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Nov. 4th, 2005 09:41 pmI've bought myself some sparklers!
When I was a lass, in the 1970's, we built a huge neighbourhood bonfire on the waste ground behind our houses. We always had a den in it, much to the anxiety of our families, who would warn us about it catching on fire and killing us all. We would scour the neighbourhood for wood and people would bring out doors and scraps of wood for us.
The kids on the other side of the railway were 'the enemy'. We's say that they lived 'over Cally' and they were dead common. They also built a bonfire; we could see from ours. Each year there was a quite comptition to build the biggest bonfire, we would post guards to stop them nicking our wood, selective guard, just in after school hours. And one year, I was sat in the front room watching 'Sunday Night at the London Palladium' when we saw the tell tale glow over the houses opposite ours, the little buggers had torched ours early.
The local sweet shop would take the sweets out from under the counter and replace them with brightly coloured individual fireworks and where the boxes of Dairy Milk and Black Magic usualy sat on the shelves behind, there would be boxes of mixed fireworks.
On Bonfire Night, we would light the fire and our Dads would get out the boxes of Standard Fireworks, one box per family, they were expensive and we would set them off one box at a time so we could all watch each others.
Silver fountains which crackled and spat, Catherine wheels pinned to the fence which never spun properly, volcano's spewing slowly, ric-racks which jumped about and sparklers you could hold in your hand, they were a kind of magic. Mums and Grans would hand out treacle toffee and parkin and the air would be hazy with the black powder and smoke.
The next day we kids would try to bake potatoes in the embers of the great fire, they would char on the outside and be raw in the middle but we ate them anyway. We would hunt for spent rockets and fireworks to throw on the embers to make a few extra bangs.
I miss my Dad and simple communal Bonfire Nights.
When I was a lass, in the 1970's, we built a huge neighbourhood bonfire on the waste ground behind our houses. We always had a den in it, much to the anxiety of our families, who would warn us about it catching on fire and killing us all. We would scour the neighbourhood for wood and people would bring out doors and scraps of wood for us.
The kids on the other side of the railway were 'the enemy'. We's say that they lived 'over Cally' and they were dead common. They also built a bonfire; we could see from ours. Each year there was a quite comptition to build the biggest bonfire, we would post guards to stop them nicking our wood, selective guard, just in after school hours. And one year, I was sat in the front room watching 'Sunday Night at the London Palladium' when we saw the tell tale glow over the houses opposite ours, the little buggers had torched ours early.
The local sweet shop would take the sweets out from under the counter and replace them with brightly coloured individual fireworks and where the boxes of Dairy Milk and Black Magic usualy sat on the shelves behind, there would be boxes of mixed fireworks.
On Bonfire Night, we would light the fire and our Dads would get out the boxes of Standard Fireworks, one box per family, they were expensive and we would set them off one box at a time so we could all watch each others.
Silver fountains which crackled and spat, Catherine wheels pinned to the fence which never spun properly, volcano's spewing slowly, ric-racks which jumped about and sparklers you could hold in your hand, they were a kind of magic. Mums and Grans would hand out treacle toffee and parkin and the air would be hazy with the black powder and smoke.
The next day we kids would try to bake potatoes in the embers of the great fire, they would char on the outside and be raw in the middle but we ate them anyway. We would hunt for spent rockets and fireworks to throw on the embers to make a few extra bangs.
I miss my Dad and simple communal Bonfire Nights.
