November 5th --- Bonfire Night! Guy Fawkes, and all that. What a time it was when I was a boy! For weeks before the event our little gang would gather wood for the fire, begging and borrowing it from local shopkeepers and gleaning the local area far afield, all in order to ensure that our bonfire would be the biggest around.
Of course, in addition to all of the combustible material that we could collect and store, we also went on forays into 'enemy territory' to try and relocate material from other bonfires and establish it as our own. This was quite a dangerous operation, as there would usually be someone either directly on guard or else watching from a safe distance, ready to identify the culprits to his fellow bonfire-builders. If you were caught on a raid the result would usually be that your own bonfire would be decimated before you knew it, and so this kept the forays into enemy territory down to a minimum.
Of course, everyone hoped that it would be dry on the night, and it often was --- at least as far as my memory serves me. When I was a boy it got dark about five o'clock, and once darkness had settled the excitement of the coming celebration was tangible in the air, like the static buzz around a pylon on a summer day. The collection of fireworks had been counted and admired over and over, each one with the conviction that it would provide more gasps of wonder than ever before. One of the 'grown-ups' had carefully checked the base of the bonfire to ensure that there were no hedgehogs hibernating there amongst the leaves and twigs, and a supply of dry newspaper was ready to be taken out when it was time to light the fire.
The aim was to light the fire at six-thirty, but we usually persuaded the adults who lit ours to perform the task closer to six o'clock. Looking back, I guess that it was easier to do that than have a gang of children whining and complaining!
The crumpled sheets of newspaper were thrust into various places around the base and also a couple of feet up in the fire, and then came the magical moment when a flaming torch would be lit then thrust into the fire to ignite the paper. When the run-up to November 5th had been rain-free, and the bonfire material was tinder-dry, it was a matter of seconds before the dark looming pile became a burning pyre to the collection of old clothes, stuffed with straw and newspaper and with a cardboard mask, all of which passed as our 'Guy Fawkes.' For several days before several of us small boys had carted the guy around the streets, begging 'Penny-for-the guy' from friendly strangers, the resultant collection being used to purchase a few more fireworks.
It was a very special time as we gathered around the fire, our cheeks turning red in the cold night air as the flames soared upwards into the night sky, lighting up the trees at the far end of the paddock where we had built the fire. The air was filled with tiny sparks as the wood crackled and popped under the fiery onslaught of the flames. We watched as items of broken furniture were engulfed in flame, their outline remaining for a while until, with a final shudder, they fell apart as nothing more than ash, taking with them the memories of folk who had once treasured them as prize possessions.
My mother had given us potatoes to place in the hot ash around the edge of the fire, and we watched them turn black as they were cooked though, before carefully rolling them out onto the surrounding grass with a stout stick, allowing the potatoes to cool down a little before breaking them open and eating them. As you ate them so a ring of charcoal would often form on your mouth as the burnt skins marked your face.
Soon the main thrust of the fire had died down, leaving a pile of ash that was white hot in the centre, gradually becoming grey at the outer edges. It would still be hot the following morning, provided that the rain had held off throughout the night, and so it became a source of pleasure for many a small boy the following morning to try and poke a few sticks into the ash and bring it all to life once more.
We had watched the fireworks, lit by the appointed adult, and we had 'Oohed! and Aahed!' as the colour sparks of fire exploded from fireworks with names like 'Mount Vesuvius' or 'Roman Candle', and we had watched the rockets soaring into the night sky until they went from our sight, only to reappear in a trail of coloured sparks. We had been allowed to hold sparklers and duly waved them in circles to create rings of light. The fire had been, as it always was, the most amazing feature of all.
What a magical time it all was! What memories we would all keep as we looked forward to repeating it the following year. Even today, almost sixty years hence, I still recall the thrill of those bonfire nights.
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