Literally my favourite day when I was growing up. My Dad would build this massive bonfire out the back of our house, with neighbours bringing stuff for burning in the weeks before.
My mum would cook and bake all day, the house full of jacket potatoes and flapjacks. The anticipation of night falling was too much!
All wrapped up, we would stand on the roof of my Dads shed (a health and safety nightmare by today’s standards) watching the village fireworks, baking in the heat of the fire, which had been swept for hedgehogs before it was lit. I absolutely bloody loved bonfire weekends. I loved the food, the fire, the fireworks, the sparklers and dodging rockets as they fell back to earth.
Fireworks still transport me back to those nights. Of course now I don’t stand on a shed roof watching my Dad light a fire with enough lighter fluid to cause a boom of ignition (although he probably would if he thought he could get away with it!) now I am one of the volunteers making sure the village fireworks run smoothly. This year – outside bar staff, mulled wine making and cider serving.
It was busy! The joy of no covid restrictions which had forced the abandonment of last year’s celebrations was obvious. The village turned out in force, happy and excited. The mulled wine ran dry, the cakes were completely eaten, the queue for burgers never eased. The fireworks still filled me with excitement and awe. My Dad appeared at the bar when it was mega busy to help out, still wrapped up like he was when I was little, still with that mischievous grin on his face! It was a glorious evening.
I asked my 8 year old nephew who Guy Fawkes was, his answer: he was the man who tried to blow up the whitehouse (nice try F!)
I try to think we celebrate the king and our parliament buildings being saved from certain doom, of course I know it’s a far more complicated story than that. I often wonder how our history would have played out if the plot had been successful, would be still be celebrating fireworks on the 5th November? We will never know, that November night in 1605 being one of many junctions from our past.
I do know that next year I will wrap up again with a smile on my face watching the fireworks and thinking of those nights in my childhood. In the meantime I must try to learn to make flapjacks that reach my mothers standards!
Much love xx
The Frank Journals 