Last week, an Asda store in Liverpool was threatened with an Asbo for allegedly marketing eggs to children in the run-up to Halloween. A spokesman for the store claimed they were for baking Halloween delicacies. Oh yes? Is a quiet evening in the kitchen what most children have in mind at this time of year?

Of course, until recently, it was Bonfire Night that was the big event, before we all became so Americanised.

When I was in my teens - some time around 1960 - I lived in a small village in north Derbyshire. One year, a speaker was booked for the November meeting of the Women's Institute to talk about bygone customs and traditions. In view of the time of year, she gave a lively account of Mischief Night, when, traditionally, November 5 was a time for local youths to cause havoc - much of which amounted to what nowadays we would call criminal damage. She spoke as you do when talking of something long gone, living only in the memory of the very old - indulgently, with amusement.

Her hearers were not in the least amused. Among them, upright and tight-lipped, sat the headmaster's wife. She knew - as did everyone there - that this was no ancient, dead tradition. At that very moment, the gates of the village school were lying in a disused quarry some miles away, to which local youths unknown (or, more probably, only too well known) had carried them. Mischief Night was alive and only too well in that Peak District village.

It wasn't that sort of mischief that made me hate Bonfire Night from the time I went to junior school. The moment the days shortened after the summer holidays I'd be filled with dread. I knew what was coming.

At that time we lived in a Midlands town. The way to and from school took me through streets of terraced houses, their rows interrupted at intervals by archways leading into dark alleys. That was where the boys hid, with bangers ready to light and fling out at passing girls. They started long before November 5, and sometimes went on afterwards too. Every corner shop sold fireworks to anyone who asked for them. Nor did the boys stop at scaring little girls: they shoved bangers through letterboxes or threw them over garden walls.

And bangers in those days were ferocious things, very loud and scary.

I don't know how much damage was done, whether to people or property, though there must have been quite a bit. But no-one ever seemed to talk about it. I don't remember an adult ever complaining. I had the feeling I was a terrible coward to be so frightened. It was something you were supposed to put up with, even enjoy.

So I'm very glad there are now all kinds of laws to prevent selling of fireworks to small boys. I'm glad most fireworks are now enjoyed as beautiful displays that we can all admire from a safe distance.

Which doesn't, of course, mean no-one's going to cause trouble at this time of year, whether it's in the name of Bonfire Night or Hallowe'en.

If small boys (and girls) haven't got a firework to hand, then an egg will do just as well, as I'm quite sure the people at Asda know.

It's traditional. It's in the air. It goes back to pagan celebrations long before Guy Fawkes was even heard of. Maybe we all need a bit of legalised mayhem as winter closes in.

Published: 03/11/2005