Bonfire Night at Carstone

Bonfires. In general I am in favour of them. Traditionally they have been an essential part of sundry British celebrations. A new monarch? Light a bonfire. A plot is foiled? Light a bonfire. A glorious victory in battle overseas? Light a bonfire. This year, however, I spent most of Bonfire Night cradling a shaking dog in my arms. Sir Geoffrey's favourite border terrier (Bailey by name) took exception to the fireworks exploding in the night sky and expressed his disaffection by shaking uncontrollably. I am a stern butler. Some (but not many) say 'intimidating.' I can make a stillroom maid quail with merely a glance, but I have a terribly soft spot for dogs. Poor Bailey did not like the fireworks.

King James I survived in 1605 and most in this realm rejoiced. I cannot help thinking that most pets in the land have cursed that day of deliverance ever since.