Please to remember, the thirteenth of November

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I'm a bit late with this posting really, I suppose, but I couldn't let this time of the year pass without a reference to one of my favourite autumn traditions. Whee, whizz, bang, pop: the onomatoepians will have had field days with their sounds-like descriptives this week as they like me mused on the joys of FIREWORKS. No matter how old I get, I still adore pyrotechnic pleasures and almost can't get enough of them!

Although Bonfire Night itself was of course on the Fifth of November- click on the link to find Surefish's homage to the tradition- you can guarantee the ancient association of fireworks and celebrations, and man's primitive fascination with fire on dark winter nights, will ensure plenty more of them from now through to New Year's Eve. In multi-cultural Britain particularly, the origins of the celebration in the foiling of the "Gunpowder Plot" (what a glorious "Fifth" it will be next year when the 400th anniversary is commemorated!) are gradually being supplemented by celebrations for other events, including ones with a religious link even if the grisly origins- or should that be end- of Guy Fawkes and his fellow plotters are often forgotten. Last night was the climax of Diwali.

I bet somewhere or other there's an Indian celebrating it right now, and though I could not see much of the colour, I could surely hear the wonderful sounds of the celebrations rising skyward last night even here in ultra-conservative Eastbourne. A good starting point for information on one of the Hindu and Sikh community's favourite festivals is The Times of India http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articleshow/921413.cms
though I can't imagine them being so ready to ditch centuries of tradition as the Times of London did on the first of this month by going from broadsheet to "compact" format. Though it's not my favoured paper personally- I'm afraid I have a certain inbuilt aversion to most products of the Murdoch empire- I suppose it is just one of those things we will get used to.
That's the thing about "tradition". There are times when it is right and proper to "do it the way we've always done it", and others when no harm is done by allowing new ideas and other associations to meld with it. Once the smell of brimstone and treacle toffee dies away for another year, I've always felt the run-up to Christmas begins, and what a pudding of a tradition is that. Throw in as many different ingredients as you can think, and let us keep the feast! But as even Advent Sunday is still a fortnight away, we won't go too far down that road just yet! As it says in the Hebrew scriptures, aka the Old Testament, "For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under Heaven"

NEXT YEAR IN JERUSALEM?
While commemorations like Bonfire Night and Diwali are largely enjoyable annual events, the problem with tradition can be that one man's celebration becomes another's mourning. The end of Ramadan, or Id, dependent on the sighting of the moon this weekend, will be a muted affair in many parts of the Middle East so torn by trouble. Weeping and wailing- and gunfire- were the sounds that pervaded Ramallah as the Friday sun fell yesterday and the people of Palestine buried their leader of forty years inside his compound, in the hope that his body, or at least its remains, would rise again to be re-interred beside the Dome of the rock in Jerusalem. Yasser Arafat has passed on, at the age of 75. Though expected for the past fortnight, his death does leave a massive void in the hearts of his people even though many saw him as an arch-terrorist scarcely to be eulogised. That was certainly the view of the Israeli government, who sent no representatives to what was a wholly diplomatic, low key funeral in President Arafat's birthplace of Cairo before the body was airlifted to the Palestinian homeland for the people's farewell.

Certainly, it is hard to imagine a world without this ever-present figure in the ongoing tragedy which is the story of the Palestinian people. As a man of peace, I cannot condone their acts of terror which pervaded the headlines for much of the earlier years of Arafat's leadership, but neither can I wholly understand or support the lack of love and mutual support which still causes the Palestinians to be seen as Pariahs by one side and freedom-fighters by another. Why can't people just get on together for heaven's sake: we are all human beings sharing a miniscule patch of a vast and awesome universe. Or am I just being naive?

There was chaos in the streets around the Ramallah compound as Arafat's body made what for the moment is its final journey to its resting place. It's so ironic that troops had to fire gunshots into the air to disperse the mourners. But somehow, the sense of loss to those people is palpable. What will the future hold, now that Arafat who groomed no successor, has gone? It has obviously left a power vacuum and as with all such battles for succession in the past, it's a worrying time. What can we do but pray to God that sanity will prevail and peace will be given a chance. Violence must not have the upper hand.

TURN AGAIN WHITTINGTON
Back to happier matters in concluding this posting before even the sparrows get up for breakfast. Another sign that Christmas is on the way are all the posters appearing for the Christmas pantos. This year's in Eastbourne is I believe to be Dick Whittington, that great traditional homage to Richard Whittington and his feline companion as they made their way to the streets of London, paved with gold and to destiny as Lord Mayor of London, thrice. Well, figuratively at least maybe those streets are paved with gold, though the move to Docklands for some has perhaps increased the bounds of the traditional square mile of the City. Later today, however, it will be time to turn again, Savage, to BBC ONE for the televising of THE LORD MAYOR'S SHOW http://www.lordmayorsshow.org/index.shtml, another of my favourite November traditions.
Never mind four hundred years for the ill-fated Guy Fawkes, this celebration dates back double that timespan. The above link to the official website of the City of London's grand day out,- which may be time-limited for the duration of the event- contains lots of fascinating facts about this introduction of the new Lord Mayor to the people. I didn't know until this morning, for instance, that it was the first event to be televised live on television in the 20th Century! Quite rightly so though, although being the colourful spectacle it is, so much had to be left to the imagination before the arrival of colour TV.
It's an event the gregarious extrovert in me loves to see "in the flesh" really, and just as much the typically over the top fireworks which aldermen (and all da women as my dear Dad used to say! groan) arrange to climax the welcome celebrations for their new first citizen each year. However, more often than not my efforts to get up to the Square Mile to watch it pass seem to be dogged by hassle and transport traumas, at least since I have been living in Sussex. I could go up to see it in person today, but it's also the season for engineering works on the Southern- little to do with leaves on the line this time though- and to do so would take on nigh on 2 1/2 hours by train as opposed to the usual 80 minutes or so. I'm torn really, as life is feeling a bit lonely here at the moment and I would also love to be back in Feltham to watch the culmination of the Remembrance celebrations with Mum and Matthew. The Royal British Legion always put on a stirring show too, later in the day, with the Festival of Remembrance from the Royal Albert Hall, and it's always nicer to watch such events with somebody.
However, sometimes one just has to make sacrifices. With still no money coming in from gainful employment, and my dream career remaining just that, I guess the sensible thing is to remain here on the coast this year and let the cameras do the walking. Once again, we're back to tradition aren't we. All human life is here in Britain this weekend, with its mixture of joys and sorrows, laughing and crying, delighting and debating. Which brings us back again to those famous lines from Ecclesiastes, one of the few passages of scripture ever to have made it to a popular song: "For everything turn, turn, turn, there is a season turn, turn,turn". The writer may have been a bit of a Victor Meldrew, but he sure understood the rhythm of life and ultimately, he knew that all humanity needs to remember its maker, for our days on this Earth are far too short. Eat, drink and be merry by all means but never forget that life is precious and is a gift for which we must all be constantly thankful. The riches of Croesus, let alone of the London Stock Exchange, the worshipful company of thisnthat and the tricorned hat should never let us forget that. Choose Life, in all its fulness, but remember the one who made the greatest sacrifice, on a shameful cross in Calvary, that WE might live, eternally!