My Clockwork Granddaughter

How times have changed. At Hallowe'een when I was Nina's age, one of my parents, probably my mother, would carve a lantern out of a turnip, a much harder job than making one out of today's Americanised pumpkin, and with it held by a handle of string, I might be allowed to go guising with friends round the neighbourhood doors.

We would be required to recite a poem or sing a song to be rewarded with a sweet or more hopefully some money. If we were members of the Brownies or Cubs there would be a party with dooking for apples or jumping up to bite a girdle scone hung on a line just above our heads and liberally smeared with treacle. I don't remember much dressing up in anything more complicated than a nightie or pyjamas with one's face blackened as a disguise, and certainly nothing as complicated as worn by Nina, whose Dad has turned her into a monster clockwork doll.

Nowadays Hallowe'een has been elevated to a huge money spinning occasion, a precursor to the biggest one of them all -Christmas. I just hope that the children are not tainted by commercialism and still enjoy the innocent pleasures of former times.