150 years ago...

"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate - we can not consecrate - we can not hallow - this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us - that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain - that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom - and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

Abraham Lincoln
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

November 19, 1863

Back in time on the Weald and Downland

A crisp and sunny November day saw Lizzie and I venture into West Sussex, and the Weald and Downland Open Air Museum.  The museum opened in 1970 and since that time has been collecting dilapidated historic buildings of southeast England, bringing them to the site, and restoring them to their former glory.  By doing this, the site preserves these important historic structures, opening them up for people like us to go and have a nose around.

The open air museum is spread around a 50-acre site nestled snuggly in the heart of the Sussex countryside.  The reconstructed village has over 50 structures, ranging from the rather modest peasant’s cottage, to the grand medieval houses, an old market hall from Titchfield in Hampshire, workshops, a school house from West Wittering, and a church to name but a few.  Many of these buildings have a certain atmosphere to them, and their largely bare, often dark interiors hint at the hard, difficult life endured by our forefathers.  This is particularly poignant in the peasant's cottage from Hangleton in Sussex, a single-roomed house with a wattle-and-daub partition, a little wooden bench and a pile of straw on the cold, hard floor, something of a primitive bed.  The experience here is strangely humbling, and makes me pose a series of questions; did the people who lived here think they had a hard life?  What would they think of my life?  And what will people think if they looked back on my life, 500 years from now?

Back in the centre of the village, the shire horse was hard at work, whilst the museum's cows and chickens rested lazily in the shade.  At the centre of the site lays the museum’s commercial structures, amongst them a plumber’s shed, a carpenter’s workshop, and a wonderful old blacksmith’s, iron tools hung up on all four walls.  The blacksmith was hard at work creating a tool for fruit picking, and his shack is probably my favourite building – it is reminiscent of a very bygone age, where people had a lifelong trade, and the community worked together, like a well-oiled machine.

Talking of well-oiled machines, the last building we visited was the Lurgashall Mill, an old working mill that is still producing flour by way of an enormous water wheel.  Upstairs, the mechanisms can be seen up close, the clattering of ingenious cogs going around and around, powered solely by the overflow from the museum’s lake, whilst at the door of the mill, waiting for titbits, is the biggest crowd of well-fed ducks I have ever seen.

What a great throw-back to the days of our forefathers, and both an enjoyable visit, and a real eye-opener into just how our ancestors were surviving in the world prior to our more technological times.

Remember

"Summer 1918. Never has life in its simplest outline seemed so desirable to us as it does now; the poppies in the fields near our base camp, the shiny beetles on the blades of grass, the warm evenings in the cool, half-dark rooms, mysterious trees at twilight, the stars and the streams, and the long sleep. Oh, life, life, life.

Summer 1918. Never has more been suffered in silence as in the moment when we set off for the front. The wild and urgent rumours of an armistice and peace have surfaced again, they disturb the heart and make setting out harder than ever.

Summer 1918. Never has life at the front been more bitter and more full of horror than when we are under fire, when the pallid faces are pressed into the mud and the fists are clenched and your whole being is saying, No! No! No, not now! Not now at the very last minute!

Summer 1918. A wind of hope is sweeping over the burnt-out fields, a raging fever of impatience, of disappointment, the most agonizing terror of death, the impossible question: why? Why doesn't this stop? And why are all these rumours about it ending?"

(Erich Maria Remarque, from All Quiet on the Western Front)

Penny for the Guy

Welcome to Bramley, a village near Guildford that, every November for the last 40 years, has produced a stunning evening of lanterns and illuminations to commemorate the Gunpowder Plot.  I love the celebrations on 5 November, its cold dark evening a reminder of Autumn’s tightening grip on our lives, confining to memory the sunny days of summer, and forewarning us instead of the winter that lays inevitably ahead.  It’s also such a particularly British festival, arguably the most visible annual celebration of our national history, and here at Bramley, they really do it properly; no tasteless fairground rides, no tacky plastic wands, no booming music that is better suited to city clubs and bars…  In fact, the evening begins in wonderfully traditional style, with the judging of village children’s Guys.

Bramley is well-known in these parts because of its November 5 lantern procession, which makes for a stunning and atmospheric evening.  The long procession leaves the village centre and heads, slowly and carefully, for the massive bonfire, in the spirit of Walt Disney's Night on Bald Mountain.  When the torch-bearers have all assembled (and they circle the bonfire three-or-four people deep), we are reminded of the Gunpowder Plot, the crowd chanting those famous and traditional words:

Remember, remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot
I see no reason why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.

Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, 'twas his intent
To blow up the King and the Parliament
Three score barrels of powder below
Poor old England to overthrow
By God's providence he was catched
With a dark lantern and burning match
Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!

The Guys are placed lovingly on the bonfire, which is then set ablaze by the lantern-bearers.  Fire rips through the material, taking hold at an astonishing rate, illuminating the field and the crowd with awesome brightness.  Fortunately, the wind is on our side, the heat blowing away from the gathering and up into the dark, starry sky.

As the bonfire begins to die down, a single rocket firework flies up into the heavens; a warning for spectators to shift their focus upwards.  What follows is an awesome display of noise, colour and light, an inspirational show to celebrate the 40^th anniversary of Bramley’s brilliant event.  The crowd cheer, clap, ooooh and aaaah, as do Lizzie and I, for this is the best display we have ever seen.  It’s hard to get good photos of fireworks, but I think this video gives a little taster of just how good these illuminations were:

So, how do Bramley get it so right and produce an evening better than so many others?  In my mind, it comes down to tradition, community, and generosity.  The celebrations are handled in the most tasteful, timeless manner, they’re organised by volunteers in the community, and they rely on donations, the sale of lanterns and refreshments, so that they can make next year’s event every bit as good.  Everyone plays their part which, speaking as someone from outside the area, is very noticeable and says much about the village.

So, it’ll probably be Bramley again for next year’s festivities – I just think it’s great, and so unusual, to find an event that seems so dedicated to retaining the spirit of the occasion, and to doing it right.