The real
reason we "dress up" for Halloween has nothing to do with druids or
spirits or even commercialism. The real reason was started by Reginald
Wickingham from Hounslow, London in England.
Mr. Wickingham you see, was a purveyor of the spirital sort...which meant that he sold alcohol. He routinely consumed more than he sold, or so the legend of the town says. One day, upon hearing his door being pounded on...he rose up from the floor and staggered over to the door in nothing more than the first thing he could grab to put on. It was Mrs. Wickingham's dressing gown. The Vicar had come 'round to tell him that his wife had been taken ill and was at the local parish church being tended to by some members of the congregation...but that she was inconsolable and insisted the Vicar get her husband at once. Naturally, a couple others accompanied him in case Mr. Wickingham was overcome by grief upon hearing of his wife's grave condition.
Mr. Wickingham, not wanting to seem drunk at noon on a Sunday...and realizing in his half-haze that he was now standing at the doorway in his wife's frilly thing...offered his "guests" some fruit and a couple of chocolates which were sitting on the table next to the door. He then stated his elaborate get-up was a "fun new fad" that was all the rage in the colonies...a yearly event where people got dressed up and handed fruits and candied bits of orange rind and the occasional chocolate to people who went from door to door...in a gleeful state brought upon by the occasional imbibing of a glass of mulled wine or a flagon of beer.
Neither the Vicar nor the two people accompanying him wanted to look foolish...Mr. Wickingham was also a great wealthy man of some stature who travelled extensively around the globe...so they all nodded their heads in approval stating that they, too, had heard of the new fad...but were unaware that it was held on that certain day...thinking that it was going to be held the next day, which just so happened to be the 31st of October.
They all had a laugh until it dawned on them that poor Mrs. Wickingham was lying prone on a pew in the church and needed to be attended to immediately. Mr. Wickingham, not wanting to be made a mockery of...donned an overcoat and top hat and threw it on top of the dressing gown...making it seem even more plausible to the Vicar and the members of the congregation upon their arrival back.
As for Mrs. Wickingham, she had passed away...but it was all for the best as she really was disliked by everyone. And after the funeral, the next evening, they all got dressed up and celebrated...therefore cementing the ritualistic dress-up in the town, which, of course, over the years, ended up spreading far and wide. The fact that this day happened to occur on "All Hallow's Eve" was just a fortunate coincidence...and easy for everyone to remember it by. Well, everyone except poor Mrs. Wickingham, that is.
Mr. Wickingham you see, was a purveyor of the spirital sort...which meant that he sold alcohol. He routinely consumed more than he sold, or so the legend of the town says. One day, upon hearing his door being pounded on...he rose up from the floor and staggered over to the door in nothing more than the first thing he could grab to put on. It was Mrs. Wickingham's dressing gown. The Vicar had come 'round to tell him that his wife had been taken ill and was at the local parish church being tended to by some members of the congregation...but that she was inconsolable and insisted the Vicar get her husband at once. Naturally, a couple others accompanied him in case Mr. Wickingham was overcome by grief upon hearing of his wife's grave condition.
Mr. Wickingham, not wanting to seem drunk at noon on a Sunday...and realizing in his half-haze that he was now standing at the doorway in his wife's frilly thing...offered his "guests" some fruit and a couple of chocolates which were sitting on the table next to the door. He then stated his elaborate get-up was a "fun new fad" that was all the rage in the colonies...a yearly event where people got dressed up and handed fruits and candied bits of orange rind and the occasional chocolate to people who went from door to door...in a gleeful state brought upon by the occasional imbibing of a glass of mulled wine or a flagon of beer.
Neither the Vicar nor the two people accompanying him wanted to look foolish...Mr. Wickingham was also a great wealthy man of some stature who travelled extensively around the globe...so they all nodded their heads in approval stating that they, too, had heard of the new fad...but were unaware that it was held on that certain day...thinking that it was going to be held the next day, which just so happened to be the 31st of October.
They all had a laugh until it dawned on them that poor Mrs. Wickingham was lying prone on a pew in the church and needed to be attended to immediately. Mr. Wickingham, not wanting to be made a mockery of...donned an overcoat and top hat and threw it on top of the dressing gown...making it seem even more plausible to the Vicar and the members of the congregation upon their arrival back.
As for Mrs. Wickingham, she had passed away...but it was all for the best as she really was disliked by everyone. And after the funeral, the next evening, they all got dressed up and celebrated...therefore cementing the ritualistic dress-up in the town, which, of course, over the years, ended up spreading far and wide. The fact that this day happened to occur on "All Hallow's Eve" was just a fortunate coincidence...and easy for everyone to remember it by. Well, everyone except poor Mrs. Wickingham, that is.
(This was another in my silly series of Halloween-themed "facts"...in other words, this was made up by me.)
"... it was all for the best as she really was disliked by everyone."
ReplyDeleteEh, I needed another cup of coffee, anyway. I will, however, be sending you a bill for a new keyboard.
You can tell the Ambien has fully kicked in - as I kept reading that saying "Where's my typo??" I read it and read it and read it...then it finally sunk in. I tell ya. Ambien. Not good for the brain. :)
ReplyDelete