hand in return but is now too weak.

 

“Is it here?” she asks, her voice a bare whisper, he nods.

 

“I love you so much,” he says to his wife as he leans down and kisses her, as he does so he can feel her last breath on his lips, it is as if her very soul has passed through him. Her grip loosens and her hand gently falls away, she has gone from this world and he knows she is at peace. He stands up straight and looks upon her face with great tenderness and love, the tears flow silently down his cheeks.

 

“Goodbye my love.”

 

As he stands there knowing not what to do he sees a movement out of the corner of his eye. He looks over and sees his wife standing by the door. He looks back to the bed and sees the body of his wife lay there looking for the entire world as though she is asleep. He looks back at what he now believes to be his wife’s spirit; she smiles at him, turns and walks through the door.

 

He hurries over to the window and looks out, hoping to see her just once more. He sees her walk over to the open door of the coach, pausing just for a second she looks towards the window; it’s as if she knows he is stood there. She raises her hand and gives one last gentle wave; he waves back, his heart breaking, tears streaming down his face. She turns back and steps into the coach and the door closes behind her. The horseman raises his whip and the coach slowly moves away, he hears the sound of hoofs once more as they fade into the night.

 

“Goodbye my love,” he gently calls. In a way he knows her pain is over but for him it has just begun and with a heavy heart he turns away. Hearing a knock at the door he opens it and standing there is the doctor.

 

“Hello, doctor, she’s gone” he says, and the tears flow once again.

 

Margorie McCall.

The fear of being buried alive is as old as the hills. Famous bards such as Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe have written grisly stories regarding it. Macabre tales of narrow escapes when people who were discovered buried alive when grave robbers opened their coffins. Contorted, twisted, petrified bodies of those poor unfortunates who upon waking found themselves trapped in a box doomed to a horrific death. Here follows a story of one such woman who found that being buried alive would become a terrible reality.

 

Margorie McCall c1705.

 

Margorie McCall was married to a doctor and they lived in Lurgan, County Armagh. They were very happy and content with their lot in life. Unfortunately Margorie became ill and although her husband was a doctor he was extremely worried. It should be remembered that in the early 1700s medical science was not what it is today and simple illnesses we would consider as easily cured today could prove fatal at that time. Sadly poor Margorie was to succumb to her fever and she passed away, she was buried in Shankhill Church of Ireland Cemetery not far from where they lived in Church Place. Her burial was a speedy one for at that time fever was feared as it was known to spread; this should have been the end of the story.

 

Margorie was buried still wearing a beautiful gold wedding ring. Her husband could not remove it from her finger due to the fact that her fingers had swollen since her death. People talked of the buried treasure and the Resurrection Men were listening. Here was a chance to make some easy money, not only could they sell the body but they were in for a bonus. That evening, before the ground she was buried in had time to settle upon poor Margorie’s coffin the boys paid a visit. In the graveyard they worked under cover of darkness, digging down silently until they heard the scrape of the spade upon the lid of her box, they reached down and prised off the lid.

 

They saw the glitter of gold upon her finger. Realising the story they had heard was true they attempted to remove the ring, it would not budge. Well times were hard and money was as tight as that ring so they decided they were not about to let such a prize go to the surgeon’s slab. She was dead already so she wouldn’t need her finger would she? It was agreed, that they would cut off the finger to free the ring. Unfortunately for them the shock of the knife slicing through her finger was just what she needed to wake her up from the catatonic state she had been in. She sat up, eyes wide and screamed like a Banshee. Some say that one of the body snatchers had a heart attack and dropped dead on the spot, others say they took off like the devil himself was after them never to be seen again. They were even reported as giving up their rather profitable trade. Margorie rose from her grave and began to stagger to her nearby home

 

Back at the house her husband was sat talking to some relatives that had remain behind after the burial when he heard a bang at the door. He stood up, went to the door and opened it. There like a scene from The Shining stood his wife (HI Honey I’m Home). She was still wearing her dirt covered death shroud and she was dripping blood from her part severed finger. Some stories tell us that he dropped dead from fright and was buried in the plot of ground his wife had recently vacated. The poor relatives are not mentioned and it’s unsure whether they were pleased to see her alive or upset to see him drop dead.

 

It is said that Margorie went on to re-marry and to have a number of children. Some say she was even pregnant when she rose from the grave. She is still seen wandering the cemetery at night, although you would think she had had enough of that place. If you visit the graveyard you will see her gravestone, upon it is written “Here Lies Margorie McCall, Lived Once, Buried Twice”.

 

It is also said that some people in order to scare their children at Halloween hide behind the curtains and jump out shouting “it's me, it’s me, it’s Margorie”

Jack O'Lantern.

The Halloween pumpkin which is an import from America but how many of our younger listeners know that it started out life as a turnip that was used as by a man called Jack. Over time he became known as,

Jack O’Lantern.

Once upon a time long, long ago, a man named Jack, well known for his drunkenness and quick temper, got very drunk at a local pub on Halloween, so drunk in fact that he got alcoholic poisoning and began to die. As his life began to slip away the Devil appeared to claim Jack's soul. Jack, eager to stay alive, begged the Devil to let him have just one more drink before he died. The Devil, being an agreeable sort of sham agreed. Jack was short of money and asked the Devil if he wouldn't mind assuming the shape of a sixpence so Jack could pay for the drink and after the transaction the Devil could change back.

Seeing how the Devil is quite gullible in almost all of these folk tales, he once again agreed to help Jack out and changed himself into a sixpence. Jack immediately grabbed the coin and shoved it into his wallet which just happened to have a cross-shaped catch on it. The Devil, now imprisoned in the wallet screamed with rage and ordered Jack to release him.

Jack agreed to free the Devil from his wallet if the Devil agreed not to bother Jack for a whole year. Again, the Devil agreed to Jack's terms. Realizing he now had a new lease on life, at least for a year, Jack decided to mend his ways. For a time Jack was good to his wife and children and began to attend church and give to charity. However, he soon slipped back into his old ways.

 The next Halloween as Jack was heading home the Devil appeared and demanded that Jack accompany him. Once again Jack, not too eager to die, distracted the devil by pointing to a nearby apple tree. Jack convinced the Devil to get an apple out of the tree and even offered to hoist the Devil up on his shoulders to help him get the apple. The Devil, fooled once again by Jack, climbed into the tree and plucked an apple. Jack took out a knife and carved a cross into the trunk of the tree. Trapped once again the Devil howled to be released and told Jack he would give him ten years of peace in exchange for his release. Jack, on the other hand, insisted the Devil never bother him again. The Devil agreed and Jack released him.

Almost a year later Jack's body, unable to withstand his evil ways, gave out and Jack died. When Jack tried to enter Heaven he was told that because of his meanness he would not be allowed in. When he attempted to gain entry into Hell, the Devil, still smarting from years of humiliation, refused Jack admission. However, being the kind Devil that he was, he threw Jack a piece of coal to help him find his way in the dark of limbo.

Jack put the piece of coal into a turnip and it became known as a Jack O'Lantern. On Halloween if you look you can still see Jack's flame burning dimly as he searches for a home. Of course when Irish people went to America they discovered the pumpkin and as it was easier to carve it soon replaced the turnip.

The History of Trick or Treating.

The History of Trick or Treating.

We're all familiar with the Halloween tradition of trick or treating; the costumes, the excited children, the sweets, and the tricks we used to play on people. However, do you know where these things originated?

Trick or treating traces its history back to a number of Celtic customs that took place around the harvest festival called Samhain. It was the festival for the dead, and it was when the door to the Otherworld was opened and the veil that separated the living and the dead was at its thinnest.  During the two days 31^st October and 1^st November, ghosts, spirits and fairies could pass through the portal and revisit their old homes, and a place was set at the table for the deceased relatives.

However, harmful spirits could also roam the earth, and people were afraid of being attacked by them, or taken by the fairies. So if they had to leave the house, they would dress up in an attempt to disguise themselves (called guising). Food was also left outside houses as a gift to visitors from the after-life, and as a peace offering to ensure their blessing for the coming year.

Fast forward to the Middle Ages, and on the eve of the Christian holiday, All Hallows (or All Saints) day, and we find the tradition of 'souling.' The poor would call door-to-door, and would offer to pray for all the dead of the house in exchange for soul cakes.

In mid-19th century Ireland we begin to see a merging of the two aforementioned customs. A white mare procession involved an adult wearing a white sheet, and carrying a decorated horse, leading a group of children around the area. The kids would recite poetry, sing songs, and perform for the occupants of houses they called upon. In exchange, they hoped to receive gifts of food or money.

In the early 1900s Irish immigrants in North America began to revive the custom on All Hallows Eve, or Halloween as we call it today. They would dress up in the costumes of Samhain, and call to houses looking for a 'treat.' If they weren't given one then they would play a trick on the residents – perhaps egging the house, or stealing their gates.

The phrase 'trick or treating' dates as far back as a 1927 edition of the Alberta Canada Herald. Of course nowadays the tradition is much more family-friendly, and the tricks part has all but died away.

With Halloween parades and carnivals entertaining the masses and Irish children going trick-or-treating with plastic pumpkins you might be excused for thinking that Samhain is dead. But stop ... is this not the night the dead can return? And indeed they do, several customs observed on All Hallows Eve still have a certain pagan ring to them. Though it has to be said that the fabric of tradition is rapidly wearing thin.

Blessing the House

One of the traditions at this time of rest and renewal was the construction of a humble parshell (or parshal), a cross manufactured of two thin wooden staves, about six to nine inches long. Straw was woven tightly in a square pattern around the crossed staves, leaving an inch or so uncovered at the ends.

The finished parshell was then hung above the door inside the house, replacing last years'. The latter was already taken down and placed somewhere else in the house or the barn.

Children were additionally blessed by sprinkling them with holy water or placing some burnt wood into their beds.

Bonfires - Fires of Bones

An outdoor activity was the lighting of a bonfire ... literally a "fire of bones"; the unused remains of slaughtered animals were hygienically disposed of.

In days of old a rather alarming spectacle followed - once only the embers were glowing, mainly males snatched smouldering pieces and started throwing them at each other. Trying to avoid being hit at the same time. Some people never grow up so no change there then. The origins of this "sport" or "ritual" are totally obscure, though it has been branded pagan.

Today's bonfires rarely contain bones, and embers are not snatched from them - but illegal fireworks make them unforgettable if only for the noise. Halloween is one of the busiest times for Ireland's fire fighters and councils try to eliminate illegal (and often dangerous) bonfires by simply bulldozing the site in the afternoon.

 Here I would like to ask you that if you have pets such as dogs or cats please keep them safe as they can be terrified of the sound of fireworks.

Many Samhain rituals, traditions, and customs have been passed down throughout the centuries, and are still practiced on Halloween today.

As a feast of divination, this was the night for peering into the future. There are many types of divination that are traditional to Halloween however I’ll only mention a few.

 Girls were told to place hazelnuts along the front of the fire grate, each one to symbolise one of her suitors. She could then divine her future husband by chanting,

“If you love me, pop and fly; if you hate me, burn and die.”

Several methods used the apple, that most popular of Halloween fruits. You should slice an apple through the middle to reveal the five-pointed star within and then eat it by candlelight before a mirror. Your future spouse will then appear over your shoulder. Or, peel an apple, making sure the peeling comes off in one long piece, think of marriage then throw the peel down onto the ground. It will form the initial of the first name of your future partner.

Or, you might set a snail to crawl through the ashes of your hearth. The considerate little creature will then spell out the initial letter as it moves.

Bobbing for apples was actually a custom the Celts inherited from the Romans when some Celtic countries were conquered by the Roman Empire. Romans honoured the harvest god, Pomona, and because the apple was a venerated fruit, many rituals revolved around it. The Celts simply incorporated bobbing for apples, a divination game that originated with the Romans, into Samhain tradition.

Traditional festivities also included groups of young men in costume, making an enormous amount of noise and going from door to door asking for contributions to their revels. "Threatening" the occupants with often nonsensical rhymes they asked for food and drink - which was happily provided. The young men were commonly called "guisers.

In Kilkenny and other areas a “white mare”, usually a man in a horse costume led the procession. The carrying of lanterns seems to have been almost universal in contrast - every young man had a carved turnip with a candle, to illuminate the way and to scare onlookers. This might have been the origin of the "Jack O'Lantern". Although there is a story about how Jack outwitted the devil which you will hear in a few minutes.

If you want to make your own lantern, simply get a turnip and treat it as you would a pumpkin. After a few minutes you will, however, notice a certain difference - unless you resort to power tools, carving a lantern from a turnip will take a lot of effort and strength.

According to folklore you may encounter other beings out and about as well. Ghosts, long dead ancestors, the pooka ... all will be held at bay by the light. And should the light prove insufficient people made sure to confuse any malevolent "others" by dressing strangely. Bonfires, ghosts, lanterns, undead zombies, costume, mischievous spirits - all the ingredients of a modern Halloween are there.

Mind you - this time was also a favourite for dares. Like placing some money in a bible or hymn book, then leave it in the cemetery and tell everybody that whoever brings the book back during the night may keep the money. You might even dress up as a zombie then scare the daylights out of them when they come looking for the book.