I can still see my Grandad Hickman. He is standing at the kitchen window, in his third floor flat, waving us goodbye, as we step into our car. He is wearing a mustard yellow cardigan, half zipped up the front to his chest, with a button up shirt underneath. He is smiling, as he leans upon the windowsill; then, as our arms rise in acknowledgement, his grin broadens and his hand moves before the window pane. He is still there, as we drive around the square and look back across the green. One last wave and then we're gone.
Thirty-one years have passed since I last saw that in this world; but today is Samhain and, perhaps, if I was to drive to that same street and glance up, I might just see it again.
Samhain: Welcome Home to our Ancestors
In many cultures across the world, and throughout time, there has been a variation on the theme of Samhain. In my own Celtic heritage and Wiccan practice alike these ideas are the same. There is a spiritual landscape weaving in and around that of the everyday. It may be called the Otherworld, or Annwn, or even the Heaven and Hell of Christianity, but the legends tell that this is the home of our ancestors. When we die in our turn, then we join them. But there are points and places when they may join us: the time between the times.
Samhain is the biggest and most widely recognised of these times. It is one of the major Sabbats, when the veil between the Otherworld and this world is very thin. So much so that our ancestors and other beloved dead might step right through and, for a short while, visit us again.
Samhain: Taking the Message Through to the Otherworld
For many, Samhain is simply a time of reflection, strengthening our roots as we meditate upon from where we came. There is also a message of honour and respect here, for those whose meeting, coupling and hard work allowed us to be born in the first place. (It is a matter of some wide-eyed contemplation to realise that the number of people required to have had children, in Elizabethan times alone, in order for me to exist, was larger than the population of Britain at the time.)
However, this closeness can also be an opportunity to pass on messages to those loved and lost. At Samhain, a whispered, 'I really miss you', can feel like it's getting through a lot more easily, than at any other point in the wheel of the year. For those more desperate, this is the big moment to appeal for help. This is where memorial and honouring the dead crosses over into ancestor worship. Maybe this is how it all started, asking the ancestors for help with our very real troubles.
Samhain: Remembering Those Who Went Before
All over the world, Wiccans and other Pagans are setting their extra places at the dinner table. Like the Siege Perilous of Arthurian legend, no living person will sit on this chair. That meal is for our visiting ancestors. The food upon the plate might grow cold and eventually need to be scraped onto the garden, or into the recycling bin, but that doesn't matter. It is the show of hospitality that counts. It says loud and clear that death did not stop the welcome for you in my home nor the sustenance at my hearth.
This sentiment is enacted, almost as child's play, as trick or treaters knock on the door. They may be dressed as the dead or as an Otherworldly being. They are there to remind us that this is Samhain. Will there be a welcome at your house?
Others are marking the day in more prosaic ways. Social media and blogs are full of Pagans telling stories of their ancestors. These tales make those long dead people appear alive again, as their actions and personas are recalled. Photographs and drawings are dusted off on mantelpieces or scanned into computers for display. Those shown upon them are remembered; their names are passed along and, for a moment or two, complete strangers might meditate upon them.
No-one is truly dead to our world, until they are forgotten. The simple act of remembering may divert their attention to us again and, for a moment, we are once again quite close.
Samhain: Recollections and Family History
The photograph illustrating this article shows Mrs Fanny Hurle (nee Pike) of Blaenafon, in the valleys of Gwent. She lost a son to World War One and a daughter to the economic downturn in Wales. Young Mabel had to travel into England to find work and her mother missed her so much. We know this for a fact, because it's written on the back of the photograph.
I pause now to imagine what it was like to be Mabel Hurle, receiving a picture of her mother and home. She was working as a domestic servant for a doctor, which must have been long, hard hours. The rest of her brothers and sisters remained in Wales, except Ralph, dead in the trenches of Belgium.
I'm glad that Mabel stuck it out, because otherwise she would never have met a tall, handsome butcher named Charles Harley (Ted to his friends and family). There was heartbreak there too, as they lost their baby daughter Jean. But there was also joy, including the birth of another daughter Elsie.
My Grandmother, Elsie Hickman, stands behind her husband Albert, as he stands waving in his mustard yellow cardigan. On Samhain in particular, I'm remembering them all.
Jo Harrington - Jo has a BA (Hons) in History and Philosophy and a MA in History. She has a book published on the history of Wicca.
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