REMEMBER, REMEMBER

Chapter Three

Continuing on their walk, the couple came to a halt as they paused before a roaring bonfire that seemed to reach almost as high as the heavens themselves. Watching the flames lick the sky, Margaret whispered in her husband's ear, 'John, I am so proud of you. This night is truly magnificent, and I applaud your ingenuity, imagination and kindness. I really am so hopelessly in love with you, Mr Thornton,' she championed, caressing his gloved fingers with her own.

Margaret simpered as she realised that his black, leather gloves were the very same ones that he had left at her Crampton house all those years ago, after he had proposed, and she had refused his offer of marriage. How long ago it all seemed now, almost like another lifetime.

'I love you more,' he breathed, capturing her with one of his brooding smoulders. 'Darling, I hope you are not offended that I did not tell you about all this. Your advice would have been invaluable, but, well, I just wanted to give you something special and to make you proud, for I worship you more than I can say.'

But as they stood gazing into each other's eyes, lost in the sea of their love, they were rudely interrupted by the evidence of their passion, their children.

'Ohh! Look at the Guy!' Richard yelled eagerly, stabbing his finger into the air towards the straw man who sat perched atop the inferno. The children all oohed and awed as they stared at the blaze, their faces no longer cold from the nippy November wind, but aglow with the heat of the fire.

'Aye, it is a rare sight,' their grandmother allowed. 'I hope you have all thanked your Father for putting on this event for you all,' she included, never missing an opportunity to pay tribute to her son.

'Thank you, Papa!' they all chorused, whirling around to embrace him. As John stared at their adoring faces, his heart was filled with love and he knew that the congratulatory comments and cheers of the rest of the county meant nothing to him, not when he was so warmly recompensed by the appreciation and admiration of his lovely children.

'You're welcome,' he chuckled. 'But mind, this night is not all about fun and games, is it? No, it is about remembering something profoundly grave that almost happened many years ago.'

'Aye,' Daniel jeered. 'Some rascal tried to blow up wir king!' he booed. The boys then pretended to engage in a sword fight and Nikko watched them wide-eyed, enthused by their melodramatic battle. The twins commenced to link arms and skip in a circle chanting:

"Remember, remember the fifth of November,

Gunpowder treason and plot.

We see no reason

Why gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot!

Guy Fawkes, guy, t'was his intent

To blow up king and parliament.

Three score barrels were laid below

To prove old England's overthrow.

By God's mercy he was catch'd

With a darkened lantern and burning match.

So, holler boys, holler boys, Let the bells ring.

Holler boys, holler boys, God save the King.

And what shall we do with him?

Burn him!"

'Oh, no boys,' Margaret corrected. 'It is about more than that,' she continued. 'It is about remembering that it is wrong to terrorise people and to force our own beliefs or expectations upon them. People must be free to live their lives in the way they see fit, as long as they are not harming anybody. People should be at liberty to worship or not worship in the way they choose and should not be met by hostility, violence, or persecution,' she taught.

Hannah rolled her eyes. She should not have been surprised that Margaret had managed to turn this into one of her lectures, one of her moral crusades for egalitarianism. Nevertheless, she could not help but approve of her daughter-in-law's speech, no matter how radical or idealistic she may have deemed it. For all her past reservations, Hannah had to admit that after all these years, she had come to love Margaret like a daughter, considering her a true friend. There was now no question in her maternal mind that this young lass who had blown into the Thornton's lives like a storm, had in fact proven to be a breath of fresh air, and by some inexplicable means, this slip of a girl with a heart of gold had managed to make John happier than his mother had ever dared dream he could be.

'Precisely!' John chimed in. 'Now, who can tell me, when did Guy Fawkes try to blow up Parliament?' he queried, never forgoing an opportunity to test his children's knowledge.

'On this night in 1605,' Maria crooned, more than ready to prove her intelligence.

'And when was the Catholic Emancipation Act, then?' he affixed.

'1829!' Maria responded with satisfaction, as she turned to the boys and stuck out her tongue, before flicking her chestnut curls behind her shoulder.

'That's correct!' John clapped. 'So, your Mother is right, it does not matter if we are Protestants, Catholics, Jews, white, black, English, Scottish, Irish, Welsh, man, or woman, none of these things should matter, and we should each have the right to freedom and self-progression,' he preached, his face firm with the gravity of his words. 'After all, that is the Milton way.'

However, there would be no more sermonising, for at that moment, a commanding, booming voice could be heard, and a man announced the beginning of the fireworks. The crowd all applauded and began to push forward like a herd of cattle towards the appointed place. It was a few minutes later that the first explosive was ignited, and the Milton skyline was soon lit-up with a spectacular show of bursting colours. People gawked upwards in hushed amazement as one after one, the firecrackers and pinwheels were released, scattering a spiralling of sparkling light across an inky backdrop.

It was then that Maria softly began to recite:

'Strike the match and the fizzle starts to catch.

Soaring high, then-BANG-shimmering smoulders die.

Spin, twirl, snake and swirl.

Fragmented light, sprinkled onto a twinkling night.

Delicate glitter droplets separate and then hallucinate.

It's a daze, as the climbing blasts do blaze.

Painted patterns, bursting with attack, shrivel, then elapse and don't look back.

Bright sparks come and bright sparks go.

But wait! But No!…

Swoosh, smack, the colours are back.

Red, green, blue, then black.

Sparkling twinkles, fading scars.

All that's left is the mist and the stars.'

'That was very clever, Mara-Moo,' Margaret hailed. 'Where did you learn that?' she asked.

'I did not learn it, Mama,' Maria responded. 'I made it up.'

John laughed, admiring his daughter's wit. 'When?'

'Just now.'

Margaret and John exchanged a look which silently expressed just how proud they were of their little ones, each one as enchanting as the next, and each as bright and dazzling as the fireworks around them.

It was a short while later that John ensured that his children were well-tended, then quietly and covertly lured Margaret away from the throng, leading her to a secluded spot at the back of the gathering.

'John?' she questioned, 'Where are we going?'

Then, turning her around, he pointed her back towards the display and scandalously stood right behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

'Happy Anniversary, darling,' he mouthed into her ear, his breath tickling her sensitive skin.

Margaret startled and looked up at him. 'Anniversary? What are you talking about, John? It is not our anniversary.'

John just smiled back, a sly, impish grin, one which belongs to a man who still holds fast to a secret.

'No, it is our tenth anniversary,' he explained.

'John!' she admonished. 'Dearest, we got married in March,' she clarified, baffled as to how or why he could forget such a momentous date. 'Besides, we have been married eight years, not ten. It will be nine in four months, you silly boy,' she mocked, spinning back to face the show.

John's grip tightened around her, and he yanked her even closer, his nose nuzzling her hair and neck. Margaret should have been shocked, she should have insisted that he stop, but for the life of her, she could not, instead sinking further into his strong and secure embrace.

Leaning nearer, John whispered in his deep and rich burr, 'It is ten years since the day we met. I met you on the fifth of November, 1849,' he declared. 'This, Meg, my wife, my friend, my lover, my darling girl, this is all for you.'

Margaret gasped as the realisation hit her, and she felt her knees wobble as he placed a featherlight kiss on her cheek.

Then, almost with his tongue inside her ear, he breathed: 'Remember, Remember, the fifth of November, the day Margaret Hale changed my life forever.'

The End

Notes:

As we know, the Victorians did celebrate Guy Fawkes night and had fireworks and bonfires, although, they naturally didn't quite do it like we do. In fact, it was common for people to fire off guns in all directions (while three sheets to the wind), when they could not obtain or afford fireworks, which thankfully, is not common practice now…I hope. And also, the remember, remember rhyme was around at that time. Sure, maybe the idea of John putting on a firework display for the town is a bit farfetched, but hey, it felt nice to write. Again, I've also probably fudged the dates a bit here, assuming they met in November, and he proposed about a year later, it's all probably very incorrect, but again, let's just rock with it.

This little fact may be of interest to some of you:
"The Observance of 5th November Act 1605, also known as the Thanksgiving Act, was an Act of the Parliament of England passed in 1606 in the aftermath of the Gunpowder Plot. The originating Bill…called for a public, annual thanksgiving for the failure of the plot. The Act was repealed in 1859."