By Arnold Jansen op de Haar

Last Thursday, together with my publisher, I decided to research the local Bonfire Night customs in more detail, like an anthropologist investigating the last tribe that still wears penis sheaths.

Actually, the Guy Fawkes they were going to set alight had been a good Catholic boy – for a moment I considered asking the Vatican for permission to attend – but I rather fancied the fireworks afterwards.

Besides, I had already missed the switching on of the Christmas lights on Oxford Street by the forever young and attractive Kylie Minogue, so on the evening of Thursday 5th November we set off for Cleveland Square.

We had bought our tickets for two tenners beforehand in the local pub, The Cleveland Arms. On the evening, they would give us access to the park which was hosting the activities.

Maybe Dutch readers should quickly google Bonfire Night and Guy Fawkes to get up to speed. Well, here it was the 410th anniversary of the event, and Cleveland Square is just around the corner, so nothing prevented us from going.

Now I could, in David Attenborough style, begin to describe the local residents’ behaviour during this odd event. However, I have to point out that, when I moved here one and a half years ago, I thought Richard and David Attenborough were one and the same person. I really thought: this man has done an awful lot, all these films about nature, acting and in addition directing Gandhi! But nowadays I’m more at home.

The park in Cleveland Square is actually a private garden belonging to the houses in the square. Clutching a glass of mulled wine, I observed the hundreds of guests.

No, they weren’t like the Bonfire Night revellers who, at that very moment, were trying to burn down nearby Buckingham Palace. A high percentage of people were wearing wellies. The lawn soon turned into mud but no one seemed concerned. It was actually very jolly. People were carrying hampers filled with beer and champagne, there was a bar with drinks at reasonable prices and, for those interested, a barbecue. The façades were bathed by floodlights, creating a fairytale atmosphere.

I remembered my home country: there, hot chocolate would have been the only beverage at such an open-air event. On this occasion, many people, children excepted, swiftly became somewhat inebriated. There was great enthusiasm when fire took hold of Guy Fawkes. Because of my good relationship with the Vatican, I briefly considered booing politely, but, well, it was 410 years ago, and the mulled wine made me feel rosy and satisfied.

You can trust the English to turn every tradition into a party. At some point in the past someone tried to blow up Parliament, and the result is a party. Actually, a great evening. Even the rain falling at the start of the evening had stopped.

Once the fireworks had started and the sound system was blasting out ‘All you need is love’ by The Beatles, I thought: what a lovely country!

The English are very good at making fun of history. Think of Blackadder or ’Allo ’Allo! This would be beneficial for every nation: a comical Braveheart, wonderful!

So what if, once a year, they burn the Catholic who wanted to blow up Parliament? But it’s a disgrace that, by law, as a Catholic you cannot marry the head of state.

If Queen Maxima, who three days later watched the Remembrance Sunday proceedings standing next to the Duchess of Cambridge, had wanted to become Queen of England, it would have been impossible. Not because her father served in a junta, but because she’s a Catholic. That’s discrimination!

But back to Bonfire Night. Luckily, the mulled wine was delicious and, even though leaves kept dropping from the trees, the party spirit increased by the minute.

The British Empire may well be crumbling, but we were bravely standing firm here in Cleveland Square. Who wouldn’t want to join in? This Guy Fawkes was spreading a lot of warmth.

© Arnold Jansen op de Haar
© Translation Holland Park Press

Previous columns:

Ted or Sylvia?
Unsuitable for Class War
England-bound
The Weather in Arnhem
Accident & Emergency
The Plumber and the Little Prince
A Trojan Horse
Pilloried!
Portobello Hipster
A Celebration Every Day
Diana is Back
Loved by All
Cooking in Peacetime
A Bit of a Genetic Mess
Email a Fairy
A Peeing Neanderthal
Fictional Brits
Bare Burka
Is Van Gaal a Turkey?
An Estate Agent in High Heels
A Boy from Westminster
Adventure in Amsterdam
Amalia & George
Cheering Quietly
Human Waste
D-Day for Poetry
A Dog in London
Van Gaal and Wurst
Baby King George
The Virgin Train from Birmingham
Nuclear Hospitality
Vladimir the Viking
Ski Girl with Moustache
Phoenix
Message From the Bathtub
A Consistent Resolution
Nigella’s Law
Selfie
Cowboy in the Kingdom
An Angry Philanthropist
Oligarch with Red Umbrella
The Lives of Others
Uproar in the Czar Peter House
A Postcard Home
An Angry Ladies’ Hairdresser
Syrian Football
The Man Who is Always Late
What will survive of us is love
A Gibraltarian Librarian
A Gay Sympathiser
Hot Pants Harry
Cycling Sustained by Aunt Corry’s Pancakes!