October 31, 2024
On this day of Halloween, I’m reminded of the various strategies that humans have used to ward off evil spirits. In this era of political stress and world wars, there’s no shortage of dark forces to contend with.
In ancient Ireland, the birthplace of Halloween (specifically, the Oweynagat Cave at Rathcroghan in County Roscommon), people wore costumes during the Celtic harvest festival of Samhain to conceal their identity from scary beings that might harm them or take them down into the underworld.
Recently I’ve been reading about – and remembering – a different method of facing one’s fear of death: singing.
My mother’s death in July has prompted my siblings and cousins and me to rediscover her father’s World War I letters from France. My grandfather William Kenney was an artillery mechanic in the American Expeditionary Forces, and in at least one of his letters he made a passing reference to the 1917 song “Over There” that lifted the spirits of American soldiers such as my grandfather as they headed to war in Europe:
Over there, over there, send the word, send the word over there,
That the Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming, the drums rum-tumming everywhere,
So prepare, say a prayer, send the word, send the word to beware,
We’ll be over, we’re coming over, and we won’t come back till it’s over over there.
In May I was in Pennsylvania for three weeks, visiting sites from American history such as the French and Indian War, the Revolutionary War, and the Civil War. I was reminded of the Civil War songs “When Johnny Comes Marching Home” and “The Battle Cry of Freedom.” I also recalled the lyrics of a Revolutionary War song we learned in the fifth grade:
Why come ye hither Redcoats? What mind your madness fills?
For there’s danger in our valleys, and there’s danger on our hills.
Oh, hear ye forth the singing of the bugle wild and free?
For soon you’ll know the ringing of the rifle from the tree.
For the rifle [clap, clap, clap], for the rifle [clap, clap, clap},
In our hands it is no trifle.
And that song about American colonists fighting a British invasion led me to remember the many Irish songs of rebellion that my ancestors sang to give them the courage to face overwhelming odds as they risked death during seven centuries of British colonial oppression of their island:
We’re on the one road, sharing the one load, we’re on the road to God knows where.
We’re on the one road, it may be the wrong road, but we’re together now who cares?
North men, South men, comrades all, Dublin Belfast Cork and Donegal
We’re on the one road, singing a song, singing a soldier’s song.
I suppose that singing songs of war is a form of whistling past the graveyard – facing one’s fears of death by summoning a cheerful attitude of confidence and hope. It’s not unlike what my friend Julie once joked about regarding her spiritual path: “I practice maintenance Buddhism – it keeps you feeling good, while everything around you crumbles.”
I love to sing, in good times and in bad times. Unfortunately I’m concerned that we humans are headed into times of even greater turmoil and peril than we have been experiencing recently. And in this country we face the possibility of a period of dangerous political instability in the near future.
I don’t know what goblins or other negative energy may be unleashed to assail us in the aftermath of the November 5th election. But I intend to face it with several rollicking songs in my heart.
David Wigginton 