Gunpowder, Treason and Plot

Each November on the fifth of the month many of us in Britain gather together, as families or in larger groups, to celebrate the failure of a terrorist attack on our parliament attempted four hundred years ago. The celebration tends to include two main activities. Firstly, simulating the explosion that would have ripped through the House of Commons had the bombs actually been triggered by setting off a display of fireworks. And secondly, creating a huge bonfire upon which, should Catholic sensitivities be taken fairly lightly, an effigy of the lead insurrectionist is placed. The word ‘bonfire’ comes from the Mediaeval English word ‘bane-fire’, ‘bane’ meaning ‘bones’, as originally they were fires used to burn bones so the flames must get pretty darn hot. 

Pilsdon’s bonfire was erected in the north field, sans a Guy Fawkes, and despite a brief but heavy downpour it was successfully lit and quickly became a towering inferno, around which we stood transfixed by the furnace we had created, sipping soup from cups and throwing our napkins in with reckless abandon to feed the flames. The two residents who had erected it couldn’t let it be and kept dicing with death, levering out old wooden doors and cupboards that weren’t yet burning properly and lobbing them on top.  When the few rather feeble fireworks went off, the rest having succumbed to the damp, we all dutifully went “ooh” and “aah” before returning to our collective gazing in awe at the pyre.

Once Guy Fawkes night has been and gone it really does feel to me like winter is setting in properly. As the clocks have now changed back to GMT it’s too dark to go back out into the garden after the ‘tea & toast’ break at 4:30pm.  On a couple of mornings we have woken to ground frosts which apparently causes the parsnips to become sweeter; how true this is I have no idea but they certainly did taste good in Tuesday’s soup. The younger carrots, cauliflowers and cabbages are now being covered with fleeces overnight to give them some measure of protection from the frost.  It actually snowed on Monday morning giving the surroundings a white dusting before being washed away by rain, prompting us to bring our pregnant sow Isabelle indoors, at least until she ‘farrows’ (gives birth) in December.

Parsnips and brussel sprouts are the only harvestable vegetable outdoors now apart from a couple of broccoli and a few small turnips and radishes. Under glass we still have some runner and french beans, celery and chard, and the pumpkins and squash that we picked are being left to ripen further (apart from the one that was selected for carving for Halloween, of course), but the larder is now sadly having to stocked with more fruit and veg bought from outside.

In the garden it’s now all about preparation for next year.  Come springtime we hope to have a harvest of indoor vegetables that we are sowing and planting now - cabbages, cauliflowers, broad beans, carrots, beetroot, garlic, spinach, lettuce, kale and broccoli.  Twenty raspberry canes came through the post this week, half of which are summer-fruiting and half autumn-fruiting, which we planted in rows next to the existing canes. All the compost we have to hand is being forked into the newly-vacated beds before the next sowing. Some of the larger areas we are planning to sprinkle with field beans, a type of ‘green manure’ that fixes nitrogen in its roots which once fully grown we hack down and mix back into the earth where it rots and releases the nitrogen, a vital ingredient that the brassicas (cabbages, cauliflowers, brussel sprouts, broccoli, kale) particularly love.

After a day’s work outside there’s not much that beats coming inside to warm your fingers and toes by the open wood-fire in the Common Room, knowing that your labour has been helping to feed the community you live in. Beats sitting in front of a computer in an air-conditioned electric-lit office all day hands down.