A Hallowe'en Past

Gripping the car seat in anticipation, face pressed up against the cold window, planning meticulously in my head what had to be done once the car parked up at home. 

Possibly, most probably, an illusion, but a black shadow drifts past the moon slowly-a witch on her travels, peering at the ground, looking for the black cat that dropped from her broomstick. My brother and sister chat incessantly, annoying me as I will the car to move faster, cursing the day my mother chose to play squash and how late we left it to come home.

The annual rush begins once the front door opens. My mum runs to our famous-around-the-park sweet cupboard, filling bowls with lollipops, jellies, bars and crisp packets. She takes our advice and pours just a few monkey nuts-trusting our child knowledge that nobody around the estate likes them. Handing us the baskets, she looks at us for a nod of approval. We glance at each other and nod, our mum's Hallowe'en baskets for the trick and treaters pass the test. We'll be proud to advise the clusters of witches, skeletons, cat-princesses and black bin-bagged wizards to call to our house on the corner.

Black bin-bags are dismounted from the cupboard above the oven, arm-holes are cut quickly with the black scissors and frantic plastic rustling and ripping sounds engulf the kitchen as the three of us attempt to climb into the 'costumes', heads appearing through arm spaces and legs tripping over the end of the bags, us giggling with excitement.

Masks are dispensed-this year I shall be a witch-cat, last year I was a cat-witch and the year before I think I was a skeleton, majorly breaking the mould.

More plastic bags are dispensed for our sweet gathering. Visions of undegradable plastic so we are. Environmental groups would wince at the sight of us heading off in all our non-recyclable glory.

Quick promises to mind brothers and sisters are mumbled as we run from the front door.

The competition is on. 

Squinting to recognise friends, we all finally gather to make a start on our profitable journey. Routes are quickly discussed and we walk quickly along the path, empty bags blowing behind us in the wind. Rain, hail, wind or snow-the night cannot be missed.

A look of delight as crisps, bars and sweets are shoved into our bags, the OCD of us cringing as lunchbags of popcorn or homemade buns are offered. Certain houses are left until last, us in the confident knowledge that money will be given; them genuinely disappointed they have no sweets left, us delighted we're gaining financially as well as through the commodity of sugar.

The night grows colder, the groups of Hallowe'eners disperse. Feeling a bit sick from picking at our bags for energy refills on the walk around, we decide to go home.

Sitting on the living room floor our bags are gripped by the bottom, overturned and emptied. Sweets, nuts, wrappers, crisp packets and unwanted-oranges are strewn across the floor. Bette Midler frightens with her unruly red hair in the background as 'Hocus Pocus' takes stage on the television.

A successful night, we all chat as we munch into our night's profits.

A few years later I sit at home, bags ready to drive back to college. A house party, a fancy-dress party at the local nightclub and a promised prize for the best-dressed has us excited. My costume lies in waiting. Hopefully my creativity skills have produced something a few levels higher on the artistic scale than a black bin-bag, although it has yet to be judged.

A basket of sweets lies in waiting for possible trick-and-treaters tonight, but an older generation of children in the housing estate means the atmosphere will be less tonight than ten years ago. A house across the road impresses with its decorations-neighbours certain that they will be presented with the option to either trick or treat this evening.

Now the Irish nation's second favourite holiday, Hallowe'en has surpassed Easter in the rankings, although still inevitably behind the festivites of Christmas.

Holidays change throughout generations-cute ready-made costumes for kids in Dunnes Stores make me think the days of the ever-versatile black bin-bag may be over.

Packing the bags into the car, I double-check if I have my costume. The days of getting dressed in the kitchen with my brother and sister in record time may be gone but a photo will still be sent home this evening to show them how the earlier days of heavy-duty bagging costumes have evolved with the times.