Saturday, 3 November 2012

Remember, Remember the 5th of November!

(my own photo)

5th November is Bonfire Night / Guy Fawkes Night - in Scotland, UK

My current writing, a sequel to my historical - The Beltane Choice - set in Celtic Britain of A.D. 71, is likely to feature celebratory bonfires. 

 

 

It made me remember lots of bonfire nights during my childhood in Glasgow, Scotland, in the late 1950s, and early 1960s. I loved Guy Fawkes/Bonfire Night. The Fireworks Code was around somewhere…and though British Government legislation may have decreed that fireworks should only be bought by adults, and set off by responsible people...that didn't seem to be the way of it. 

 

Why did I love it then?  


It was exciting on a freezing cold night. When the sky was clear it was a time of magic, though when it rained…or…dearie me…snowed… it was miserable. Regardless, it was a big night on the year’s calendar, and was compulsory. If your parents bought fireworks you went out and let them off, even if your butt was frozen!
Everyone around poured out of their houses to the nearest vacant ground, in my case the flat top of the hill near my house, and stood around the huge community bonfire in huddles. I say community, but it was not arranged by the city council in those days. 
(image use from www.123rf.com )

The day before the event a mysterious someone would start a little pile of wood, strategically right in the middle of the vacant ground. Usually it would be an old chair, or an axed-up-into-bits old table, furniture of a sort that was really only fit for the bonfire. Once started neighbours would add to it and, lo and behold, by Nov 5th there was a huge bonfire that burned for hours. 

Another interesting, and sometimes creatively exciting thing, was the GUY. No, not just any old guy. A GUY for Bonfire Night was a sort of scarecrow that was created from old clothes, but it had to be male clothing. A typical GUY would be created from a shirt, a pair of old trousers and jacket. A hat was compulsory and sometimes an old scarf, gloves etc. would be added. The clothing was stuffed with newspapers scrunched up to fill out the clothes- hence the guy!
  
He was a very special GUY, because the creators of the figure would go round the doors of the houses and ask for ‘A PENNY FOR THE GUY?’ If it was a good one my mother would give them a penny. Thing is, I never really thought about what those creators (usually boys) did with the pennies they collected. No doubt they went off and bought a banger, or two, to frighten the old ladies around the area!

On Bonfire Night each little huddle of people stood around the bonfire and set off their own Roman Candles, Rockets, Fountains, Cracker-Jacks, Bangers, Catherine Wheels- as many as I can recall names for. I’m pretty sure there was always a nominated bonfire person chosen to light the fire-for we did have an unofficial community group of sorts. There was always hours worth of little displays, though each family box maybe only held around 20 fireworks. Multiply 20 fireworks by 10 families in a huddle, each taking turns to set them off…and lots of other huddles…that was a lot of time spent watching fireworks. The highlight, of course, for a child was to hold a Sparkler. Some families were cavalier with fireworks, hence the dangers, but wearing a glove was a must for me who was a feartie (frightened)!
  
The noise from the bonfire and the fireworks going off, all so close by, meant it was excitedly noisy!
There was a sense of neighbourliness about it, because if a parent disappeared (maybe to watch Coronation Street, or The High Chaparral? on TV ) there were always plenty of other adult neighbours around to oversee. No Neighbourhood Watch then- it was more that they were ‘sort of there'. If any delinquent teenagers wanted to make any high jinks then they did not do it around us.
 
I never ever remember the fire brigade being called to deal with an emergency, and only once do I remember an incident where someone was seriously burned by a firework. It did happen though in the UK, hence the upsurge of legislation regrding the sale and use of fireworks. 

In later years when my own kids were young we set off fireworks in our garden, and often went to a large celebration Firework Display with Bonfire- this time organised and set off by the Fire Department. The background music at those events is fabulous and adds to the festive atmosphere.

(wikimedia commons- in the public domain)
Remember, Remember, the Fifth of November! 
Gunpowder, Treason and Plot!

Why do we have Bonfire Night? Here’s the historical reason.

BONFIRE NIGHT, also known as GUY FAWKES, is always on 5th November.
 
Guy Fawkes was a member of the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. A group of 13 people aimed to blow up the Houses of Parliament with a view to killing King James I, and other Members of Parliament, who were making life difficult for Roman Catholics at the time. (Henry the Eighth having overturned the apple cart to divorce unwanted wives )
(wikimedia commons)


The Gunpowder Plot, however, did not go according to plan. Some of the plotters had second thoughts, perhaps believing that innocent people would die by mistake. (image: The Discovery of the Gunpowder Plot by Henry Perronet Briggs 1793-1844)

A letter of warning was sent from one conspirator to another. The letter was intercepted and sent to King James I. That was James I of the United Kingdom [Scotland, England, Ireland and Wales], the same man who was simultaneously King James IV of Scotland.)  

  
Guy (Guido) Fawkes was in the cellar, under the House of Lords, with 36 barrels of gunpowder when the authorities caught him in the early hours of November 5. 

(wikimedia commons - in the public domain)

He was tortured and executed.

On that night, 5 November 1605, bonfires were set alight to celebrate that the king was unharmed. The tradition has continued every year since then with fireworks, and the burning of effigies of Guy Fawkes on a bonfire.


 




Have you any fireworks stories to add? Nights when you celebrate a special event with you own bonfire or firework display? I'd love you to share them with me!

Slainthe!

Friday, 2 November 2012

CONFESSIONS OF A ROMANCE LOVER-my guest Vonnie Davis



Today, I'm totally delighted to welcome again my fellow TWRP author, Vonnie Davis. She's got something wonderful to share with us so...it's over to Vonnie! 

CONFESSIONS OF A ROMANCE LOVER


How fortunate I feel to guest on your blog today, Nancy. I’ve been looking forward to it. Visiting another romance author is always great fun.

I have always loved stories where two people are thrown together in the middle of unusual circumstances, with no way out. Say, in a blizzard or blackout or hiding from a common enemy. Or in a marriage of convenience. Oh, the possibilities.

Possibilities are what one of The Wild Rose Press’s series is about. This historical series is called Love Letters. Within the first three pages, someone must receive a letter that changes his or her life eventually ending in love and that happily-ever-after we crave as romance readers.

I’d read two stories from the Love Letters Series and was hooked. But what could I write about? What era? What location? What types of characters? One thing I knew for certain I wanted—that marriage of convenience I so enjoy reading about. 

One day a tumbleweed blew across my mental sky. When it rolled back, I noticed a piece of calico embedded in it. What was that? An evening or two later, I dreamed about a little boy, holding that piece of calico and throwing a tantrum. Slowly pieces of the story fell together. My locale was a ranch near Deadwood, in the Dakota Territory, in 1879.

Then concerns set in. I’d never written historical before. Could I set the mood? Take my readers back to the time I wanted to share with them? I burrowed into research, enjoying every gem and tidbit I unearthed, online and from books.

BLURB:


When rancher and single father Cam McBride finds a letter tucked in a strip of cloth tied to a tumbleweed, he is captivated by the mysterious author. Finding a second tumbleweed letter further pulls him under the lonely writer's spell. He needs a mother for his little boy and a wife to warm his bed. Could this mysterious woman fill his needs?

Sophie Flannigan is alone, scared, and on the run from a rogue Pinkerton agent. She spends her days as a scrub lady at Madame Dora's brothel and her nights writing notes to the four winds. Her life holds little hope until a small boy lays claim to her and his handsome father proposes an advantageous arrangement.

Can these three benefit from a marriage of convenience, or will a determined Pinkerton agent destroy their fragile, newly formed bond?



EXCERPT:

“So you came to town to find me?” How much sense did that make? She knew women were scarce. Mary Jamison, a mail order bride, was married within the hour after arriving in Deadwood. Her ecstatic groom certainly hadn’t minded her snaggle-tooth and crossed eyes. Widow Stoltz was married the day after her husband’s funeral and birthed a wee babe a week later.
Appearances and family heritage didn’t seem to matter in the wilderness. Hadn’t she fought off her share of suitors? Then why? Why had she hitched herself to this mountain of a man? She had no clue.
Cam turned the team of horses to the right and encouraged them to climb the hill. Leather creaked and fittings jingled in the evening quiet. The smell of pines grew stronger. An owl hooted and something rustled off to the left. She wasn’t used to large open spaces without the lighting of civilization; unease crept up her spine. It was so dark out here.
Finally, her husband answered, “Eli needed warmer clothes for winter, and we needed enough food to stock the pantry for winter.”
“So, you just added wife to your shopping list?” She’d married an odd man. Handsome, but odd. “How much further till we get ho…”—she couldn’t say it—“to your place?”
“You’re my wife now, Sophie Catherine. My home is your home. My son is your son.”
“Most people simply call me Sophie.”
“A husband should have a name for his wife that no one else uses, don’t you think?”
Foolish her, she’d always hoped a husband would call her a name of endearment, like darling or sweetheart. Simple-mined notions to be sure. What man would find her attractive? Hadn’t her Tommy called her plain?
Now was the time, she supposed. “You…ah…you never mentioned sleeping arrangements.”
His voice carried deep and quiet in the night. “I run a ranch, not a hotel. As my wife, you’ll be sleeping with me.”
Her heart pounded in her ears and her breath came in shallow bursts. “Will…will you expect…”
“Yes.”
Merciful heavens. She twisted the ends of her shawl between her fingers. “Surely you’ll give me time to get to know you. I…I only met you today.”

BUY LINKS:
THE WILD ROSE PRESS -- http://bit.ly/TumbleweedLetters

FIND ME ONLINE AT: http://www.vonniedavis.com
FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER AT: @VonnieWrites
I have another book releasing on the 9th, a romantic suspense set in Paris – Mona Lisa’s Room.

Thank you for sharing your news with us, Vonnie, it's a pleasure to have you visit. Best wishes with sales of all of your books. 

Slainthe!




Thursday, 1 November 2012

Samhain





Samhain, one of the four main Celtic festivals, was (is) celebrated on November the 1st, the night prior to it leading into the celebrations. Samhain was a pastoral festival which marked the passing of one pastoral year and the beginning of the next one. In days of old, at Samhain, the livestock were brought in from the fields- some for better winter sheltering and breeding purposes, some were slaughtered to add to the food-stocks.

In addition to all of those more practical and mundane reasons, Samhain was also an important time when the usual barriers between the Otherworld, and the mortal world, could be suspended. The thinking was that spirits could move freely among the living and that mortals in turn could see the Otherworld.  Many of our contemporary Halloween traditions stem from this Celtic ideology.

It is thought that special ritual fires were lit by the druids-but only after all current ones had been extinguished-the druids lighting the new from a ceremonial source. Irish Celtic tales tell of some annual tributes being paid at Samhain, to the demon  Fomorii-the gifts being corn, wine and even children! 

In many Celtic places people gathered to feast, to market, and to take part in feats of expertise and danger-like horse and chariot racing.

I love the idea of Samhain...what about you?

Slainthe!