Strate Talk
Halloween 1944
Children going from door to door to trick-or-treat evidently came into being sometime while my husband, a Darby, Mont., native, was in England serving in the military from 1940 to 1944.
We returned to his hometown on the 21st day of October in 1944, just in time to be introduced to this unfamiliar Halloween custom.
Small children ran along Highway 93 going from door to door dressed as witches, good and naughty fairies, ghosts, black cats and skeletons.
As they scampered about, the witch's capes fluttered in the nippy night air, ghosts tripped on dangling corners of their white sheet coverings, and the long tails of black cats trailed behind their owners through night frost that covered the ground.
The groups of children in cute and goulish costumes ran lickety-split up the sidewalk to my sister-in-law's front door and stated in unison, "Trick or treat!"
With another treat in their large brown paper sacks they scooted down the sidewalk and along the highway to the next house.
My husband thought that the children were saying, "Trickle treat," and when his sister Mae told him the words to the unfamiliar phrase he asked. "What ever happened to pushing over outhouses, and hauling a farmers wagon to the top of his barn?"
"It's possible that some of the big kids still do that but this door to door thing is for the little kids." she said.
Our son David was 18 months old and the sight of the grotesque masks petrified him. He shook with fright and screamed "Go'way, go 'way, " and hid in the bathroom until the evening of witches, cats, goblins and spiders with scary faces came to an end.
My husband and I talked about our sons reactions and, came to the conclusion that his memory of periodically having to wear a gas mask during the war had left a deeper impression on him than we realized.
Everyone in England carried a gas mask at all times during WWII. I carried two.
During an air raid, if there was a possibility of gas bombs being dropped from German aircraft, the local Air Raid Warden cycled about his designated area blowing a whistle.
The warning alone sent David and I scurrying to the empty pantry under the stairs of the house where we lived in the village of Bovingdon.
We didn't have a brick air raid shelter in our back garden like the ones erected behind homes in the suburbs of the big cities, such as London, Liverpool and Sheffield.
The wail of sirens was always scary but the shrill blast of the whistle was enough to engulf one with the fear of the devil.
The masks were hideous things. They were green-grey in color with two large round eyes covered with a see-through material-like plastic. The breathing apparatus over the mouth and nose resembled an enlarged pig's snout.
Getting David into his mask was a task I dreaded. He fought having his face covered by twisting his head from side to side and grabbed at my hands. I understood his reluctance to having his face covered, as I didn't like it either.
As one inhaled, the rubber gripped the sides of the face, and upon exhaling the rubber sides made a "blub-blub-blub" sound, much the same as the sound one hears buy flickering a finger on the bottom lip while breathing out.
Halloween festivities such as trick-or-treat were not a custom in England when I was a child but then, we had Guy Fawks Day on November 5th with no gory facemasks to frighten little children, but that is another story.
Children no longer have the fun of going door to door to say "Trick or treat" the way they did in 1944. Even in the small village of Bigfork today's Halloween festivities are organized gatherings.
My husband and I miss the sound of children's feet scampering along the sidewalk and their happy voices announcing "Trick or treat."
The change is probably for the best as I don't think there's an outhouse to be found anywhere to push over, or a wagon to haul to the roof of a barn and, now the two old ghosts in our house can eat all of the Halloween candy.
Happy "Trickle treats" kids.