It's the end of October, a time of last harvests, shorter days, and darker nights, and of Halloween, a night of spooks, spirits, and wandering souls.
These days, we ward off the evil spirits at our doors with candy corn and Hershey's bars, but it used to take a lot more than that to make peace with the ghosts of All Hallows' Eve, or Samhain, as the old Celtic world would have called it. For the Celts, Samhain was the festival of the dying sun god, marking the death of the old year. It was a liminal or threshold time, when the veil was thin and the spirits of the dead could return to walk amongst us. Thus, food and drink would be left out for friendly spirits and ancestors. Bonfires were built and rituals abounded to ward off any evil or dangerous spirits.
Around the bonfires, traditional Samhain foods like colcannon and barmbrack and apple cider were shared with the living, and costumes and masks were worn to confuse the spirits.
But the original trick-or-treat goodie was something called a soul cake. Soul cakes were traditionally baked as a gift for the spirits of the dead. Some even say that the Druids baked the cakes in their Samhain bonfires as an offering to appease angry ghosts. Depending on what crops you grew, soul cakes might be shortbread or fruit-filled tarts. They might be flavored with saffron or with a cross made of currants. As time passed, the soul cakes were used to pay the beggars known as soulers, who went door to door on All Souls' Eve, singing and offering to say prayers for the family's departed. One cake given, one soul saved. Cheap at the price.
Elsewhere, they were given to the costumed entertainers known as mummers, who made their merry rounds on Hallows' Eve. A soul cake meant that the homeowner would be free from a curse or a prank. Today's trick-or-treaters are thought to be descended from these costumed visitors.
By the eighth century, soul cakes had left their pagan roots behind and were adopted by the Catholic Church. They were blessed and given to poor travelers who might approach the local monastery. The tradition slowly faded away, though today it's enjoying a bit of a revival as we all seek to find more meaning in our community rituals than plastic jack-o'-lanterns can offer.
May you be moved to bake your own soul cakes this Hallows' Eve, and may you spare a thought for the hungry ghosts who walk with us again for just one night.
For Celtic Cultural Alliance, this is Kate Scuffle. Sláinte.
