For those that have no idea of what I'm talking about, this is an annual celebration in the United Kingdom to mark the failed Gunpowder Plot of 1605. Guy Fawkes and his fellow conspirators—most notably Robert Catesby (the actual ringleader), Thomas Wintour, and Thomas Percy—were Catholics disgruntled about the severe anti-Catholic stance the government had taken. They planned to blow up the Houses of Parliament whilst King James I was sitting for the State Opening.
They were caught, tortured, and sentenced to the gruesome fate of being hanged, drawn, and quartered. However, Fawkes managed one final defiance: while waiting on the gallows, he leapt from the ladder, breaking his neck instantly and dying before the executioner could cut him down alive for the rest of the sentence.
From that year on, it was decreed by Parliament that the nation should celebrate the failure of the plot with bonfires across the land every 5th November, a tradition that has stood to this day. Fireworks were added to symbolise the unexploded gunpowder, along with traditional treats like bonfire toffee, toffee apples, baked potatoes cooked right in the fire, and, of course, a proper slab of sticky Yorkshire parkin.
As a child, I remember the absolute excitement and anticipation of it all. We made effigies of Guy Fawkes out of old clothes and newspaper, ready to burn on the fire. But before the big night, we’d set up outside a local shop or pub with our creation, cheekily asking passers-by for "a penny for the Guy." It was a tradition that went back to the 17th and 18th centuries, originally started by poor children as a bit of seasonal begging to raise money for firecrackers, sweets, or wood for their street's bonfire. Back then, we had no real grasp of the complex religious history behind it—just a rough outline of the story. But whether you were heading to a massive organised bonfire in the local park or huddled together in a damp back garden for a family display, to a child of the 70s and 80s, these were simply the best times.
Sadly, today it feels like the night is falling out of favour. The influx of slick, transatlantic Halloween traditions—including the corporate craze for pumpkin carving that I mentioned in a previous post—seems to be stifling the old ways.
For me, as a Pagan, this time of year is a deeply sacred threshold as we step into the dark half of the wheel. I certainly don't begrudge a bit of Halloween fun and dressing up, but does it really have to come at the expense of Guy Fawkes and Bonfire Night? There ought to be room in our autumn nights for both the mischief of the old turnip lanterns and the crackle, smoke, and memory of the 5th of November.
A Quick Footnote: Today also marks exactly one year since I was knocked off my bike by a Volkswagen while cycling home from a late shift. The compensation case is still trundling along slowly in the background with no end in sight, so I’m taking zero chances today. I’ll be leaving the iron steed at home and travelling by bus instead!
The spirit of the Urban Viking—and the occasional absurdity of navigating the modern world—lives on in my webcomic, Northman. 
You can read the latest chapter here:
No comments:
Post a Comment
𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊, 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖗.
ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ, ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀʟᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴜꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ʟɪᴠᴇʟʏ ʙᴜᴛ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴅᴇʙᴀᴛᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴀʟʟ — ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴅꜱ ᴛʜᴇᴍꜱᴇʟᴠᴇꜱ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ꜱʜᴀʀᴘ ᴍɪɴᴅ.
ʙᴜᴛ ᴍɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴀɴɴᴇʀꜱ: ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ, ʀᴜᴅᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘᴀᴍ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜱᴡɪꜰᴛʟʏ ᴄᴀꜱᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀᴠᴇɴꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪɢɴᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ.
ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴡɪꜱʜ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴀ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴊɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ — ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴀ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴛ ɴᴏᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɴᴄʜᴇꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ.
ɴᴏᴡ, ᴡᴀʀᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪꜱʜ.