We're hoping to buy a little time before posts about Paris are demanded by providing this short and quick slide show of photos and such. I still haven't managed to sort out why the audio is always odd once published to the videos. With this current case the volume fluctuates and I am too annoyed to attempt to fix it. So it's not your computers, it's my lack of technical knowledge behind the faulty audio. We absolutely loved Paris and our time there and hope you enjoy this quick taste.
Thursday 26 November 2009
Monday 23 November 2009
Guy Fawkes, guy, t'was his intent / To blow up king and parliament. / Three score barrels were laid below / To prove old England's overthrow.
A few weeks ago now, Ashley and I were privy to the interesting custom of Guy Fawkes Day (now actually known as Bonfire Night) as celebrated by the fine, hard-working people of South Yorkshire.
For most of October, we were both occasionally rewarded with random and sudden bursts of light and sound in the sky as fireworks, in singles or small volleys, were flung into the cold, clear English night sky on our various treks up and down the hill from Crookes and Broomhill to the City Centre. This was to be our first encounter with the looming Bonfire Night, set, of course, for the 5th of November.
In 1605, a group of terrorists (in the true sense of the word) bought a house next to the Houses of Parliament in London with the plan to move barrels of gunpowder into the basement of the Houses and blow up King James I and the MPs as James came to open the session. These terrorists, one Guy Fawkes included, were Catholics who had long been oppressed by the Protestant reign first of Elizabeth I and then James I as well. Forced to practise their faith in private and fined for not attending Protestant services, they were pushed to the edge.
Sadly, things went a bit awry, and, legend has it, poor Guy was found in black-face squatting over the fuse to the gunpowder by soldiers. James ordered a celebration that evening to celebrate his ability to remain un-detonated, and Bonfire Night was born! Today, the basement of the Houses of Parliament is still ceremonially (read: these days, likely not-so-ceremonially) checked before each session of Parliament is called.
Fast-foward to 2009, and Ashley and I finding ourselves outside of our local Co-op grocer with two Sheffielder boys asking for a ‘penny for the guy.’ Sadly, their effigy was a stuffed horse head in old jeans and a hoody. We spent the actual 5th of November down in Kelham Island – not an actual island, but a brewery – soaking in the northern English rain and pitchers of beer with other archaeology graduate students. The fireworks were cancelled due to the rain, but the bonfire was still there. We might have gotten burned, but thanks to the Nanny State that is Britain and her ‘elf & safe-ty’ regulations, we were kept a respectable 5 metres away.
The next morning, we tumbled down the hill to catch a train to nearby Chapeltown to visit our American friends, Cynthia and Rob. They lived in upstate New York, and Cynthia is researching her PhD with the departments of Biblical Studies and Archaeology. We had a wonderful jaunt around the village and old manorhouse of Wentworth, hiking out from Chapeltown and having lunch in a local pub. Rob was kind enough to share pipe tobacco he had procured from Albany, NY as well. On our return, we joined their church for a larger and yet more intimate bonfire.
No beer. No effigies.
But a large fire! With chairs in it!
Traditional jacket potatoes (baked potatoes in tin-foil, traditionally cooked over the bonfire but not this night)
And fireworks! With a panoramic view of the entire Sheffield and Rotherham area, that only I could see. I offered Ashley a box to stand on.
Tired, we made our way back to the rail station and home…
For most of October, we were both occasionally rewarded with random and sudden bursts of light and sound in the sky as fireworks, in singles or small volleys, were flung into the cold, clear English night sky on our various treks up and down the hill from Crookes and Broomhill to the City Centre. This was to be our first encounter with the looming Bonfire Night, set, of course, for the 5th of November.
In 1605, a group of terrorists (in the true sense of the word) bought a house next to the Houses of Parliament in London with the plan to move barrels of gunpowder into the basement of the Houses and blow up King James I and the MPs as James came to open the session. These terrorists, one Guy Fawkes included, were Catholics who had long been oppressed by the Protestant reign first of Elizabeth I and then James I as well. Forced to practise their faith in private and fined for not attending Protestant services, they were pushed to the edge.
Sadly, things went a bit awry, and, legend has it, poor Guy was found in black-face squatting over the fuse to the gunpowder by soldiers. James ordered a celebration that evening to celebrate his ability to remain un-detonated, and Bonfire Night was born! Today, the basement of the Houses of Parliament is still ceremonially (read: these days, likely not-so-ceremonially) checked before each session of Parliament is called.
Fast-foward to 2009, and Ashley and I finding ourselves outside of our local Co-op grocer with two Sheffielder boys asking for a ‘penny for the guy.’ Sadly, their effigy was a stuffed horse head in old jeans and a hoody. We spent the actual 5th of November down in Kelham Island – not an actual island, but a brewery – soaking in the northern English rain and pitchers of beer with other archaeology graduate students. The fireworks were cancelled due to the rain, but the bonfire was still there. We might have gotten burned, but thanks to the Nanny State that is Britain and her ‘elf & safe-ty’ regulations, we were kept a respectable 5 metres away.
The next morning, we tumbled down the hill to catch a train to nearby Chapeltown to visit our American friends, Cynthia and Rob. They lived in upstate New York, and Cynthia is researching her PhD with the departments of Biblical Studies and Archaeology. We had a wonderful jaunt around the village and old manorhouse of Wentworth, hiking out from Chapeltown and having lunch in a local pub. Rob was kind enough to share pipe tobacco he had procured from Albany, NY as well. On our return, we joined their church for a larger and yet more intimate bonfire.
No beer. No effigies.
But a large fire! With chairs in it!
Traditional jacket potatoes (baked potatoes in tin-foil, traditionally cooked over the bonfire but not this night)
And fireworks! With a panoramic view of the entire Sheffield and Rotherham area, that only I could see. I offered Ashley a box to stand on.
Tired, we made our way back to the rail station and home…
- Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
- The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
- I know of no reason
- Why the Gunpowder Treason
- Should ever be forgot.
- Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent
- To blow up the King and Parli'ment.
- Three-score barrels of powder below
- To prove old England's overthrow;
- By God's providence he was catch'd
- With a dark lantern and burning match.
- Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.
- Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
- And what should we do with him? Burn him!
Friday 6 November 2009
"But What a Lovely Way to Burn"
(Image of Fargate, not mine.)More often than not, a routine trip to downtown Sheffield will produce a vibrant and exciting experience, as the city center comes alive for a festival, carnival, or marketplace. Today was no different as I ventured into Fargate, a popular pedestrian destination filled with high street shops. The goal of my trip: purchasing gel inserts for a certain young man's hiking boots. About an hour after entering Fargate, I finally reached Blacks, an outdoor store. Within this elapsed sixty-odd minutes of my life I distractedly roamed vendor pavilions and market-like food stands which had sprung up seemingly overnight. Visitors thronged the offerings while smells of sausage, roast, and sugary sweets washed over us all. Mixed with the brand-new-retail aroma of the high end shops, it was almost intoxicating. Adding to the ambiance was a green-haired saxophonist from some corner of the world playing "You Give Me Fever" on a continuous loop, only broken occasionally by "Moondance."
Kicking myself for not remembering a camera, I took quick mental notes of the scene. Dutch pancakes; Bavarian cured meats; Greek olives; French cheeses; oodles of colorful gummy candy in large bins; broad German flags blowing in the rainy wind; hot British roast wagons; and could it really be...yes, an entire pig on a spit. Besides food, there were also flats and flats of cheerful plants and flowers; jewellery, jewellery, and more jewellery; scarves; lawn ornaments; two annoying market researchers (both of whom now believe I do not speak English); and a partridge in a pear tree. My Inspector-Gadget-like detective skills led me to believe this must be some sort of international festival celebrating the deliciousness that is Europe.
A quick trip to Wikipedia confirms my suspicions. Fargate apparently hosts a quarterly Continental Market, where European vendors grace Sheffield with cheeses, meats, confectioneries, clothing, plants, and jewellery. Additionally, Wikipedia supplies me with the creepy fact that mass medieval graves can be found underneath the whole of Fargate. I wonder what they think of Marks & Spencers new fall line and H&Ms fantastic pre-winter clearance.
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