Knives out for Fawkes

Last thursday evening I stood briefly in the hallway of the birthplace of Guy Fawkes in York.

I was not on a pilgrimage or following in the footsteps of the cult hero and stylish beard wearer but stepped inside because it was a cold night and the building has for many years operated as a bar and eatery and was warm and inviting.

A good proportion of those shopping, posing or just wandering about the historic city seemed to have the same destination because there was no available seating, hardly any standing room and certainly no prospect of getting served at the bar, already four deep with persons, each trying to persuade the single indifferently cool barman that their displayed and waved banknotes were any more acceptable as legal tender.

Just resting the back of my legs on a scorchingly hot radiator for a few minutes was as much a reviver as a stiff drink and so much less of an outgoing.

I was in a good position to just gaze casually around. Perhaps the place had not really changed all that much since Mr Fawkes had lived there and the decor, shabby chic, suggested a fairly minimal amount of cash had been spent internally, but why should it be necessary given the pedigree and provenance of such a place. The wood panelling was stained black which accentuated its old age although there was some suggestion of charring and scoring from fire damage which I speculated may have been from some early-years arsonist tendencies from the former celebrity resident.

My visit to High Petergate was five days before Guy Fawkes Night or just bonfire night as it is referred to in non-contentious, neutral political and inoffensive speak. Already and every night for some preceding days there had been regular jarring disturbance from exploding fireworks of every conceivable tone and reverberation as mischievous youths and anarchic adults could not wait for the actual night of commemoration/celebration.

I had noticed that this year there was no problem whatsoever in tracking down a supply of fireworks with seemingly every sales outlet offering discount prices and special offers. The austerity and, until last week officially, recessionary conditions affecting the UK economy seem to have by passed the fireworks industry. There remains and contrary to all trends and frugality a  willingness of the general public to spend their hard earned cash in large amounts  on items that explode and disappear in a puff of smoke and possibly not as satisfyingly loud a bang as you might have hoped for ,given the outlay.

The purchase of fireworks represents a great opportunity for one-up-manship, unfortunately an extension of other but less noisy forms of competition in everyday life. It also represents the highest form of rebellion without usually incurring the attention of the law or other Civil sanctions. As a means of acting in an anti social manner in the setting afire of things, bombarding the neighbours, terrorising local animals and handling explosives it cannot be rivalled. I speak from personal experience as a red blooded male with very few activities left available for misbehaving and acting my shoe size (Imperial not Continental Sizing).

The actual reason for 5th November clouds into insignificance amongst the commercial hype and merchandising.

The date in 1605 represented a difficult period in the history of this Nation and although it is one of those stock dates firmly entrenched in memory from schooldays I would challenge many of the current population to providing a reasonable explanation of why it was significant enough to have lasted beyond such comparable events as (in no particular order) , 'Canutes wet sock day', 'Alfred burn the cakes day', 'King John's Lost Treasure Day', 'Is that something in your eye, Harold day',' Queen Victoria's not very amused day' and other historical milestones.

I am not trying to appear superior in my knowledge of the Gunpowder Plot but wasn't it just an amazing coincidence that Guy Fawkes' fellow conspirators were called Billy Bonfire, Freddie Firework and Robbie Rocket.