Guy Fawkes’ Night, 1951

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It was November 5th, 1605, and the city of Westminster was deserted. From time to time a cart would emerge from the darkness, the clack of shod hooves and the crack of the whip resonating through the silence. An icy wind blew through London, and the breeze whipped up dead leaves along the cobbled streets, chasing away rats and stray dogs. The wind carried the prickling odour of dung, urine and detritus. But all of a sudden, hushed voices were heard in the dead of night. It was the sound of rebellion, for the voices belonged to conspirators. The shadows of a handful of men slipped ghoulishly through the Lords’ Chamber. They were fervent Catholics, seeking to take action against the Protestant monarchy that persecuted them. King James I had spoken overtly against the Catholics, saying he “would be glad to have both their heads and their bodies separated from this whole island and transported beyond seas.”

The conspirators were a handful of men. The instigator of the plot was Robert Catesby, a nobleman from a prestigious and very ancient line. From the outset he had worked alongside his cousin, Thomas Wintour, an erudite polyglot who had negotiated a peace between Protestant England and Catholic Spain. They had spent long nights plotting by firelight in their family estates, or in the shadowy corners of inns. They quickly found sympathisers, and gathered three determined Catholics to their cause. One was a renowned fencer, one of the finest blades in the country: the dangerous John Wright. Another was Thomas Percy, a friend with an impressive reputation, known for his bravery and swordsmanship. Finally there was the infamous Guy Fawkes – a specialist in powders and explosives who would lend his name to their act. Tonight was to be the big night. The five men had an airtight plan, and all was prepared. They had been careful, and nothing could stop them.

The five men entered the site where Catholic Scottish commissioners had been working under the House of Lords. The foreman opened the gate, allowing the wagon to roll in. It was loaded with thirty-six barrels of powders, prepared by Guy Fawkes. The five rebels took their places outside the tunnels that led under the House of Lords, and rolled the volatile barrels down them one by one. The next day, James I would enter the Lords, calm and impassive in manner as always, and would take his place on his tyrant’s throne. As he prepared to begin his speech, Guy Fawkes would light the fuse, before escaping along the Thames. With a great din, the House of Lords would be blown to smithereens.

But destiny had decreed otherwise. On the morning of 5 November 1605, Lord Monteagle received an anonymous letter: that read: “My lord, out of the love I bear to some of your friends, I have a care of your preservation, therefore I would advise you as you tender your life to devise some excuse to shift your attendance at this parliament, for God and man hath concurred to punish the wickedness of this time.” Lord Monteagle immediately alerted the authorities of a plot against the King’s life, and the monarch was informed. The throne was saved, and the conspirators were arrested one by one.

The conspirators were sentenced to death. Regicide was the most harshly punished crime, being treated as the highest treason. To kill the men was not enough; an example must be made of them. After they were hanged, Robert Catesby and Thomas Wintour were decapitated, and their heads were displayed on pikes outside the House of Lords. But it was Guy Fawkes whose name would become legend.

On this afternoon of 5 November 1951, Andrew, a boy of seven, returned home with his arms full of fireworks. He was brimming with excitement. Tonight was going to be a sight to behold! Rockets would go off across the London skyline, and bangers would explode on every street corner. Tonight was Guy Fawkes Night. All of the UK celebrated the failure of the plot against the King of England, on the night of 5 November 1605. It was tradition. As he made his way home, Andrew ran into some of the familiar faces from his neighbourhood. Henry, the local bobby, clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder and said, “All ready for Guy Fawkes then, are we? Good man. Careful with those fireworks, mind!”

Alan Alfredo Geday