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Hallowe’en or Samhain ?
I used to love Hallowe’en, decorating the outside of the house with cobwebs, lanterns etc and getting the sweets and treats ready for the children who rang the bell shouting: trick or treat. That custom fell out of favour during Covid as I didn’t open the door to any unexpected guests. Yesterday, I was searching through a carved pine settle in the hall and discovered a tin of ‘filling puller’ sweets I’d stowed away in 2019 – the last time I handed out sweets to the neighbourhood kids. In those days we embraced the tradition wholeheartedly until, usually around about seven o’clock, the children of primary school age (accompanied by their parents or older siblings) stopped calling. At that point, deciding enough was enough, we drew the curtains and stopped answering the doorbell. Let’s face it, no one wants a group of teenagers standing on your doorstep on a dark autumn night demanding sweets with menaces, Right?
Hallowe’en was not invented in America, the tradition goes back much further. Many believe that emigrating Scots and Irish took the tradition to America with them. There it was adapted and changed into ‘trick or treat’, shipped back to the UK and merged with local traditions to create the Hallowe’en festival we know today. What I’d like to do is tell you about some of the Hallowe’en traditions I remember growing up in Scotland . . . who knows, you might recognise some of them.
Traditionally, Scottish children would go “guising” around their local neighbourhood wearing scary or outrageous costumes. Pretending to be evil spirits, they would disguise themselves and remain undetected by other wandering spirits they believed would cause them harm. Guisers would perform tricks or songs, and so were given gifts to help ward off evil. The origin of trick or treating, perhaps?
In Scotland, turnip heads would be carved into scary faces to make lanterns and lit to keep ghosts at bay. That tradition faded away, replaced by pumpkins which are more readily available these days and much easier to carve. There are many PYO pumpkin farms around where I live and it provides a popular weekend activity for families.
The ancient Celts were a blood thirsty lot and liked nothing more than decapitating their enemies and displaying their heads as trophies. The tradition of ‘apple dooking’ where children grab an apple out of a basin of water using their teeth is thought to hark back to this bloodthirsty tradition. Nowadays you are more likely to be given a toffee apple as a trophy.
Just to prove that you’re never too old to have fun, here are some photos from a Hallowe’en party hosted by friend and fellow author Adrienne Vaughan a few years ago. Some very dodgy characters turned out that night including Dracula. Although I don’t look too worried about being bitten on the neck. The other ‘weird sister’ in the fourth photo is June Kearns who writes fabulous books.
I know that Hallowe’en is all about fun and trying to pronouce Samain correctly – however, I’d like to share my own spooky story which happened many years ago when I was a teenager. Recently I reminded my sister Phyllis about it and she remembers it exactly as I do – here’s the link the post.
And . . . finally. My novel Girl in the Castle which features a haunted castle on a Scottish loch, family tragedy and a lost Jacobite treasure will be available to download over the weekend for 99p – so catch it while you can.
You can read the first few chapters FREE by following this link
I would love to hear your Hallowe’en experiences, spooky or otherwise so please leave a comment below. I always respond 🙂
Happy Samhain (Halloween) – novel extract, book news & a new price
As a writer of Scottish romances, I thought I’d blog about a halloween party featured in my Girl in the Castle –
I hope you enjoy the extract. I’ve also added some photos taken at a recent Halloween party I attended to celebrate Halloween. Make a note – Girl in the Castle is 99p from today for a VERY limited time. You can download and read FREE if you subscribe to Kindle Unlimited. 
Extract – When Henri entered the Great Hall, it had been completely transformed by the purple gloaming outside the windows, strategically placed candles and the roaring twin fires. A harpist was playing a selection of melodies on a clarsach, and in another corner, children were dookin’ for apples in a barrel of water, supervised by nannies or older siblings. The young guisers, dressed as ghouls, spirits or favourite superheroes, took great delight in frightening the grown-ups with turnip lanterns hanging from sticks and fake Dracula fangs.
Henri had dressed so as not to draw attention to herself, however, the other guests showed no such restraint. They were celebrating Samhain in style; the men in kilts, ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie’ jackets over matching waistcoats, dress shirts, black tie, and brogues. The women in long plaid skirts/kilts, silk blouses with lace jabots or, like herself, in simple black dresses worn with clan tartan in the form of a shawl or a sash. Clearly, this was an evening for showing off, because heirloom tiaras, necklaces and bracelets had been taken out of the bank vault. The jewels caught the candlelight and added extra glamour to the evening. One man stood apart from the rest, and it took several seconds before Henri realised that it was Keir. She’d never seen the Master of Mountgarrie other than in his work clothes. But this Keir, wearing full Highland dress with unconscious grace and style was every inch the laird she’d dreamed about in the library. In her dreams. Grasping her silver caman for good luck, she stepped out of the shadows and into the hall.
If you’d like to read the opening chapters of Girl in the Castle on your kindle, click on this link. You can also buy a paperback for your bookshelf.
Here are the hallowe’en photos – (thank you, hostess with the mostess, Adrienne Vaughan)- lots of spooks and demons, but not a kilt in sight. Unfortunately. You might also catch a glimpse of fellow New Romantics Press’s June Kearns hiding behind one of the masks (!)
If you like spooky stories then check out the best selling anthology Adrienne and I contributed to.
Alternatively, check out my blog post about a real life spooky event which happened to me and my siblings in the sixties.
Just to bring you up to date, Adrienne and I have published a new novel apiece since this blog post was written. Check out TAKE ME, I’M YOURS and That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel . As for June, she’s finally come out from behind that mask and hopes to publish her new novel summer 2020.
My Real Life Ghostly Experience
This is a true story, verified by my sisters –
Ellen Humber and Phyllis Fell.
Me with my two sisters and brother William outside 14 College Avenue where the spooky event took place.
KNOCK, KNOCK, WHO’S THERE?
– Leicester circa 1964
In 1962, my family –including Granny and the dog all moved from Scotland to live in Leicester in a rambling palisaded villa. Apart from my Granny, all the adults went out to work – Mother in one of the many shoe factories dotted around Leicester and Dad on a building site as a scaffolder. I was thirteen years old and my siblings ranged below me at eight, six and four years of age respectively. We were rarely alone in the house as Granny was there to welcome us home from school and to give us our evening meal before the adults arrived in from work.
There was something spooky about that house in College Avenue, it had a long dark corridor which led from the front door to the breakfast room, scullery and kitchen at the rear. Other doors opened off the corridor giving onto a sitting room and a gloomy dining room in turn. Once, the house must have been splendid, in a Gothic sort of way; high ceilings, marble fireplaces, deep cornices and even bells to ring for the servants in each room. But to us kids it was a scary place and we didn’t like to be left on our own. In fact, there were certain rooms which the dog wouldn’t enter – without its hackles rising.
One day Granny decided to visit her brother in London which meant leaving us alone for several hours until Mother returned from the factory. Granny was very unhappy with this arrangement, but eventually agreed to visit her brother – albeit with the proviso that all four children, plus dog locked ourselves in our parents’ bedroom and stayed there until Mother came home.
Granny left, and I locked us in our temporary prison with food, drink, comics, toys, radio, the dog and a chamber pot in case of emergencies! We watched Granny walk to the end of the street and then settled down for a boring couple of hours until Mother arrived home. Time passed slowly and we tried to guess where Granny was on her journey – Luton, Bedford, St Pancras, the underground . . .
Then, the strangest thing happened.
We heard Granny’s footsteps climbing the stairs and coming along the landing towards the bedroom. The door knob turned once and then sprang back to its original position. Being kids we thought nothing of it. Ours was an old house and things were always sticking and jamming. Then, stranger still, we heard Granny calling out my name: ‘Betty. Betty,’ in her unmistakable Scottish accent. I looked at my sister Ellen for confirmation of what I’d heard and then walked over to the bedroom door and tried the handle. The door was still locked and the key was on our side, just as I’d left it. I went to unlock the door, but remembering the promise I’d made to Granny to stay put until Mother came home, I changed my mind.
My sister and I sat down on the bed and looked at each other, more puzzled than frightened. When Mother came home, we were simply glad to be allowed to run outside and play and didn’t tell her about Granny’s voice, the footsteps or the door knob turning.
Years later I brought up the subject with my sister.
‘We did hear Granny’s footsteps and her voice, didn’t we?’ I asked.
‘We did,’ my sister Ellen replied, emphatically. ‘She called out your name, twice and the door handle turned.’
We exchanged a look and shuddered, knowing that, as adults, we were only just beginning to comprehend we’d seen and heard that day. Had Granny been so worried about us being in the house alone, that she’d projecting her anxiety across the miles from London to Leicester? Or was it something ‘else’; something which wanted us to leave the safety of the bedroom and venture out on to the landing where it was waiting?
The same nameless terror which made us run down the long dark corridor to the safety of the kitchen every time – and the dog refuse to enter the large cupboard under the stairs where we played? Or, was it the old lady my father (the least fanciful of men) purported to have seen on several occasions standing at the foot of his bed looking distracted and mournful?
You decide.
My sister considers herself a ‘wee bit psychic’, while I consider myself a complete pragmatist. My other sister, Phyllis, told me recently that she’d seen the door handle turn on a couple of other occasions and had been too scared to leave her bedroom. I know there must be a logical explanation for what happened and I’d feel a whole lot better if someone experienced in this field could explain it to me.
Then I could finally lay this story to rest – where it belongs.
This tale is included in this book of 13 supernatural short stories, which also features one written by fellow New Romantics Press author, Adrienne Vaughan – Seed of Doubt.
This is Adrienne and me at the Belmont last year celebrating the launch of Hocus Pocus. The witches’ hats? I just happened to ‘have them’ about my person as you do, this time of year.
Thank you for reading this story. Next year, maybe I’ll tell you another true story … the one where my great-grandfather (who was ‘laid out’ in his coffin on the dining room table) ‘woke up; and joined the mourners toasting his memory with whisky in front of the fire in the next room . . .
Just for fun – work out what your Hallowe’en name is and leave it in the comment box below. Mine is . . . ICY RUNER!!
Hocus Pocus ’14 and Hallowe’en Fun
HOCUS POCUS ’14 OFFICAL LAUNCH DATE AND FREE DOWNLOAD
Today is the official launch date of the Hallowe’en short story anthology – HOCUS POCUS ’14.
To celebrate the event, the short story anthology will be FREE to download from 31st October to 2nd November. So grab yours now. The contributors have organised a Facebook Event which will run through the whole day in hourly slots. There will be lots of giveaways to celebrate the launch of Hocus Pocus, so please come along, leave a comment/enter a competition and, hopefully, win a prize.
I will be ‘live’ from 7pm – 8pm. During that time I will be organising a fun competition to choose your ‘witchy name’ – with some copies of Hocus Pocus (paperback) up for grabs and/or a download of either Tall, Dark and Kilted or Boot Camp Bride. I was also be ‘manning’ the Facebook page and would love you to come and chat with me. Fellow writer and member of New Romantics Press, Adrienne Vaughan will be on earlier in the day. That’s us together in witches’ hats brandishing a copy of Hocus Pocus. Pretty scary, huh?
The anthology is the brain child of Debbie Flint and the other authors/contributors are: Adrienne Vaughan Lynda Renham Alison May Jane O’Reilly Jules Wake Mary Jane Hallowell Carolyn Mahony Tina K. Burton
As part of the celebration, Debbie Flint asked us to write about a true life spooky event. I’ve called mine – Knock, Knock, Who’s There? I’ve included it in this blog post and I hope you enjoy reading it.
Have a great Hallowe’en and don’t get up to any Hocus Pocus!!
KNOCK, KNOCK, WHO’S THERE?
My Real Life Spooky Event – Leicester circa 1964
In 1962, my family –including Granny and the dog all moved from Scotland to live in Leicester in a rambling palisaded villa. Apart from my Granny, all the adults went out to work – Mother in one of the many shoe factories dotted around Leicester and Dad on a building site as a scaffolder. I was thirteen years old and my siblings ranged below me at eight, six and four years of age respectively. We were rarely alone in the house as Granny was there to welcome us home from school and to give us our evening meal before the adults arrived in from work.
There was something spooky about that house in College Avenue, it had a long dark corridor which led from the front door to the breakfast room, scullery and kitchen at the rear. Other doors opened off the corridor giving onto a sitting room and a gloomy dining room in turn. Once, the house must have been splendid, in a Gothic sort of way; high ceilings, marble fireplaces, deep cornices and even bells to ring for the servants in each room. But to us kids it was a scary place and we didn’t like to be left on our own. In fact, there were certain rooms which the dog wouldn’t enter – without its hackles rising.
One day Granny decided to visit her brother in London which meant leaving us alone for several hours until Mother returned from the factory. Granny was very unhappy with this arrangement, but eventually agreed to visit her brother – albeit with the proviso that all four children, plus dog locked ourselves in our parents’ bedroom and stayed there until Mother came home.
Granny left, and I locked us in our temporary prison with food, drink, comics, toys, radio, the dog and a chamber pot in case of emergencies! We watched Granny walk to the end of the street and then settled down for a boring couple of hours until Mother arrived home. Time passed slowly and we tried to guess where Granny was on her journey – Luton, Bedford, St Pancras, the underground . . .
Then, the strangest thing happened.
We heard Granny’s footsteps climbing the stairs and coming along the landing towards the bedroom. The door knob turned once and then sprang back to its original position. Being kids we thought nothing of it. Ours was an old house and things were always sticking and jamming. Then, stranger still, we heard Granny calling out my name: ‘Betty. Betty,’ in her unmistakable Scottish accent. I looked at my sister Ellen for confirmation of what I’d heard and then walked over to the bedroom door and tried the handle. The door was still locked and the key was on our side, just as I’d left it. I went to unlock the door, but remembering the promise I’d made to Granny to stay put until Mother came home, I changed my mind.
My sister and I sat down on the bed and looked at each other, more puzzled than frightened. When Mother came home, we were simply glad to be allowed to run outside and play and didn’t tell her about Granny’s voice, the footsteps or the door knob turning.
Years later I brought up the subject with my sister.
‘We did hear Granny’s footsteps and her voice, didn’t we?’ I asked.
‘We did,’ my sister Ellen replied, emphatically. ‘She called out your name, twice and the door handle turned.’
We exchanged a look and shuddered, knowing that, as adults, we were only just beginning to comprehend we’d seen and heard that day. Had Granny been so worried about us being in the house alone, that she’d projecting her anxiety across the miles from London to Leicester? Or was it something ‘else’; something which wanted us to leave the safety of the bedroom and venture out on to the landing where it was waiting?
The same nameless terror which made us run down the long dark corridor to the safety of the kitchen every time – and the dog refuse to enter the large cupboard under the stairs where we played? Or, was it the old lady my father (the least fanciful of men) purported to have seen on several occasions standing at the foot of his bed looking distracted and mournful?
You decide.
My sister considers herself a ‘wee bit psychic’, while I consider myself a complete pragmatist. I know there must be a logical explanation for what happened and I’d feel a whole lot better if someone experienced in this field could explain it to me.
Then I could finally lay this story to rest – where it belongs.
Remember: Tall, Dark and Kilted and Boot Camp Bride are both just 99p for one more day and then they revert back to £1.99 a download. Working hard on number three which will be published early 2015.
Lizzie Lamb - author 