The night we climbed the hill on All Hallows’ Eve, my youngest son was still a toddler. Too little for trick or treating, but big enough to be charmed by the eldritch glow of a carved lantern on our doorstep, and thrilled at the thought of an adventure in the dark. Primed with marshmallows, head torches, flasks of hot chocolate, and pumpkin-shaped biscuits, my friend and I set off with six small, excitable welly-clad children between us.
Back then, our celebrations were simple and food-based: cut out biscuits, spiderweb-topped cupcakes, green pea and mozzarella ‘slime’ soup (so convincing that one friend reported back to his mum: ‘in their house, they actually eat SLIME!’). But this year, my teenagers will be out trick or treating with their friends and my youngest has already annotated the calendar in huge letters: ‘HALOWEN’. It’s his favourite day of the year, he tells me, planning a zombie costume and anticipating the sweets he will amass.
On the night we climbed the hill, his hair still fell in soft curls and he wore yellow and navy striped boots, a swiftly disappearing bag of marshmallows in the pocket of his yellow gilet. He walked ahead of me on the woodland path, chatting to his friend in her purple duffel coat, lighting the way together—head-torches worn at ever more precarious angles. The leaves were half green, half gold, and the air was chill, the seasons still predictable in their changes. When we stepped out of the woods, through the stile and onto the hillside, the dusky valley was spread below us with scattered lights beginning to twinkle on. Six voices filled the still air with whooping—they chased each other around the hill, hid behind trees, jumped out and laughed. I sat on a bench beside my friend, looking out over the landscape as the town was gradually illuminated.
The children grew hungry and gathered on the grass beside us, sipping hot chocolate from chipped enamel mugs and dunking biscuits. Suddenly, a bat swooped out of the gloom, diving for insects just above our heads, and they squealed with excitement as if we had arranged its arrival as a Halloween surprise. It passed silently back and forth over the hill, wings silhouetted against the last of the sky’s light. We watched the bat until it disappeared—liminal being—into the dark trees. In our stillness we hadn’t noticed the fog creeping down but standing to leave, we turned and found the hill wreathed in low cloud, the wood above filled with a silvery shimmer of fog. Torches wavering through the grey, we made our way slowly back along the usually familiar path, the ordinary made strange all around us.
On All Hallows’ Eve, a night where unexpected things can happen, I sometimes wish I could step back into the memory of that pure and unexpected moment with my children still small, their happy voices echoing around a hidden hilltop, their torch lights flickering in the fog.
A final reminder that as of 1st November I’ll be increasing my subscription prices for new subscribers (bringing them in line with those of similar Substacks). If you’re an existing paid subscriber the price you pay won’t change. There’s still time to upgrade and lock in the current price, so if you’ve been thinking of upgrading, now’s the time!
Here’s what I’ve been reading and loving this month: