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…

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!