bonfire night

Bonfire night was the culmination of great excitement that had started weeks before the 5th November. Health and Safety wasn’t the national disease it’s become nowadays and children could buy fireworks without their parents’ presence. There were few organised bonfires in the fifties and sixties but most streets had at least one, organised by the local kids. Fireworks appeared in the corner shops – the newsagents and general stores, two or three weeks previous. We spent all our pocket money on them, which were sold separately, for a few (old) pennies. They were displayed in glass sweetie jars and we pondered for minutes over which to buy. Some of the names I remember were: golden rain and silver rain, volcanoes, jumping jacks, snowstorm, Catherine wheels, and the bangers were penny and two-penny canons and little demons.

Boys bought dozens of bangers to light before bonfire night. We were often reckless but nobody wanted to get burnt. I don’t remember anyone getting hurt. We used to stick a banger in the soil, light it and put an empty baked bean tin over it and watch it launch into the air. We put them in milk bottles and threw them in the river to get a satisfying deep thump sound and a puff of smoke from the water. Not very popular with anglers!

The main activity was building the bonfire, which was normally on our vegetable garden. We called on neighbours asking if they had any old wood or furniture and usually collected a big pile. Often there was an old armchair or settee, which we made good use of before it was burnt. There was no plastic foam in furniture, so no toxic fumes to worry about. Dad usually started the building of it by lashing branches together to form a wigwam shape. The centre was filled with smaller stuff. There was competition amongst kids over the size of their bonfires. Raiding from rivals was a threat and had to be guarded against. It doubled as a den to play in before ‘the night’.

Sometimes we made a guy with the help of mum and we took it around the neighbourhood, asking if anyone had ‘a penny for the guy.’ The money bought more fireworks. Mum made toffee and parkin nearer the day. Family and close neighbours would be joining us for the fun.

When November the 5th came, we couldn’t wait to get home from school. We stuffed the bonfire with old newspapers and cardboard and dad soaked it in paraffin. All the fireworks were pooled together, ready for the adults to light. We’d be running around the houses with our torches, passing time until everyone arrived and watching the sky for signs of the first lighted bonfires. Before long the sky was glowing and filled with smoke and rockets. The fire was lit and we delighted at the crackling and spitting as it intensified. The heat could be felt many yards away and the damp soil around it steamed. After a while the fireworks were lit and we took it in turns to pick one out of the box, seeking out our own special favourites. Drinks and food soon followed: toffee, jacket potatoes, parkin, pop for the kids, cups of tea for the ladies and sometimes a bottle of beer for the men.

When all the fireworks had gone and the fire died down, we gathered around, poking at it with sticks, trying to light the ends so we could wave them around making glowing patterns in the air. We’d search around desperately to find a firework that hadn’t been lit, just to keep the excitement going. Sometimes we tried to bake potatoes in the embers. I remember the taste of spuds that were almost burnt to a cinder.

The following day we rushed home after school and went straight to the old fire. Often it was still glowing underneath the pile of ash. We poked it, blew on it and gathered any small pieces of wood we could find to revive it. We looked around for the spent firework cases that still littered the area. Throwing them on the glowing embers often caused a small fizz or sputter. It was an incredibly exciting time, almost as good as birthdays and Christmas.