Bonfire Night

I was pretty convinced I’d done at least one post about this quaint British custom, originally held on 5th November to celebrate the failure of Guy Fawkes and his cronies to blow up the houses of lords in 1605. These Catholic plotters had intended to assassinate Protestant King James I and his parliament. But several searches on different keywords suggested not.

Early childhood memories of this included being allowed to hold a sparkler and make patterns which magically stayed in the air for split-seconds after you’d moved the fizzling wand. Even though we lived above a newsagent with a tiny backyard, we’d always have a small bonfire (handy for burning all the excess cardboard in the storeroom), and Mum would always finish off the baked spuds in the fire after cooking in the oven first. There’d always be sausages and my personal favourite, baked onions, which always caramelised into yummy sweetness.

When the flames reached the effigy of Guy Fawkes, made from old clothes stuffed with crumpled up newspaper, we would chant the rhyme:
Remember, remember!
The fifth of November,
The Gunpowder treason and plot;
I know of no reason
Why the Gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot!
There’s way more than that, but most people stop there.

As Dad lit each firework, we’d have to stand well back – maybe as much as six feet (it was a small yard), but nothing like as far as the safety-conscious public displays these days. There was always at least one Catherine Wheel, a bunch of rockets in weighted bottles and my favourite, the Roman Candle with it’s gentle display of shooting stars. I was never as keen on the loud, bangy-crashy ones.

Fast forward 30 years to when out kids were old enough to hold sparklers, that was pretty much all we’d buy. It was all about the public displays – for several years we’d spend the day at West Midlands Safari Park – always the last day of the season.