Remember tonight
On John Lennon's first solo album, there's a track entitled "Remember." This album was produced during Lennon's gestalt therapy period, and mostly it seems to be about purging his psyche of a lot of baggage from his childhood that he couldn't process during his reign as a Beatle™. At the end of the song, he forcefully reminds readers to "remember -- the fifth! of November!" And at that point there's a big explosion.
If we ever knew to what he was referring, we'd forgotten it until earlier this evening, when this story about Occupy Portland explained the historical significance of this day. Now we've got it.
| Posted at 7:29 PM | Permalink |
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Comments (3)
Guess you haven't seen "V for Vendetta" then? Pretty cool flick IMHO. That's when the Guy Fawkes masks first became so popular among some activists.
Posted by Ex-bartender | November 6, 2011 1:21 AM
My great-grandparents left England for Canada because they got sick of (at that time) 300 years of institutionalized brutality against British Catholics because of Guy Fawkes and the rest of the Gunpowder Plot. My family wasn't anywhere near London during Gunpowder Treason, but every November 5, the house got vandalized and any Catholic outside in London at night was lucky not to get the crap beaten out of him. I try to explain to well-meaning American friends that wishing a "happy Guy Fawkes Day" to a British Catholic isn't quite as offensive as wishing a "happy Krystallnacht" to a German Jew, but it's close.
Posted by Texas Triffid Ranch | November 7, 2011 6:08 AM
Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder, treason and plot,
I know of no reason
Why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, ’twas his intent
To blow up the King and Parliament.
Three score barrels of powder below,
Poor old England to overthrow;
By God’s providece he was catch’d
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, make the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
Hip hip hoorah!
A penny loaf to feed the Pope.
A farthing o’ cheese to choke him.
A pint of beer to rinse it down.
A faggot of sticks to burn him.
Burn him in a tub of tar.
Burn him like a blazing star.
Burn his body from his head.
Then we’ll say ol’ Pope is dead.
Hip hip hoorah!
Hip hip hoorah hoorah!
Posted by Emilym | November 7, 2011 9:53 AM