Friday, November 04, 2005

Remember the Reason for the Season: Guy Fawkes and the Gunpowder Plot

New Rome, of course, was substantially founded by the United Kingdom, that fine example of what happens when several savage packs of pale barbarians get half civilized by Italians and start Running the World.

In the spirit of acknowledging our forbearers, a brief review of the salient details of Bonfire Night, November 5, when history-minded Britons celebrate the life and brutal death of ambiguous terrorist Guy Fawkes. Fawkes had the misfortune of being on the scene, specifically a cellar under the House of Lords that had 36 kegs of gunpowder in it, when said cellar was stormed by Crown authorities the evening of November 4. The gunpowder was allegedly placed by Fawkes and 12 associates, led by Oxford dropout Robert Catesby. While the likely efficacy of igniting the powder as a means to eliminating the civic persecution of Catholics is debatable, there is still an unquestionable novelty to the notion of a political attack that specifically targets the wealthy and powerful.

The Crown did not see the humor in the situation and had Fawkes hung, drawn and quartered.

The Brits turned the occasion into a tradition of (generally) controlled fires and explosions.

I suggest giving the BBC's Guy Fawkes Game a spin. The sumptuous Flash interface does not long disguise the fact that you are being administered a history quiz with a time limit, almost none of the answers to which are found in the entirely inadequate summary above. With a small amount of study, however, you should win through to enjoy the most unchallenging final contest ever. Thank you, Brittania, for laying the colorful (sorry, colourful) foundations of our nation which we have carried on, full circle back to Rome.

Nihil Sub Sole Novum

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1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Is it just me, or shouldn't poor Guy be yowling in total agony as he stands in that bonfire at the end of the game? Perhaps it is true that our Roman lust for digital bloodsport has densensitized us, making us unimpressed by such innocent (and expurgated) images. Alas.

Sister of Scrivener