More than a bit of sparkle

“Remember, remember the Fifth of November!”

Bonfire Weekend is always a big weekend in Barford. Tonight, we’re going to the village Bonfire Night celebrations with a few of our friends. Guy Fawkes Day was actually yesterday, but most towns and villages hold their bonfires on the Saturday nearest the 5^th of November.

Last year, I was laid low by a nasty flu, so I missed all the fun. I was tucked up in bed, not even able to see the fireworks, though I could hear them. I’m really looking forward to tonight.

Thankfully, it rained last night, and this morning is crisp and clear, with bright sunshine, so - fingers crossed – we should be okay for fireworks, cider, sausages and merriment tonight!

There’s a small Christmas market in the village hall today, in aid of Home Farm Trust. I want to try and go up later and show my support, but I have one or two things I need to get done around here first.

Tomorrow is the big Music Hall “Audition Day”. I have spent the better part of this week hunting and gathering costumes for the DEB and myself. How did we all live before eBay? It is such an incredible resource for the kind of stuff you need for a village variety show!

I found an incredible seller that I must praise, called “Superstar UK”. They are simply great! We’re supposed to be fully costumed for the auditions tomorrow, and I was desperate to get an item I needed. The gals at Superstar UK were incredibly helpfully and they got my stuff here first thing this morning!

Praise, and a warning … be careful searching for cabaret accessories on eBay UK. While conducting a completely innocent search for “stockings and suspenders”, I came across some vendors whose presentation was right on the edge of the very fine line between advertising and “Readers’ Wives” styled pornography! Yikes!

So wrong, on so many levels, not least for the fact that surely no one is in the market for tights that have been worn by someone else?! …Double Yikes!

Marks & Spencer is a much better alternative in this regard! Speaking of M&S, while ordering stockings, I had a sneak peek at their champagne and wines. They are currently running quite a few pre-Christmas specials on champers. So – time to stock up!

Now that I think about it, Bonfire Night, is really the last “hurrah” before Christmas here in the UK. These days, I am really torn about Thanksgiving. Of course, I love the concept, the colors, the foods, etc. But, in a way, it really is a just sort of very sincere “Dress Rehearsal” for Christmas.

I don’t mean to belittle Thanksgiving in any way, but I must say it does seem a little redundant. Although, there is clearly a need to have some sort of festivity between Halloween and Christmas, at the very least just to keep shopkeepers from putting up Christmas decorations in August!

Speaking of decorations, I must go and make sure the DEB has everything he needs for his costumes for tomorrow. And, I have a few “arts and crafts“ projects to get our props ready as well. Then, off to the Bonfire and hopefully, an early night. I’ve got a stint on the radio tomorrow morning – as if I needed another challenge.

It’s for a sort of “Week in Review” show. The host, another guest and I will read through and discuss the Sunday papers. I was flattered to be asked. I’m really looking forward to it, if somewhat nervous about it.

So, the theme for tomorrow is nerves and hopefully, a bit of sparkle!

Ghoulies and ghosties

"A sad tale's best for winter: I have one,
of sprites and goblins."

- Winter’s Tale, (II.i. 25-26)

It seems that Hallowe'en is slowly taking hold on the British cultural landscape. Reports suggest this holiday has already eclipsed Mother’s Day and Bonfire Night, and has even begun to give Valentine’s Day a run for its money.

I have fond memories of Hallowe'en: trick-or-treating, and parties, where we bobbed for apples, and did "The Monster Mash." Of course, much has changed in these days of protective caution, but in some sectors, I’m sure Halloween remains the joyous play-day it was when I was a child. This is certainly the case in NYC, where Halloween is celebrated in grande style. Lower Manhattan comes to a standstill for the annual costume parade, and the Upper East Side hosts masquerade balls that would be the envy of Marie-Antoinette!

Being a woman of the theatre, the high jinks of Halloween are second nature to me. As such, I was staggered to find it had not caught on here, especially given the British inclination for fun and fancy dress. So, last Hallowe'en, I went on a crusade. I donned a cat costume, complete with pointy ears and fluffy tail, and surprised my DEB at work with a platter of festive treats. There was much speculation as to who, or what I might be: Birthday kiss-o-gram? Kinky, fetish stripper? (Oh, my!)

That evening, we met some friends at the pub. For this gathering, I tried a more subtle approach: black, leather cat ears, instead of the full-face mask, and no tail. Bemused looks greeted our arrival. I explained: "Tomorrow's Hallowe'en."

I daren’t even recall the incident that happened the next day, on Halloween night, when I unintentionally frightened away the sole trick-or-treaters in Barford, who ran away shrieking when I came to the door dressed as a witch. I made matters worse by chasing them down the drive trying to give them sweets.

Clearly, it was time to seek advice. Most Britons, I was told, only became interested in celebrating Hallowe'en after seeing it depicted in the film E.T. A sage friend explained: "It's hard to sell Hallowe'en to a nation of people who actually believe in fairies and goblins, and have houses full of 400 year old ghosts."

The DEB would probably agree with this assessment. He recalls, as a tiny lad, once seeing a man sitting on the stairs. The DEB began to cry as his mother brushed the stairs, inadvertently striking the apparition with her broom. The man was dressed in military regalia, and the little boy DEB described him in great detail.

From the description, his mother deduced that the man he saw was a Cavalier. The DEB’s mother grew pale with the realisation their home, in the wee Warwickshire hamlet of Compton Wynyates, was just six miles from the battlefield of Edgehill. Now, that is a far cry from chocolates and cat ears!

From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggety beasties

And things that go bump in the night,

Good Lord, deliver us!

- Cornish prayer

Unforgettable November

"Remember, remember the Fifth of November,/ Gunpowder, treason and plot./I see no reason why gunpowder, treason,/Should ever be forgot." - Guy Fawkes/Fifth of November Nursery Rhyme 

What a week! What didn’t happen this past week? Let’s see, the Barford W.I. had its Annual General Meeting & Ploughman’s Supper, the D.E.B. & I attended a late night performance of Twelfth Night at the RSC, I experienced my first Barford “Coffee Morning,” and…oh, yes…the world changed!

These are indeed amazing times, and I count myself lucky to be living through and in them. (And even luckier still to have been a part of the seismic shift that has happened in the United States.) 

I came across a book a few months ago (I have a very, very bad book habit that no amount of rehab can curb) called The Power of Kindness: The Unexpected Benefits of Leading a Compassionate Life, I have yet to carve out enough time to actually read it, but I remember quite vividly, that Barack Obama was the first person who came to mind when I saw this book on display. Like him, or loathe him, there is no denying that he exudes “the power of kindness.” To be sure, Barack Obama is but one man, but his election as the 44th President of the United States can do nothing but inspire us all to be our best and better selves. Something long overdue, I feel.

The D.E.B. and I stayed up until 5 AM last Tuesday night watching the results and euphoria pouring in. When the BBC announced the results from California, I gasped and began to cry. I watched people dancing in the streets of New York City, my former little Village. I longed to be there. This was my America, and suddenly she, my homeland, seemed so far away. That complex and magnificent nation that I had oh so  easily and gladly left behind, I now wanted to embrace and hold close to me. In the wee hours of our morning, and late U.S. night, our phone began to ring and did not stop. “We will tell our children about this night,” The D.E.B. said, smiling that smile, with very, very heavy eyes. Poor thing had to be up in less than two hours for work.

Wednesday, the next day, was a blur for me. But it was in fact another day of triumph. Guy Fawkes/Fifth of November. Guy Fawkes Night, or Bonfire Night, is an annual celebration that commemorates the foiling of the Gunpowder Plot of the 5th of November, 1605 when Guy Fawkes and a number of other Catholic conspirators attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliment and kill the King. When the 5^th of November falls on a weekday, celebrations are usually postponed until the weekend. That was the case this year in Barford.

“Have nothing in your home or life that you don’t find beautiful or useful.” – William Morris

Thursday – Barford W.I. Annual General Meeting & Ploughman’s Supper. I failed to even place in the “15 minute Handi-craft Competition.” We were given two sheets of paper, a pair of scissors, glue and tape. With the words of William Morris as our only directive, we were given of 15 minutes to create something from nothing. The winner, “Mrs. Crafty Boots,” made (and decorated) a fully functioning money-box. In 15 mins! I made a brooch. Okay, a flower. But it could be worn as a brooch.  I have got to work on my crafting skills if I’m going to keep up with these gals.

Friday – Late Night Shakespeare at the Courtyard. An abridged version of Twelfth Night with a live rock band on stage. (Well, someone has to.)

Saturday – BONFIRE NIGHT!!!  The Barford Bonfire was stellar! The D.E.B.’s nephew, Harry, came over for the Bonfire and stayed with us for the weekend. He is such a dear. As I said to the D.E.B., after he took Harry home last night, I would be pleased as punch if we were lucky enough to someday have a son like Harry. 

Harry is a gem, a D.E.B.-in-training! Honestly, I can now see how it works. Harry is 15 yrs old; he says “please,” and “thank you”; can hold his own in conversation with adults; opens doors; helps little old ladies across the street; and respectfully prefaces any dialogue he has with the D.E.B or myself with “Uncle” and “Aunt” (e.g., “Thank you, Aunt Alycia, that was a lovely meal.”) He has been taught not to turn up empty-handed when one is a guest. He arrived at our house on Saturday night bearing gifts: a game pie and two recently killed pheasants, feathers and all. (This is rural Warwickshire after all.)

I am slowly getting to grips with English country life, and am proud to say that I didn’t flinch when I opened the door as discovered Harry standing there, holding out to two beautiful, dead birds. Actually, I was rather thrilled. I have never cooked, nor have ever tasted a pheasant. Hurrah! A new experience!

The D.E.B’s older brother, “The Guru,” is a keen sportsman, and Harry goes out shooting with him on weekends. We were lucky enough to have a share in the spoils this time.

Post Script – Pheasant is simply GORGEOUS and very easy to cook. Effortlessly impressive. Has a “gamey-er” (is that a word? It should be.) taste than chicken or turkey.  The D.E.B. and I are now contemplating pheasant for Christmas Dinner this year.

Barford Bonfire

My boys: The D.E.B. and Nephew Harry at Barford Bonfire Night

(It is difficult to photograph fireworks...)

Harry about to 'dress' one of the pheasants for us

Nephew Harry is now Lucy's hero

Remembrance Sunday

Two minutes of silence observed to remember those who have fallen