Celebrating the demise of that outrageous fellow, Guido Fawkes, has been a Gosworthy-Pringle ritual since my early childhood. Mama, in her wisdom, annually turned a blind eye to my sneaking out of bed in order to view the distant beacon from the balcony of my suite. For, like her, it stirred an enthusiasm in history. Indeed, I would have chosen to study the subject if my Boarding School's curriculum hadn't insisted upon other priorities. Regrettable, perhaps, yet I wager the Humanities could never have offered as much valuable and practical application as have Needlepoint and Deportment during the intervening decades.
Still, the interest spawned during my formative years continues prompting me to coordinate the reintroduction of more traditional revelry.
Firstly, as I insisted at our initial Village Committee meeting - to which all the local dignitaries I had summoned turned up with the exception of the Parish Council Deputy Chair; I highlighted said absence via the Flower Arranging Guild's Autumn Newsletter - the modern term Bonfire Night reflects neither the quality nor gravitas of our festivity. It is right, therefore, to rekindle Guy Fawkes Night.
Although there was considerable pressure exerted upon me to host this year's event at Farthing Hall, clearly the Master would never tolerate commoners trampling his precious lawns. We have, therefore, defaulted to the village green, an area familiar to the working class community where they will undoubtedly feel more at home than in the grounds of such a prestigious residence.
In addition, sparklers will be limited to one packet per person. Heaven knows, I harbour no desire to be responsible for over excited adolescents.
The entry fee, I decided - and my colleagues, unable to propose a viable alternative, soon concurred - should be by donation to a charitable venture. And what better recipient than the nearby Residence for Retired Butlers which was, I am proud to confess, founded by my paternal grandfather? He was such a visionary.
Other tasks are in hand. I have ordered a plentiful supply of Catherine Wheels and Rockets. I just hope the local dairy is able to donate sufficient milk bottles to cope with demand for they seemed genuinely perplexed at my request. Meantime, one of my fellow Committee members has been dispatched to purchase matches while Cook has kindly offered to contribute a selection of canapes.
I am, I confess, overjoyed at the prospect of such merriment. Given the success it will, of course, be, I expect to continue organising such events for the foreseeable future.