A brief
History lesson first.
We all
know that November 5th is Guy Fawkes Night, and on many bonfires
across England effigies of Guy Fawkes are burned. But how many of you know that
this is in recognition of his part in the failed 'Gunpowder Plot' of 1605. My
Mum used to say that we were celebrating the death of Fawkes, who plotted to blow
up the then king.
Though
Fawkes didn't devise or lead the plot to assassinate James I, he became remains
one of British history's greatest villains more than 400 years after his death.
It is
Fawkes and not the charismatic ring-leader Robert Catesby who is remembered. Is
it because it was Fawkes who was caught red-handed under the Houses of
Parliament at midnight 4 November 1605. It was Fawkes who refused to speak
under torture that included the rack and Fawkes who was publicly executed.
Catesby, by contrast, was killed evading capture and was never tried.
Fawkes
was sentenced to the traditional traitors' death - to be 'hanged, drawn and
quartered'. A truly horrible death. But he foiled the executioners plans by jumping
from the gallows and breaking his own neck. Mercifully avoiding being cut down
while still alive, having his testicles cut off and his stomach opened and his
guts spilled before his eyes. Nevertheless his body was hacked into quarters
and his remains sent to "the four corners of the kingdom" as a
warning to others.
Guy
Fawkes instantly became a national bogeyman and the embodiment of Catholic
extremism. It was a propaganda coup for the Protestant English and served as a
pretext for further repression of Catholics that would not be completely lifted
for another 200 years.
It’s quite ironic that the house that I lived in
until I was about nine or ten was burned down by the local fire brigade, because
fire was the subject of many of my childhood nightmares.
Us children eagerly looked forward to Guy Fawkes
Night. One year my sister and her friends made a Guy out of old clothes. Topped
off with a realistic papier-mâché mask and one of granddad's old caps he looked
pretty good.
He was toted about on a trolley, as they called out
'Penny for the Guy'.
"Guy Guy Guy, penny for the Guy, throw him on a
haystack and there let him fry" at least that's how I think it went.
On the night Dad lit rockets and Catherine wheels,
jumping jacks and bangers; I made patterns in the air with sparklers even
though the hot stars burned my hands a little.
The highlight of the night was to throw the guy on
the bonfire, in those old clothes and cap He looked just like my Granddad.
No wonder I had nightmares
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