This essay was written as part of my Folklore degree. The goal was to attend an event with cultural or folkloric significance, and observe.
Every year the Winchester Round Table organises a candlelit walk through the city, followed by a massive bonfire and fireworks display. The event has been run for 65 years by volunteers. Whilst one can take part in the parade and watch the fireworks from a distance for free, a £10 ticket is required to enter the field where the bonfire is held. An estimated 20,000 people attend the event every year.
Due to a combination of the roads being closed to support the candlelit walk and the large numbers of people descending upon Winchester, my friends and I decided that we would take the train. The platform headed towards Winchester is full of people wearing warm weather gear; long winter coats, colourful scarves, and hats with large bobbles.
We sit in a block of seats with a stranger. He’s dressed very nicely, and has a bottle of wine in his satchel bag. He rolls and rerolls his cigarette, tapping it on his watch to mark its completion. When the train stops, he jumps up and nervously asks if this is Winchester. We tell him that it’s the next stop, and he sits down. I assumed that he was headed to Winchester for a date due to his nerves, but he tells us that he’s headed to visit his cousin. He asks if we know much about the bonfire night, as his cousin has told him that they would both be attending the event.
This question prompted us to realise that we don’t in fact know why the event runs as it does. Based on the proximity to the 5th of November and the bonfire it can be tied to Bonfire Night, but why the candlelit procession? We land on the decision that it’s probably held that was because it’s always been held that way. A person across the aisle interjects to agree.
The train arrives at Winchester, and we say goodbye to our new friends. We don’t know where exactly the event is taking place, and we don’t need to- A stream of people is walking from the train station towards the center of the city. As we walk under the unlit Christmas lights spelling out Winchester, we wonder if they couldn’t have turned them on a little early for the occasion.
Stalls selling a range of flashing plastic toys are strategically located along the route. Families with small children can be seen queuing. A flashing light stick could be purchased for just £3, but buying a candle for the procession later turned out to cost £5. That said, the proceeds from the candles would go towards charity which likely could not be said for the flashing plastic sticks. As we pass a stall selling lightsabers, a group of younger people comment that they are not lore-accurate.
This unofficial procession towards the meeting point cuts across a large swathe of society. The event appears to cross the boundaries of age, race, and gender. Numerous people are attending in wheelchairs. The only commonality is companionship. We witness families, groups of friends, couples. Nobody seems to walk alone.
Finally we reach the heart of the event. Numerous people in high-vis jackets are selling candles from shopping trolleys, wearing contactless payment terminals around their necks. A group of three young women have climbed onto a concrete block and are singing in unison: “One for £5, two for £10, all for charity”. We purchase our candles, and take part in what appears to be the obligatory ritual of taking a photo of your new candle. We opt not to light them yet.
We spot signs pointing towards the wristband pick-up point and head through the crowd. In addition to the event-specific vendors we also see poppy sellers, generic food market stalls, and groups of Saint John’s Ambulance volunteers dotted around. My friends ponder how many burn injuries they’ll have to deal with.
As we press deeper into the throngs of waiting people we hear the beat of drums. A local band is performing outside of the city hall. We squeeze past the watching crowds and collect our wristbands. There was no separate queue, so we have to guess as to where it starts. My friends joke that we had probably accidentally pushed into the queue.
Wristbands collected, it’s time to join the procession. We’re so far back we can scarcely hear the drums over all the conversations. Ahead we can see a firetruck in the middle of the crowd. The air fills with smoke as people light their candles. We light ours off the candles of a neighbouring group. Nobody is using a lighter, everyone is sharing their fire with each other. Someone makes a Prometheus joke.
As the procession begins to move, phone cameras are being held high to record the crowd. Children are placed on shoulders to get the best view. People are laughing and chatting as we walk. The crowd packs in closely, and I overheard several comments from people hoping that they don’t get burnt. I can feel the heat of neighbouring candles, and regret wearing so many layers of clothing. We walk through the highstreets of Winchester. Families are eating their dinners in restaurants along the route, their children with hands pressed up to the glass watching. People watch from the windows of flats above shops.
The procession to the field takes about 45 minutes. Due to the slight wind our candles occasionally go out, but we are able to relight them from other candles. The further we walk, the greater the number of discarded torches we spot. Several bins are sporting small bonfires on top. At least people are using the cigarette trays on the bins, I suppose. My friend comments that they want their candle to go out already so they can stop carrying it.
At one point we are halted as we go through a choke point. The child behind attacks my legs with their plastic lightsaber, the parent looks on mildly with beer in hand. Other parents are arguing about being too tired to keep the kids on their shoulders. The batteries on the light sticks are already going out, and kids seem to be losing interest in it all.
As the crowd churns, we are constantly surrounded by differing people. We overhear many people trying to direct friends to their locations via phonecalls. At one point I spot a colleague, but we quickly lose eachother again in the crowds. Despite the chaos, people do seem to be trying to keep an eye out for each other; a person grabs my bag out of the way when an elderly woman nearly thrusts her candle into it. Even late into the procession I overhear new friends introducing themselves.
During the walk, someone spots me taking notes. They walk in step with me and attempted to read my notebook. I explain to them that I am a student taking notes for an assignment. They seem somehow disappointed by this explanation and fall away again. I’m not the only person documenting the night. We see groups of younger people, potentially students, brandishing large film cameras and microphones making a report.
Eventually we see spotlights in the distance: we have reached the bonfire field. Event staff check wristbands at the entrance. Once inside, we see the same food stalls as we’d spotted earlier in the evening. The queues are huge, in some places 80 people deep. We decide that perhaps we aren’t hungry after all.
The field is swarming with thousands of people. We are unable to get anywhere near the bonfire due to the crowds. Pop music blasts from unseen speakers. Most people stand unmoving, but a single child is on the ground doing the worm to a Dua Lipa song. The song changes, one with a heavy beat and a voice which commands people to jump. They do not. We spot parents with their arms around their embarrassed looking teenagers, miming dancing by moving their arms.
Before the bonfire is lit, the city mayor is introduced over the speakers and is asked to give a speech. He does not seem to have prepared one as he stumbles his way through it, even getting the name of the charity wrong. People appear to be paying little attention. They came for the fireworks, not the mayor. Finally, the countdown begins. A rocket is used to light the bonfire, and flames slowly creep up it as the crowd cheers. A short while after, the fireworks begin.
My friends and I were perhaps not the best candidates for a fireworks show. I have come back from volunteering in Ukraine and am sensitive to explosions. One friend is an ex-soldier and is similarly sensitive. Another was caught up in a shooting in America. As the fireworks begin, myself and the ex-soldier discuss how they sound more like gunfire than explosions; she comments that she has to fight the urge to shout “contact!” The American friend is clearly uncomfortable with the noise despite their earplugs. We had previously agreed that we would leave if one of us found it too overwhelming. As the blasts become closer together, we agree to leave.
This turned out to have been a beneficial move- it meant that we were ahead of the crowds in getting back to the train station, and were able to easily get seats for our trip home.