Guy Fawkes: Not Actually a Fox

Earlier this evening, Old Ken received the following message: "There has been a series of small but apparently intentional fires set around campus over the last few hours today, Tuesday, November 15th. Police departments are fully engaged. Please be very vigilant, and report any suspicious activity immediately."



In response, I feel like it is my civic duty and responsibility to the Republic of Letters to pass along the following observations. And although I cannot claim to be the fire-starter (twisted fire-starter), I do want to share some recent findings with you.



Bonfire, as we learn from many quality, leather-bound dictionaries, derives not from the French (as in the seemingly plausible "good" fire), but instead from "bone fire." For, as is still practiced in many distant outposts of this and other fine lands, bones were often burned in the ceremonial fires of the ancients to ward off dragons - - creatures who, as we now know, are repulsed by the acrid smell of burning, calcified matter. In England's early modern period, this ancient prophylactic ceremony seems to have become superimposed upon or melded with remembrance of a then recent planned assault: Guido Fawkes' attempt to blow up the Houses of Parliament.



As the ceremony now seems to be conducted, local councils have mostly taken charge of the public burnings, the object of which is generally neither a man nor a mannikin (no matter how fresh and tender he might be) but fireworks. However, as the photograph above will suggest, Old Ken was able to witness something of a bonfire in ye olde style. With his head cocked to one side and mouth agape, our "Guy" looks a bit bloated and slightly dense. Yet, in jaunty knickers and peg-leg, he does have something of the pirate about him. Let us hope this doesn't lead to any swabbing of the poop deck!



Well, as you can guess, a bunch of rags and old news papers, a decrepid chest of drawers, combined with lighter fluid and a pumpkin can yield quite a conflagration. And so, as a means of encouraging you to meditate upon the meanings of the bonfire ceremony and the general holiday season, I offer this montage of flame-forms.



If you squint while looking at this one, you can see the open mouth and the angry eye of the dragon swooping in bright flame from the right into the center of the picture. Wisely, the child in the background is fleeing this monstrous attack.



Squinting again, we see the dragon decomposing into two lions dancing a jig. The leonine animal on our left has his back to us, while that at right lifts his left leg and embraces his partner with his fore-paws.



The English lions have won! The contorting, twisting form visible here is that of the dragon as it writhes away from its opponents. Snarling ferociously, it begins its ascent on black wings back to its dank abode. Begone, vile beast!

Is it time for the Darwin Awards already?

Sometimes in this life, one has to go out and actually look for things about which to write blog entries. Other times, blogs just materialize before one's disbelieving eyes. One doesn't find these gifts; rather, like Surrealist "found objects," they find you.



And so it was, one morning the past week, with the throaty roar of a chainsaw piercing the tranquility of late morning in southeast London. Neither the ubiquitous drone of traffic nor the occasional polic siren, the chainsaw's report was enough to bring yours truly to the window where I was able to observe the following spectacle.



Dr. Tree Surgeon here had taken it upon himself to scale a fifteen foot ladder with chainsaw in hand. Then, balancing upon the uppermost rung of the ladder, he was working on trimming the tree against which said ladder was leaning.



That this did not end badly was something of a shock to a baffled Old Ken.