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British Rockets By Deborah Gale “The term Michaelmas is a scary term. It conjures up images of Christmas before it should be legal.” The end of summer always leaves me annoyed, coming as it usually does, bang on time. This year has been even more difficult, following our record breaking, global warmed summer. It is November and I still have remnants of my first ever acquired in England tan. This does not include the year when I managed to extract all of the available pigment from my then flawless dermis with a lethal combination of baby oil and iodine.....ahhh, youth. But that was then and despite the current climactic time warp, this is now. Fall also caught me by surprise because the day I felt like I had geared down and fully accepted the lazy, hazy, crazy days which didn't start before dawn, the alarm went off. The first day of the Michaelmas term and school year 2001-2002 was underway. I think the very mention of Michaelmas is a scary term. It conjures up images of Christmas before it should be legal. Long before necessary we are reminded of the shorter days, the colder nights, the clocks changing, Halloween, Bonfire Night, Thanksgiving and before you know it, CHRISTMAS!.... But back to that first day of school. A disturbing peacefulness descended upon the house. For the first time in ten years, all five kids were dropped off at the same time at the same school. I didn't have to start pick ups until late afternoon and this part is the best, I didn't even have to make lunches. By the time half term rolled around, I was getting used to the morning quiet and then it hit me. Why was I still wearing tee shirts? The sun was shining, it was warm and I had to go outside and check what side the steering wheel was on before I realized we weren't back in California. Here on the island, autumn has been thoroughly stunning. As each slightly cooler, but still clear day gives way to the next, I join the deliriously happy but still slightly suspicious locals in raving about sun on leaves and the azure blue sky above. These are rare sightings in these parts. English autumn is typically a nondescript, foggy precursor to the endless rain which inevitably follows. Not so this year. For most of October I had to pinch myself to believe it was really happening, Now that November is upon us and it is still nice outside I have begun to pinch complete strangers. We took the kids out trick or treating in a predominantly expat ghetto on a clear, almost warm Halloween night. There were far fewer pumpkins and porch lights lit but weatherwise we could have been in Silicon Valley. And while they are making a valiant effort to make Halloween a bigger deal here, all the clever merchandising in the world won't make this possible. This is due to Bonfire Night, Bonfire Night doesn't sound like much but believe you me, it has lots going for it and not solely due to that catchy ditty "...remember, remember the 5th of November....". Yes, you read it here first but, Bonfire Night will never take a backseat to Halloween because it has FIREWORKS. What started out as a one evening event celebrating Guy Fawkes foiled attempt to blow up the Houses Of Parliament has turned into several weeks of incessantly, louder and louder fireworks and reasons for parties. The fireworks start a week before the big day and continue through mid-November. The UK's answer to Halloween now rivals the 4th of July, which come to think of it, just might be part of the appeal. I think that fireworks must be legal in this country. Giant billboards announce their existence and they are everywhere. I have seen grown men compare rockets at family gatherings procured from local garden centers. I know things have gotten bigger and better stateside but I still remember when legal fireworks were snakes and sparklers. My father used to have a "connection" across the border in Canada where we used to get bottle rockets and whistling Jupiters. They were nothing compared to what I hope was the finale to this years bonfire night celebrations last night. I like mulled wine as much as the next person but two weeks on and with Beaujolais Nouveau nearing release, this is getting ridiculous. Coming home last night I noticed the five pumpkins which I planned to carve for Halloween weeks ago were still uncut. I had a rush of enthusiasm and decided to follow the example of our domestic paragon Martha Stewart. I remembered seeing her in action once and decided to carve, roast and freeze my pumpkin innards so that I could feel virtuous when I made my pies from scratch for Thanksgiving. Just before I got carried away I remembered that like the 4th of July, Thanksgiving is just another day here. And even though I know that we Americans are serious about standing shoulder to shoulder with the UK and are delighted with our special arrangement, the Brits really don't like to be reminded of how well we got on with things in the New World. I figure if I feel guilty nearer turkey day I can take out a loan and buy a few cans of Libby's pumpkin at Waitrose, though it might be cheaper to take the Concorde and pick up some fresh pies in NYC. Under the circumstances I wouldn't mind lending my small hand to the airline industry and to NYC...... Here's to a brighter world for everyone in 2002. About the author: Deborah S. Gale is a Pennsylvania native, loving mother of five daughters aged four to nine including two sets of twins. Married to a classically cynical, witty Brit with whom she enjoyed DINKY status briefly. She hasn’t held a full time bill paying or spa treatment-covering job since the children and spent most of the '90's as an expat. wife and mother in Paris and London. After 23 years of calling Silicon Valley home, she bid adieu to the South Bay in December 2000 when she made a permanent move back to the UK. This article is re-printed with kind permission from the American in Britain magazine for which Deborah writes a regular column.

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