I’m remembering, remembering
My fifth of Novembering.
Far back when I was small
I can recall
Standing by the window
Waiting for dark to come
Waiting for dad to come
So he could light the fire
That my brother and I had built
In the back garden
The warm kitchen smelled of onions
And hot dog sausages
And there was freshly baked Parkin
Then in he came
With sparklers and rockets.
And matches.
It was time.
The lighting of the bonfire was a ceremony
Dad checked our twisted newspaper sticks
We had done a good job, he said.
Which way is the wind blowing?
Is the wood dry?
Will it light?
We made a Guy once
With a sawdust filled brown bag for a head
And legs from Mam’s old stockings, filled wi’ straw
We paraded it around the estate on me brother’s go cart
Not to collect money like they do now
It was just for fun
Dad tied him to an old wooden chair
And threw him onto the pyre
The bonfire was lit.
With the Guy On top
And with the twigs and prunings from the garden
It was all of three foot high
And soon the chair leg crackled into flames,
Lighting the Guy’s face, and ours, with an orange glow
Then the sparklers.
So young, but allowed, this one night
To hold real fire in gloved fingers
Arms length, terrified but squealing with delight
Making swirly patterns in the dark night
I’m remembering, remembering
My fifth of Novembering.
When you got older
You’d go with yer mates
To a bonfire the big lads had built
Behind the estate
With wooden gates they found in old folks gardens
Hinges and latches still on
And we all took summat:
Taters in foil, and chestnuts
Sausages in bread crusts
And Bonfire toffee
T’Big lads mucked about, played the fool
Chucking bangers onto t’fire;
Pulling red hot sticks out
To light their Park Drive
In the shadows, rosy cheeked
You could get cosy with a lad
It was more exciting than sparklers
Terrified, but squealing with delight inside
You forgot all the warnings
About playing with fire
Ah- I’m remembering, remembering
My fifth of Novembering.
One year
One of the lads on our street
Lit a rocket in his hand
And it Blew off his middle finger
And another year, our next door neighbours lad
Had a Jumping Jack go off in his pocket
They called ‘im Cracker Knacker after that
I’m remembering, remembering
My fifth of Novembering.
Later It was all community bonfires
And fabulous firework displays put on by the council
Mind, You had to wrap up warm
There was no chance of getting near the fire
You could buy a hot dog and a hot drink
And the onions smelled good
But it wasn’t as magical
But I’m remembering, remembering
My fifth of Novembering.
Now – I’m just part of the grouchy older generation
Hating the firework noise outside my dark window
Like bloody Beruit and it’s not even November yet
And where did they get the money?
That’s not even a Guy
It’s your little brother wi’ a monkey mask on.
They ought to stop all this firework nonsense
All that money going up in sparks
Where do their parents think they are?
But…
Every November the sixth
Cloud damp and fog dense
I walk in the park
To find rocket sticks
And sparkler wires as evidence –
And I recall being small
And I’m remembering, remembering
Fifth of Novembering.