Halloween has become a fixture in Australia’s cultural calendar, but that hasn’t always been the case.
Growing up, Halloween only existed in American pop culture. The first sign it had spread here came sometime in the 90s, when a group of kids knocked on our door. My mother, bewildered by their seemingly random request for sweets, hurried off to the pantry. I never saw their reaction but I’m sure they enjoyed their wholemeal Saladas and tinned peaches.
For years I was a Halloween Scrooge, scoffing at after-school trick-or-treaters in their black costumes. I’d watch as the afternoon sun melted the chocolate Freddos stashed in their buckets, while rainbow lorikeets chirrupped merrily in gumtrees. Celebrating this spooky day didn’t make sense to me in sunny Australia.
It didn’t change when I had kids, either. There was a time my children’s kinder did a pumpkin-carving activity. The heat and humidity got to the gourd and it became a deflated, mould-ridden mess. What started as an intro to Halloween became a science lesson on decomposition.
Fast forward a few decades and things have changed – including me. These days, I’m a Halloween convert. At 4pm on 31 October, I launch my out-of-office, put on my best witch’s hat and hit the streets with my junior hobgoblins.
My transformation didn’t require three ghostly visitations. Rather, it was the pandemic and the enthusiasm of my neighbourhood that tipped me to the dark side.
The end of one of our more gruelling Victorian Covid lockdowns coincided with 31 October. After months of isolation, the neighbourhood came alive in one big street party. We were talking! To people! The atmosphere was heady.
People’s resourcefulness was impressive: sanitiser atop letterboxes, bowls of lollies with serving tongs, chocolates pegged to fences, and one man sitting on his second-floor balcony lowering treats with an ingenious fishing-rod-like contraption.
My neighbourhood and I continue to embrace All Hallows’ Eve. Around mid-October, community posts start appearing on Facebook: who’s handing out treats? Any eco-friendly decoration ideas? An online map for trick-or-treaters materialises and then the decorations begin to pop up.
“Look!” my kids shout. “There’s a giant inflatable pumpkin with a cat on top!” Or a battery-operated witch with a tinny laugh, skeletons dangling from trees, plus a few severed index fingers scattered around for good measure.
On the day itself, the late-afternoon atmosphere is something to savour. Kids stuff costumes in their schoolbags and parents scramble to get them ready after pickup.
These same parents spend 364 days of the year grimly warning their kids not to talk to strangers, let alone take lollies from them. But for a few wild hours, they take over the streets and roam (supervised!), bumping into classmates, teachers and neighbours, high on sherbet and freedom.
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There’s something exhilarating about knocking on a stranger’s door and asking for lollies. Though not a believer in the supernatural, after that initial knock or ding-dong, I feel a frisson of excitement – or maybe fear – as I wonder who (or what) might be behind the door.
One street near us is particularly spectacular. The houses are older and atmospheric. Homemade signs are displayed, tempting, “Trik or treet [sic], take one if you dare.” Or my favourite: “Trick or treat, smell my feet.” Little ghosts, grim reapers and witches swarm the footpaths, waiting their turn. Despite the instruction to take one sweet only, greedy hands make a grab. Demand outstrips supply and there are frantic dashes to the supermarket for party-size packs of reinforcements.
Halloween is the perfect icebreaker for adults too. It’s hard not to acknowledge a headless horseman in the street (“Is it hot in there?”) or empathise with a doctor in blood-splattered scrubs (“Tough day at the office?”).
After a couple of hours of intense trick-or-treating with the locals, children have sweated off their face paint, and blood sugar levels have peaked and then crashed. It’s time to call it a day, to tally the loot and brush our teeth with extra vigour.
So, yes, I’m a convert. Halloween definitely has a place here. It might not be cold, dark and stormy, but those few hours where you walk the streets of your neighbourhood and connect with the people in it are magical.
