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October 31 Halloween

An odd custom, very familiar to the young but not to the old for whom it's curiously foreign despite having been celebrated for hundreds of years. Those huge pumpkins don't seem British. Kids dressed as spooks, parents shepherding small children in pointed hats and black lipstick, teenagers behaving outrageously.

Halloween ©Geray Sweeney

November 5th Guy Fawkes Day

This year it's on a Wednesday so we get two weekends and many days of bangs and crashes plus an overwhelming stench of cordite – and it's also Diwali. Not easy to tell where one begins and the other ends except that Diwali seems to happen later at night.

Fireworks Day, celebrated all over but in particularly spectacular fashion in Lewes with politically incorrect guys burnt on huge bonfires. Not a place to be if you don't like fire or crowds but it looks amazing. For something a little more peaceful, settle for a splendid guy alone and in flames on a traditionally conical bonfire. Children no longer seem to beg for 'Penny for the Guy' but Sparklers never pall. Domestic fireworks displays have become prohibitively expensive – which may be a good thing for pets and those of a nervous disposition but the organised affairs get bigger and bigger. Fireworks technology is a splendid thing.

Vaults beneath the House of Lords ©Brian Shuel

Guy Fawkes was caught in 1605 in a cellar under the House of Lords with 36 barrels of (allegedly) damp gunpowder and a long fuse. Hanged on January 31 1606, he would have been hanged, drawn and quartered but the jumped off the scaffold and broke is neck instead.

Guy Fawkes bonfire ©Brian Shuel

Remembrance Day

Without poppies, this often depressing day would be bleak indeed. Cold, damp, black-clad people wishing they were not standing in the street in front of the war memorial where poppies are the only colour. Papaver rhoeas, corn poppies, field poppies, red poppies, Flanders poppies. John McCrae wrote In Flanders Fields which was published in Punch in December 1915 and thus was a legend born.

In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae, May 1915

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep,
though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

We have poppies in fields, poppies on memorials, poppies in buttonholes, poppies on Remembrance Day, poppies strewn across the tomb of the Unknown Warrior, multitudes of tiny crosses with poppies. We have the old and the young remembering with poppies. The old know why they are there but the young may not. When they too are old, they may then understand.

Tomb of the Unknown Warrior ©Malcolm Crowthers



And then there’s Christmas (and Boxing Day and New Year...)

Not just your standard lights and Santas, but all the traditional customs and a few absurdities into the bargain.

Festive Policeman at the Lincoln Christmas Fair, Lincolnshire, England  © Ashley Cooper

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