November is a month thick with memory. I’ve been thinking about remembrance, powder kegs, and how quickly things can ignite. As a teenager I worked in a fireworks factory. I handled explosives every day. I never liked bangs, but I loved the science, the fleeting beauty, the choreography of light, the smoke that lingers long after the spark is spent. The moment passes; the memory stays.
Every year we remember Guy Fawkes, though he wasn’t acting alone. The whole plot was bigger, messier, born of people who felt cornered. Trying to blow up Parliament was hardly a noble response, but desperate people do desperate things. And with the rise of the far right, that truth feels uncomfortably close.
As a teenager I found the risk thrilling to work in a tiny blast-proof box designed to blow outward if something went wrong, protecting everyone else. I cut fuses with scissors that could make sparks. Then, danger felt containable. Now I’m wiser, and far more aware of the cost when it isn’t.
This month of remembrance invites us to pause for all who have gone before us paving the way: saints and heroes, matriarchs, mentors, family, and friends. We honour their lives, lament the bloodshed, and pray again for peace. We look back not to stay there, but to learn, to repair what we can, build on what is good, and choose a better way. To let love be our path. To value difference as strength. To keep moving forward, together, while keeping alert to the sparks we make and the powder kegs we pass. |