Now, for the septics reading this 'Bonfire night' is a celebration of a terrorist attack that very nearly took place at the Houses of Parliament (which is a bit like your House of Representatives, but with more gold leaf, better speeches and a bigger clock). Unlike your elected officials, ours chose to listen to the intelligence and found Guy Fawkes (a white guy, we didn't even have the benefit of looking for someone 'olive skinned', although.... he did have a beard. Hmmmm), with several barrels of gunpowder and a box of Swan Vestas in the cellars of Parliament. Naturally, being good stiff upper lipped English men, Guy's captors tortured him until he gave up the names of his fellow insurgents and then hung, drew and quartered him.... Which essentially means, he was hung by the neck in the normal way, then pulled apart by some horses and some rope and then buried in four bloody lumps in four different parishes, which meant that he would be unable to enter heaven, even if he had prayed for redemption with his last (very painful, metallic tasting) breath. We choose to remember this act by teaching little children a rhyme:
Remember, remember,
The fifth of November,
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason,
Why gunpowder 'n' treason,
Should ever be forgot.
So we don't forget this treason, every year on the 5th November it is traditional to make a big bonfire, put an effigy of Guy Fawkes on it and set fire to the lot. Then we have fireworks. It's a bit like the 4th of July in Tennessee or East Texas, but with burning effigies instead of burning crosses.
To the non-Brit, and indeed to some Brits, this is all a little weird. However, it's all good fun and apart from the odd calamity with a hot sparkler, or stupidity from kids who fake their ID to be able to buy fireworks and then empty them into a friends upturned palm and then light them (I did this to David Jarvis and my Uncle Bill had to take him to hospital) it's quite harmless.
Slightly more weird is what they do in Ottery St Mary. Essentially, they simply do the whole bonfire thing, but carry it about, while drunk, through very crowded streets of highly excited people who have also been taking drink.
All the pubs in the town 'sponsor' a barrel or two, for children (some as young as 4), youths, ladies and men. For a few months before the 5th Nov, they smear the inside with tar every few days, layer upon layer and then a day or so before, they put some extra tar in to swirl around in liquid form.
Then they wait for the streets to fill. Really fill. There is no room to escape, if you try to run away you run into some people who are trying to run away, and if your try to run further than them there is a wall - either a real wall, or a wall of people pushing towards you to be part of the action.
Here is a youth sized barrel:
Shortly after these relaxed photos, we tried to find a pub that was not stacked to the gunnels with massively drunk Devonshire people, staring madly at Grockels like us. We failed in that regard, but we succeeded in losing Tigger. When we found her again we became involved in the a "Lady's race" where we were nearly all crushed to death at the bottom of a hill and Tigger had to fend of the barrel before it set fire to her person! Here's the footage of the panic....
Almost by sheer weight of people we were forced into the nearest pub where we prepared to see a proper 'Men's Race' which now we'd felt the terror of the herd, seemed like a less scary prospect. How wrong we were. How wrong.
A barrel carrying man:
And us: 
And then they light a Man's Barrel:
And then someone picks it up and runs at us with it: 
This is a big barrel. It's a very scary thing as you trip on the broken glass that is EVERYWHERE because people have been drinking and running, like startled buffalo ALL DAY. The place has a stink of death about it, there are ambulances everywhere and if you don't get out the way for the blues and twos (as some people were stupid enough to do) then you get decked by an off duty barrel carrier.
I spoke to one of the chaps who used to do this every year and he said a few interesting things...
"I started when I was about 4 or 5 years old. Mind you, you don't carry it on your shoulders at that age, you just pass it about. It would be too dangerous to carry it" Er. Quite.
"Sometimes you hear people say, 'they can't get me up here' when they have climbed up on the wall of the bank'... it's not true, you just run underneath them when the barrel's got a proper burn on and they come tumbling down into the street... once there were two people up in a tree down thar, me and my mate stood under it, fighting over the barrel and the tree caught fire." Nice.
"You should see the big barrel they do at midnight. There's only two blokes in the whole town big enough to lift it." Good. Nice and dangerous then, since they've both been drinking free ale since about 9AM.
I asked if he still did it... "Nah, I'm too old now" (he looked in his early 40's) "and I got burned a bit and ever since I didn't enjoy it.... plus you have to pay for most of your beer now"
"Were you badly burned?" I enquire, somewhat in awe of this god.
"Not really, just down here" at which point he indicates pretty much his whole right side. "When I woke up in the morning, it hurt so much I went to the hospital"
"Oooh. Quite nasty then?"
"Yes, I was in hospital for a fortnight"
This underlines what a stupid, dangerous and downright foolhardy tradition the Tar Barrels are. I wish I had been born in Ottery St Mary! What a brilliant idea! Let's run round with burning barrels on our backs until we (or members of the public) catch fire!
Actually, although dangerous when the barrel goes by and you're flung to the ground there is like a second sweep of Barrel Men who sweep people up with loads of 'Are you OK love?' and 'Easy fella' which is great.
Sadly it's a dying tradition - popular as it is, it seems that some people are suing if they get burnt or hurt. What did they think was going to happen when they saw the guy carrying a barrel full of burning tar, past a sign that says 'Burning Barrels of Tar are going to come through here and unless you are a six foot brick shit house made of asbestos, you are going to get crushed and burned, possibly badly.', through a street packed with so many people that it's only just possible to breathe.... ? I ask you!
People of a litigious bent should be burned at the stake. On a pile of diesel soaked lawyers.
After the Tar Barrels we went back to Big John's rural lair and watched the fireworks that Tigger and Rolf had purchased from the second best agricultural co-operative society.
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