Categories: uncategorized
Date: 06 November 2006 22:58:50
A special part of Bonfire night for me know is the thought of the memories it is making for my sons.
I have such strong memories of Bonfire night as a child.
Our street was a close - a circular street round a patch of green grass in the centre - and it was full of characters. One house was, we were convinced, occupied by a witch. She was a curmudgeonly old lady with a pathalogical hatred of children - one who would ring the police if we dared to play on the grass and who was always shaking her fist at us. Mind you, when I remember what we got up to, I'm not all that surprised with the benefit of hindsight.
The old lady had a grown-up son who also had no time for children. Well, not for 364 days of the year. But as Bonfire night approached, our excitement began to rise as in their garden appeared a mountainous pile of wood and, attached to their shed, the most interesting-looking contraptions which had us mystified as we stood on one-another's shoulders to peep over their garden fence. The night of night arrived and all the children of the street, together with their parents, went to the witch's house, carrying biscuit-tins full of fireworks to contribute to the display. The adult women sat in the house with the old lady, drinking coffee and eating cakes, the adult men shared the lighting of the fireworks, and the children laughed and played and ooohed and aahhed as firework after firework was let off. Our homemade guys were devoured by the massive fire - something which always gave the night a bittersweet feeling - while jacket potatoes roasted merrily among the embers. And then came the piece de resistance - the homemade fireworks which the witch's son had prepared into a magnificent display. It was pure magic.
From there we departed, frozen fingered, to my friend's house. His mother never joined us on Bonfire night... instead she stayed at home and prepared hot chocolate, butter for the jacket potatoes (ooh, they tasted horrible, but you just had to eat them because it was part of the whole experience, toffee apples and.. my absolute favourite... Piggy in a Blanket (sausages rolled up in a slice of white bread.. mmmmmmmm).
I can see it all now - one of my strongest and favourite childhood memories.
I wonder what treasures my boys are amassing.. (especially my eldest with whom we've had to work long and hard to establish the idea of holding any event in your memory at all).