Whew! It’s over for another year!
The great rush of excitement, the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of consuming the rewards of the Halloween madness has come and gone for another year.
We have all witnessed the early August store displays of the greatest collection of Halloween costumes known to humanity, equalled only by the plethora of tempting “treats.”
Let’s not kid ourselves about the treats, eh? Who doesn’t buy a box or two of those cute little candy bars or chip bags in August and somehow have to replenish the supply more than a few times before the trick-or-treaters come knocking?
Today’s Halloween is vastly different to anyone who was breathing “back in the day” when the act (or art) of Halloweening was for kids and simply a matter of wearing a homemade costume and heading out for an evening of treat collection.
Costumes were homemade by mom, worn two or three years in a row and then hand-me-downed to the next brother or sister or neighbour’s kid. Money was tight, so let’s just keep it simple.
Mom: “You’re only wearing it for a few hours so stop making such a fuss. Besides it will be dark when you are out Halloweening so nobody will hardly see it. Just hold still while I pin up this material…”
Child: “But Maaawm. I’m going to wear it to school, rememberrr. I don’t want to parade around the school looking like some dumb clown like I did last yeeear…!”
The school parade was a big deal for the early grades, although peer pressure led some grade sixers to feign a lack of interest. The remnants of Main School memory tell me that the drill was to rush home for lunch, get dressed up and then be part of the afternoon parade of clowns and other sorts that did a tour of the 12 grades 1-6 classrooms. After school it was home for hurried supper (still wearing the costume) and then a gathering of the gang to “do the circuit.”
Living Uptown had many advantages over those “below the hill,” especially at Halloween. The first swing of the circuit was to sweep down Main Street before the 6 o’clock closing to gather up goodies from the merchants.
Then it was on to prime territory at the Company apartments. I must put this part of our sweep in the context of the economics and social structure of the day.
There was a bit of a territorial divide between those Company Row kids whose parents were “white-collar” and the rest of us who were “miners’ kids” or “merchants’ kids.”
The two-storey, four-apartment units offered a very efficient means of gathering the goodies that were, shall we say, of a better quality than the usual home street fare. Then it was off to the Company cottages for equally good pickin’s and a final swing down Church Street and home.
The treats ranged from store-bought chocolate bars (yippee), to apples (okay for pies) and homemade candies, cookies, popcorn balls (yuck, but eaten) and the occasional item that defied description and was given either to Dad or to the dog. The anticipation of the gathering of goodies was exceeded only by the delight of arriving home before the 9 o’clock curfew siren and dumping the loot onto the bed for the ritual treat sorting.
For all the fun, there were a few hazards. A snowstorm, tripping in the dark and the inevitable Flin Flon stairs to climb to get to the front door of many houses. Not like in the flats of the new Willowvale subdivision where trick-or-treating was easy-peasy.
Another hazard/disaster was having the bottom of your pillowcase-cum-treat bag break open due to being dragged in the slag. Unlike in today’s fearful existence, most kids went out in clusters of ‘pals’ without parental escort. Clustering helped avoid those ‘mean big kids’ who would threaten to beat you up if you didn’t hand over your hard-earned loot. (You know who I mean!)
Oh yah! I should mention the ‘trick’ part of a Flin Flon ’40’s Halloween. There was the usual window soaping and tipping of garbage pails and the odd outhouse. Legend has it that some late-night goblins borrowed a freight wagon from the CNR station and somehow got it to the top of the Third Avenue Hill where they just “let ’er go on her own.”
In Flin Flon? Well! How scary is that?
Vincent Murphy-Dodds is a former Flin Flon resident now living in Regina. His column appears the first Friday of the month. Your comments on his column are welcomed. Contact [email protected].