It’s Saturday November 2nd, three days before Guy Fawkes Night or Bonfire Night as it’s now more commonly called. It’s a tradition to have bonfires, maybe roast potatoes or chestnuts in the ashes, maybe to burn an effigy of Guy Fawkes, set off fireworks, have a little party with cheery autumn drinks such as hot toddy, and perhaps without realising it, re-enact celebrations of Samhain.
Guy Fawkes was an actual person, born in York, a convert to Catholicism, and member of a group who planned to assassinate King James I in 1605 in order to restore a Catholic monarchy. He and others tried to destroy the Houses of Parliament by stockpiling gunpowder beneath it to blow it up and the members within. Fortunately the plot was discovered, the conspirators arrested, and Guy Fawkes, and others were hanged. Londoners were so delighted that they set bonfires to celebrate, and it became a tradition to do so each year.
These days there are still bonfires, fireworks, parties and celebrations, but quite often these are arranged to be held at the nearest weekend to November 5th. In fact there aren’t so many bonfires these days, people are considerate of the environment and air pollution, and the wild animals who may be affected by them. As a child I remember the air being full of smoke, which lingered even to the next day, and our clothes and hair would reek of it. I never minded – I thought it was so exciting!
The fact that it’s the weekend is why, as I write, there’s the sound of fireworks all around, and if I were out in the garden I’d be able to see all sorts of exciting multi-coloured displays all around. As it is, I’m inside, here at my desk, writing away and can only hear the whizzes, crackles and bangs from other people’s celebrations. There’s a quiet intermission now, so I wonder if people have retreated indoors to enjoy sausage rolls, jacket potatoes (probably not cooked in the bonfire these days) and a glass or two of mulled wine?
Lois Elsden 