Before I throw myself into the world of academia, I thought I would procrastinate a little, as is my wont!
I am sitting in my spare bedroom study, armed as usual with a caftiere full of coffee you could pave roads with, phones in case of needed answering and an ark full of animals who don't like the banging of fireworks! I am unashamedly watching a neighbour's fireworks going off and making the appropriate oohs and ahs. BUT, they have NO bonfire...what's all that about?
It's called Bonfire Night, not Fireworks Night isn't it? Where's the bonfires, that's what I want to know?
Memories of childhood often spring to mind at this time of year: Samhain, Bonfire Night and of course Yule. I remember Bonfire Night as a whole evening of fun. Days before the event we spent ages building the fire and stuffing newspapers into old clothes. It was a night of hot cawl, jacket potatoes, popcorn and sticky toffee apples - the fireworks were almost incidental! The whole family would gather around the bonfire, variously arranged on chairs or blankets. There was alcoholic hot punch for adults and a separate punch for the kids - doh! Wrapped up to the nines in vests, t-shirts, thin jumpers then thick jumpers, duffel coats, caps, hoods, gloves and scarves, to the point where we all looked like pygmy Michelin men. We didn't so much fall over as roll, just like Weebles!
The bonfire was always enormous, a positive work of pyromaniac proportions. When it was nice and toastie, out came the Guy effigy with due ceremony. We worked hard on the Guy, all of us and we all threw him on the fire together. Once he was well and truly lit, we began the feasting. Out came the jacket potatoes, lathered in butter and the cawl was ladled onto them. Hot punch was served and dad went off to get the milk rocket bottles. Light blue touchpaper and retire! Catherine Wheels were pinned to posts and Fountains had pride of place on the walls. Dad insisted that the fireworks were set off in an orderly manner and they were all placed at different points around the garden. Then came the huge bowls of popcorn and those sticky toffee apples oh, I almost forgot, we had sticky toffee pears as well. Whilst the grown ups hogged the warmth of the fire, us kids went off exploring in the dark, running ourselves ragged, fighting our way through woodsmoke and the lingering effects of gunpowder, which layered itself around us like a foggy blanket. We fought dragons and monsters that night with garden cane swords. The wizards and witches amongst us broke the canes into respectably sized wands and turned all the grownups into ridiculous things.
More popcorn and sticky stuff later, we were all told to start winding down and sit down. After some more quaffing of alcoholic punch thoughtfully topped up by mum, someone would inevitably start singing! There's always one, isn't there? My dad who was a pretty good magician used to perform card tricks, which kept us sitting long enough that bedtime was much easier for mum. Protesting as much as we dared, we were bundled off to bed at 8.30 - teeth, bath, bed. Lulled to sleep by the voices, the glow of the fire and the smell of woodsmoke, contented that our dragon slaying and our magic spells had improved the world tonight, we dreamed...
