Celebrating the demise of that outrageous fellow, Guido Fawkes,
has been a Gosworthy-Pringle ritual since my early childhood. Mama, in her
wisdom, annually turned a blind eye to my sneaking out of bed in order to view
the distant beacon from the balcony of my suite. For, like her, it stirred an
enthusiasm in history. Indeed, I would have chosen to study the subject if my
Boarding School's curriculum hadn't insisted upon other priorities.
Regrettable, perhaps, yet I wager the Humanities could never have offered as
much valuable and practical application as have Needlepoint and Deportment
during the intervening decades.
Still, the interest spawned during my formative years continues prompting me to coordinate the reintroduction of more traditional revelry.
Firstly, as I insisted at our initial Village Committee meeting
- to which all the local dignitaries I had summoned turned up with the
exception of the Parish Council Deputy Chair; I highlighted said absence via
the Flower Arranging Guild's Autumn Newsletter - the modern term Bonfire Night
reflects neither the quality nor gravitas of our festivity. It is right,
therefore, to rekindle Guy Fawkes Night.
Although there was considerable pressure exerted upon me to host
this year's event at Farthing Hall, clearly the Master would never tolerate
commoners trampling his precious lawns. We have, therefore, defaulted to the
village green, an area familiar to the working class community where they will
undoubtedly feel more at home than in the grounds of such a prestigious
residence.
In addition, sparklers will be limited to one packet per person.
Heaven knows, I harbour no desire to be responsible for over excited
adolescents.
The entry fee, I decided - and my colleagues, unable to propose
a viable alternative, soon concurred - should be by donation to a charitable
venture. And what better recipient than the nearby Residence for Retired
Butlers which was, I am proud to confess, founded by my paternal grandfather?
He was such a visionary.
Other tasks are in hand. I have ordered a plentiful supply of
Catherine Wheels and Rockets. I just hope the local dairy is able to donate
sufficient milk bottles to cope with demand for they seemed genuinely perplexed
at my request. Meantime, one of my fellow Committee members has been dispatched
to purchase matches while Cook has kindly offered to contribute a selection of
canapes.
I am, I confess, overjoyed at the prospect of such merriment.
Given the success it will, of course, be, I expect to continue organising such events for the foreseeable future.
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