Well … we finally got to 5 November. Of course, you know the story. Once upon a time, there was a bad guy who wanted to set fire to a country’s political system. Metaphorically, but also literally. I mean, he wasn’t subtle, this guy. This Guy, I should say, because his name was Guy Fawkes. Why – who did you think I was talking about?
Because time’s a great healer, Britons now celebrate the thwarting of this truly awful Guy’s insurrection with fireworks, fires and organised effigy-burning. But the good version of those things – not the kind we do when we go out of a football tournament in the later stages. We’re still working on teasing out the family fun in those particular moments.
Incidentally, before I proceed further, a word about the timing of this column, which I am writing on Tuesday morning but which will appear in the Wednesday print edition of this newspaper. That is My Struggle, assuming there isn’t a monopoly on that working title in the current news cycle. And even without those challenges of the calendar, it is impossible to know how many people out there are catching up with the Gunpowder Plot on a time lag. Furthermore, there will be long-view historians who will argue that we still don’t actually really know the ultimate knock-on results and/or fallout of it all. So if you are catching up with the whole story on tape delay, beware of spoilers that will follow. Please look away now if you want to experience the magic/horror [delete as applicable] as if in real time.
So anyway, our Guy. Not only was he a very bad hat, but he wore a very bad hat – a signature piece of headgear that simply screamed MAKE ENGLAND PAPIST AGAIN. And this Guy swore he’d overthrow the political leadership of the country by any means necessary. Blow it all up, burn it all down – this was his plot. He could really drone on about it for hours to like-minded people. Other details? He sometimes went by Guido, because nobody – NOBODY – loved Hispanics more than him, or had done more for Hispanics than him.
Anyway, the fateful day approached. Despite the highest possible stakes, some of his henchteam couldn’t quite keep their mouths shut about it all. One of them actually wrote down a semi-cryptic warning about what was coming, and sent it to a lawmaker called Lord Monteagle. I think it was done on parchment, but it could have also been a social media post on X (which back in the 17th century was known as Twitter).
Even though people will say any old thing on parchment, something about the message properly unsettled Lord Monteagle, who shared the post with King James I. As for the precise mechanics of that share, let’s assume Monteagle quote-posted it, adding a topper along the lines of: “They hath said the quiet part out loud.” Or maybe “out Loude”. My understanding is that spelling was a bit of a free-for-all at the time, and there was a lot of unnecessary capitalisation in some people’s posts.
At this point, the king had a number of options. He could have regarded engaging with the incendiary language about incendiary devices as beneath his dignity, and not at all befitting the civility politics of which he regarded himself as the perfect embodiment. He could have got a period celebrity to come out in his favour and denounce it. Which one? I don’t think James would have nailed down the composer William Byrd (he’d gone Catholic in the 1570s and might have endorsed Fawkes) – but William Shakespeare was coming off a huge box-office hit with Othello and was in development with King Lear. He’d have been ideal; people always do what playwrights say.
But in the event, the king basically responded by going: “OMG Monteagle – if someone tells you who they are, BELIEVE THEM THE FIRST TIME.” Two of his team officials were immediately dispatched to parliament.
By this stage, the Guy was in situ and well on his way to realising his plan. He was found by law enforcement down in the palace of Westminster’s cellars, with a slow match and a watch – presumably one from the Fawkes Signature Collection (advertising slogan: “Time is money so you wear a watch that matters”. There was also a pail of Diet Coke to sustain him through the night, some touchwood, and 36 barrels of gunpowder.
Despite being busted in what you’d think was a pretty open-and-shut way, I imagine that aides from Fawkes’s conspiracy scrambled to “walk back” the idea that some bad stuff was in the process of going down. Their precise words are lost to time, but no doubt they’d have wheeled out a few of the classics. “This is just Guy being Guy – you shouldn’t take him so seriously.” “It truly saddens us to see ye olde fake news media lying that he meant any harm.” “He was just dressing up as a bomb-maker to show solidarity with our great blue-collar munitions workers.” Or my personal favourite: “These barrels of gunpowder are just a metaphor.”
What a Guy. The rest is both history, and the future that liberals want. So whichever stage of the great timeline we’re at by the time you read this, I suppose we have to at least consider that one day, people will simply enjoy some kind of jolly annual commemoration of whatever it was that happened. In the meantime, I desperately hope Guy Fawkes day is/was everything you wished it to be.
Marina Hyde is a Guardian columnist
