"A Children's Celebration of Hallowe'en"

by Isabel Gordon Curtis, October 1905

Yet another narrative of an early 1900s Hallowe'en party. I have included the "scary refrain" of the Eugene Field poem in the story, but was not part of it originally. Imagine those "real electric lights" blazing up to a party of children perhaps only used to the dimness of gaslight!

Thirty-one children to be entertained—a guest for each of October's golden days—and Hallowe'en to be celebrated! There are easier things to do. Such "stunts" as mirror-gazing at the shivery hour of midnight, as following a thread through a dark cellar, or pulling kalestocks; none of them could be called child's play. Something had to be planned that was different, something entertaining and "Hallowe'eny."

The invitations, which were sent out a week in advance, read as follows:

Won't you come to my Hallowe'en party, from 6 to 9, Saturday, October 31? Please wear real play-clothes.

Sylvia Hall,
25 Park Avenue.

In the corner of each card was a tiny watercolor sketch—a witch riding a broom, a blinking owl, or a broad-winged bat.

Every response was an acceptance, and straightway preparations for the party began. From a farm-house we drove home one day with a load of cornstalks, pumpkins, and carrots. Everybody in the household who could use a jack-knife was pressed into service. Big pumpkins and little were transformed into lanterns, with faces upon which black or white paint had sketched queer eyebrows or fierce mustachios. They were distributed about the house: tucked among russet oak-leaves and green pine-boughs on each mantel, set lantern-fashion on a newel post in the hall, or hung here and there from overhead grilles. Cornstalks were stacked beside a fireplace at a safe distance from the fire, and the house was lit dimly by pumpkin-heads or candles set in hollowed carrots.

The dining-table was set with a group of carrot candlesticks and bowlfuls of apples, nuts, grapes, and candy. Upon a fat pumpkin was perched a Hallowe'en witch holding a handful of raffia, which came from the mouth of a grab-bag. In her black gown, peaked hat, and flying red cloak, with a veritable broomstick in her hand, she was the star of indoors. On the lawn, ready to offer a welcome to every guest who arrived, was a greater star, a life-size witch, with a pair of twinkling red eyes which could be seen two blocks distant. Her framework was a rough wooden cross with one end hewn to a sharp stake which was driven into the ground. Pillows were tied about her lath-like form for shapeliness, while her garb was a nightgown. The pumpkin-head was of noble proportions, the hair was a bunch of black raffia, and over it perched a lordly hat with a peak nearly a yard high, wide brim, and a crisp scarf of orange-colored paper tied in a magnificent bow at one side. The head was nailed securely to the framework, and inside the candies flared safely, for the witch's cap was lined with asbestos. That she made a hit would be praising her mildly; if her feet had not been securely planted in the earth she might have been tempted to curtsey from the attention she received.

When fifteen small girls filed downstairs, led by their young hostess, they were blindfolded one by one, and each played a game of blindman's buff with the boys in the hall, the one who was captured being her partner for supper. It shattered in an instant the ice which has always to be broken at a children's party. The crowd watching blindman's-buff began to shriek with laughter which grew to genuine hilarity when the sixteenth girl chased the sixteenth boy into a corner. There was a hungry rush at half-past six for the dining-room and parlor where eight small tables were set, four children being seated at each. The supper was a simple one, consisting of tongue and chicken sandwiches, with stuffed potatoes, baked apples with whipped cream, gingerbread men, chocolate, nuts, and grapes.

When the evening's fun began, a jolly young aunt was appointed referee and recorder in the various games. The first part of the program was held in the kitchen while tables were being cleared and dishes carried to the butler's pantry. There was, of course, a tub filled with lukewarm water (it was too chilly a night for a cold plunge), and in it floated a score of rosy apples. Bobbing for them was no end of fun, and the first youngster clever enough to bring one up in his or her teeth was given the first place on the list of honor, which meant later the first chance at the grab-bag.

An apple tied to a string was swinging in a doorway—it got bitten at last—then fifteen minutes were spent over what the small hostess called " candle-boats." It excited curiosity enough when there was handed about a plateful of walnut shell-halves. Each one was numbered on the bottom with India ink, then into it had been poured a spoonful of paraffin. In the center stood a bit of oil-soaked, cotton string to make a wick. The children, each one keeping in memory the number of his walnut-shell, crowded about the tub on the kitchen floor, and on its waters was launched a fleet of burning candle-boats. All sorts of exciting adventures befell them: they bumped into each other, one or two were capsized, some took fire and burned up, while a few sailed on serenely with their little candles burning up the last drop of grease. The last survivor was inspected for its number, then its owner's name went third on the roll of honor.

There was no greater fun during the evening than a "peanut carry." The boys chose partners and were ranged in two lines from the dining-room to the parlor. At the end of each line was a table; one held a big basket of peanuts, beside the other stood the umpire, with her pencil and paper. On it was a wooden bowl and two plates. When the umpire called a girl's name she and her partner walked down the center to the farther table. Covering the backs of their hands with all the peanuts they could hold, they carried them to the other table, where they were counted. It sounds like an easy task, but the winner had only seven or eight peanuts to his credit. When the children began to giggle, when hands grew shaky, or a walk quickened into a run, the peanuts went tumbling everywhere to the delight of the onlookers.

There was a game of bean-bags, then a spirited soap-bubble contest. For this partners were drawn again and a ribbon stretched from end to end of the room, with boys on one side of it and girls on the other. It was played almost like a tennis game, a girl blowing a bubble to her partner, who wafted it back. The contest went down the line, and the children who kept a bubble floating for two minutes won. At last thirty-two names were down on the referee's list and everybody gathered about the grab-bag in front of the witch-doll, who yielded up her reins of raffia. Each boy and girl, according to his or her place upon the list, pulled at a black or an orange-colored strand of raffia. One jerk brought out a bundle wrapped in tissue-paper—and such queer things were unwrapped, velvet cats and china elephants, feathered roosters or tiny dolls, old women who nodded their heads, and old men who winked their eyes, long-tailed mice, or fat little owls, and Japanese novelties without end.

What a stampede there was down cellar when the jolly aunt appeared with a corn-popper, tin pans, and a package of popcorn. Upstairs they came again presently with half a bushel of hot, snowy-white kernels. Then with bowlfuls of popcorn and peanuts they made a circle about the jolly aunt, who announced that the last half-hour was to be devoted to something very weird and "Hallowe'eny." She sat before a low table chanting softly, while into a saucer she tossed a tablespoonful of salt and poured alcohol upon it from a silver flagon. When she touched it with a match it blazed up in a blue uncanny flame. Then she began in a slow, deep voice:

"Little Orphan Annie's come to our house to stay!"

She had scarcely reached the last verse when the saucer-lamp flared strangely and went out. The reader lit it again, with her salt and alcohol, and recited:

"All around the house in the jet-black night,
It stares through the window pane,"

but the light went out as she whispered slowly,

"All the wicked shadows coining tramp, tramp, tramp!"

There followed Eugene Field's ghostly "Seein' Things," with its "scary" refrain.

Sometimes they 're in the corner, sometimes they 're by the door,
Sometimes they 're all a-standin' in the middle uv the floor;
Sometimes they are a-sittin' down, sometimes they 're walkin' round
So softly an' so creepylike they never make a sound!
Sometimes they are as black as ink, an' other times they 're white—
But the color ain't no difference when you see things at night!

But as she ended the last stanza, the lights suddenly blazed up, real electric lights instead of tallow dips in carrot candlesticks, and the clock struck nine. There was a scurry upstairs for warm caps and coats. "Good nights" were said, not only to the little lady hostess, her tall mother, and the jolly aunt, but to the witch-lady on the lawn, whose round eyes still glowed. Her black raffia hair was blowing across her pumpkin face; she could not very well push it aside, for her arms were stretched out stiffly and her back would not bend.

It had been a very jolly Hallowe'en; even the witch-lady seemed to acknowledge it the next morning, when her head was carried down cellar and her queer wooden leg bumped its way up the attic stairs.