Burning the Clocks

Festival Location: Brighton, England

Festival Type(s): Solstice Events, Pagan Festivals, Street Parades

Burning the Clocks in Brighton

By: © Sarah Warwick 2009

About a mile down the promenade from Brighton Pier, people congregate and gaze out over the silent beach towards the calm silhouette of a wicker king. They throng in the gathering darkness of the year's longest night, kids and adults jostling and stretching to get the best view. Except for their shuffling and whispering all you can here is the wind, and the slow ominous tattoo of the single drum.

The scene is set for Burning the Clocks, a festival of light and drama put on by Brighton City Council on 21st December each year, which mimics the solstice festivals of pre-Christian worship. Lanterns are carried up the promenade from Brighton out to this lonely spot on the beach and burnt, alongside the giant effigy of a king on his throne.

Despite the fact that the festival isn't a true remnant from the pagan heart of England, it certainly captivates Brighton's residents who visit in droves. A safe distance away from the lonely-looking shoreline king, they swarm the terraced cliff nudging and bustling and saying hello to friends. It seems the whole town has turned out.

The ceremony begins with the approach of yet-more people, carrying home-made lanterns, a motley procession of white shapes bright against the dark sky. Children have clubbed together to make basic circles and square, which they carry with care. Adults share the weight of bigger creations: a lion and a unicorn, dragons, griffins, a phoenix.

Drums mark the approach of the procession down the promenade, as it gradually arrives at the pyre. One by one the people lay their paper gifts at the king's feet. A small girl in a red anorak jumps from foot to foot as she waits. The drums beat on, the sea blows its relentless breeze, freezing noses, fingers, toes. Then, at last, as the four biggest lanterns - dragon, phoenix, lion, unicorn - are moved to flank the king, the crowd turn as one with a shuffle and a sigh, to gaze upon the scene set for destruction.

Fireworks explode red and green fountains behind the creatures, illuminating them against the black sea, just for a second. Then suddenly the paper is burning. We see the sinister outline of the dragon, consumed by fiery breath. The phoenix falls into ashes.

With the hot glare, the crowd is illuminated in its lust for fire. The king catches quickly; and sparks screech out of him as he melts. Flames rise into the sky and everyone cheers the triumph of fire. It's a brutal death for the paper king and soon all that is left is the pyre and the fiery disk that was his halo, burning yellow amid the red flames.

by Sarah Warwick