In decline since the late 90's F.I.P.S.O.C. remains a distant memory, a folk tale told by those who try to convince others that they were once part of this extra-ordinary society where new levels of conciousness were discovered, examined and then used a fuel for the kindling of said be-robed fruit.
The ancient ceremonies, researched in inadequate depth by the glorious founder, were held around the times of the ancient festivals, Christmas, St. Valentines, Anyoldtime and when Mr Fortesque-Smythe was boored. Few aspects of these rituals have been preserved although the ancient chant of the song 'Fever' to the accompaniment of Mr Fortesque-Smythe's ancient guitar (Now preserved in the museum) was recorded.
As in any ancient order FIPSOC was enshrouded in mystery, the members were rarely informed of a moot until the day before the ceremony. Members were issued with identification to prevent the unknowing approaching the fire (and putting it out). As this secret society is now defunt permission has been obtained to replicate one of the said cards.
Traditionally the fruit were dressed using flamable materials such as crepe paper, cotton wool (for hair an the like) and features provided by the means of marker pens. They would then be placed within the sacred container (a cardboard box) and taken to a site beside the lake where the ceremony would begin. After long research the 'Great Lovers of History' festival has been painfully recreated:
Much low conversation from the assembled crowd, the Master of the Paraffin approaches and carefully annoints the fruit and sacred container.
At this point Fortesque-Smythe approaches with the matches and after many comical failed attempts manages to ignite the fruit. As the flames rise Mr Fortesque-Smythe tunes his guitar and begins to sing 'Fever'. At this point sporadic and furtive attempts break out amongst the gathered FIPSOC members to pretend that they have nothing to do with the gathering.
Soon however the excitement rises as the fruit starts to scream and writhe. As the event closes, the flames die away and all that is left is the ceremonial snuffing of the pyre, Mr Fortesque-Smythe leaps on the fire, snuffing it and spraying cooked fuit on the crowd. He then hops around in pain as the soles of his shoes were relatively thin!
Another night of fruit burning over the crowd slowly breaks up leaving the main core to assemble in Mr Fortesque-Smythes abode for Tea and Cakes.
|
This page has been visited
|
This article is solely for the information of others and the author accepts no responsiblity for anything which occurs due to reading it.
(C)2001 The Fortesquean Times