My land is such a bizarre mix and every year this uneasy wierdness is marked by danger, patriotism, and a great, unexamined love of outrage, with our "Bonfire Night". It is a yearly commemoration of the foiling of "the Gunpowder Plot" of 1605, in which twelve people had planned to implement a return to the Papal Supremacy of Rome by blowing up the Houses of Parliament during the state-opening by Charles I, who was not only King, but the symbolic head of the Protestant Church of England. These people, including their explosives expert, Guy Fawkes, were rounded up, tortured on the rack, had 'confessions' extracted, tried, hung, drawn, and quartered. All these centuries later, the burning of an effigy — 'a Guy', and fireworks is still played out.
Ironically, just 44 years after the Catholic plot to kill King Charles I, he was executed by the protestant puritan 'roundheads' led by Oliver Cromwell. Republicanism and Anti-Monarchy was also bound up in the urge for revolution back then, regardless of all the religious differences, and the anger about the profligate ruling classes was also a nationalist anger about the amount of revenue crossing into Scotland.
This night is really the culmination of Hallowe'en — which has morphed into a long week of festival chaos: The 'foiling' of Anarchy, and the preservation of Order is just a pretext; a message to those who'd want to impose another power above the idea of Britishness is just a vain hope. Its a state endorsed Anarchy; about virility; the rituals of burning the wicker men; smudging against ghosts; purification; and the Celtic festival of Samhain which celebrates the end of a fruitful summer with an exhortation to battle the relentless wintertime.
I was quite relieved to tell a friend that I wasn't well enough to go to the famous one last night in Lewes village just north of Brighton. This event has a serious deal of baggage to unpack: There are lots of bonfires, but there is a really appalling procession of burning crosses representing protestant martyrs such as Cranmer and Ridley. The KKK originally came from Scotland, but this burning cross picture is a disgusting symbol right from the Anglo-Saxon heartland.
I am under seige, I hate fireworks, just like the dog I'm looking after. But unlike her I don't like crowds: I don't start to salivate at the prospect of a joining a hunting frenzy.
Is this whole picture sounding a bit confused? Well that's only because it was a mess back then, and some people still thrive on exploiting this simmering nature, and we have been betrayed by the yearly cycle, again.
3 comments:
I commented earlier and then the box claimed it could not accept it.
First, I had no clue the KKK was in Scotland. My second husband was from Scotland. I think I told you this at our old place. His mother could not bother to come to our wedding but she forced that damn horseshoe tradition on us. He would often bully my oldest daughter, which turned out to be the deal breaker that caused me to leave him.
This celebration reminds me of our 4th of July. I hate all the fireworks. I wrote about my experience of it in Hawaii, how the oohs and ahhs came when the bigger and louder fireworks were shot off.
How ironic the whole Guy thing, hm? I thought of an allusion about that earlier but now cannot remember, I will come back when I can remember.
"I am under seige, I hate fireworks, just like the dog I'm looking after. But unlike her I don't like crowds: I don't start to salivate at the prospect of a joining a hunting frenzy."
A man after my own heart. Keep the noise and crowd.
The burning crosses are limited to Lewes, thank goodness!
But the idea of the Klan came from the 'novels' of a scottish writer (who I can't track down right now).
The part I can understand about the night, is how very cold things suddenly go in November: the change in weather is almost traumatic, and I'd be happy if people were marking just that, but its not.
I think England has to be the only country that commemorates the preservation of order — typical!
I don't remember you telling me about your scottish husband . . . lol "damn horseshoe"!
Why did my parents call me Guy? It seems they just liked the sound of it, but the playground was nasty for me this time of year.
Weird how Guy Fawkes' signature looks like mine, its almost prophetic as multiple sclerosis has changed my handwriting, and to add that I was taught to write in the same cursive style at school.
Very, very interesting.
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