Who Guy Fawkes Really Was

The fifth of November is better known as Guy Fawkes night in Britain and commemorates the failed assassination of King James in the fifteenth century.

The failed attempt, known as the Gunpowder Plot, was organized by a group of Catholic conspirators, including the mercenary Guy Fawkes. The plan was to blow up the Houses of Parliament in Westminster when the Protestant king (along with the rest of the aristocracy)
was within its walls.

Fawkes and his fellow conspirators were aiming to revolutionize the government of England and install a Catholic monarch. Instead, the plot was discovered and Fawkes was captured, tortured and executed. It's said he cheated his fate in some sense by jumping from the gallows to snap his neck instead of being left to hang.

Historically, Fawkes was campaigning for equal rights for Catholics; however, the Gunpowder Plot is seen as only having painted Catholics as treasonous and prolonging their inequality for another 200 years.

Despite all of this, the significance of Bonfire Night (as it's also known) is less historical and seemingly just a good excuse to set off a bunch of fireworks. I was expecting a lot more hoorah about the day, but it seems modern day Guy Fawkes celebrations are most enthusiastically pursued by the kids and the scallies. As my room mate put it:

You will be safe to walk around tonight because the scallies are all busy setting off their fireworks.

So I did venture into the Salford night, but not too far. And eventually I just ended up on the back steps of the Pav. To my surprise, the night was uneventful, except for a group of Castle Irdwellers scavenging a dumpster for what I presume was bonfire material. And despite my assumptions for the evening--and despite two straight nights of endless firework displays--there really isn't much to the celebration of Guy Fawkes' failure.

I expected more troublemaking and hooliganism I suppose, but no one really seems to take notice to the continual snaps, crackles and pops--or the whistles and hisses for that matter--that litter the night air. I, on the other hand, felt like one of the pets the police and animal activists warn their owners about before Guy Fawkes celebrations kickoff: keep them indoors in case they are provoked or endure sensitivity to firework explosions.

The night before November 5th was a Saturday, so once dusk had fallen the firworks began. The number of fireworks was impressive, it sounded similar to what I imagine a modern-dary warzone must sound like. And the next night even moreso.

The full moon and whispy-clouded skies added to the effect, but the dull roar that became the background track to the night was duly impressive for someone who only experiences fireworks once a year.

Fireworks were in any direction you turned and for every second that ticked by. Almost all of the displays are from residential backyards, I walked under one of them--so close that the shell of the explosian bounced to the street I was walking on an clattered to a halt just in front of me.

I didn't witness any burning Guy Fawkes effigies, only the construction of one bonfire during the day. However, the other Canadian on British soil for the 5th of November--Robyn, did see one. She said it was only a little disturbing.

So you might learn something new everyday, but you learn two somethings new on Bonfire Day: To begin, Guy Fawkes is not a hero, but a foiled fop that might be compared to a modern-day terrorist. Not that anyone seems to care anyway because, secondly, the night is only an excuse to set mini-explosians from your yard--not an excuse to go drinking, which, for the British, caught me by surprise.