gunpowder treason and plot

Dear Marianne,

When I was young, fireworks night was called Guy Fawkes night and some of us children understood what was going on. A Catholic bloke cocked up his plan to blow up the Houses of Parliament and a Protestant King, and so we have fireworks, baked potatoes and sparklers. When we were young, we made images of Guy Fawkes and toted him around the local area asking for a Penny for the Guy. Today its called Firework Night, children have no idea who Guy Fawkes was, but they still go door to door asking for a Penny for the Guy. Clearly they're hoping for more than a penny, but they've heard the line and know that you get money if you say it to John and Maureen at number 2. I heard a story that when one group turned up at a neighbour's door, asking for a Penny for the Guy, she looked for the stuffed trousers wearing a Scream mask, when she couldn't see one she asked, "Where's the Guy?" ... "What's a guy?" was their response.

When we were young, there were neighbourhood bonfires - unlicensed and dangerous, there were council run bonfire nights - licensed and dangerous, but with baked potatoes, and there were family back garden fireworks - miserable and dangerous; or was that just my family fireworks?

Bonfire Night (that's what we called it) at our house meant danger and possible death, because my Dad sold it that way. Before November 5th he would buy some weedy fireworks and hide them in a silo I think. Then, when the dreaded night came, he would go right to the end of our very long garden, on his own, with the fireworks, firework receptacle, matches, and bucket of water. He would stand us against the wall of the house, where we would huddle in fear and silence, he would then announce that he was lighting the firework, "I'm lighting the firework!" Nick would move to scratch his nose, "Stand still!", Jane would sigh, "Be quiet!"
Then he would stand as far away from the firework as physically possible, whilst still remaining close enough to light it. Then he would shout, "It's alight, stand back!" Obviously, standing back would have meant going in to the house, so we just stood more still and tried to look more solemn and sensible, because this fun lark is a serious business. I can't really remember the fireworks, I'm sure they were lovely, but by the time they were in the air we were either petrified or too busy weeping with laughter at the spectacle of our Father losing it.
Naturally, it was a damaging experience, and for many years afterwards I was afraid of fireworks, even the rubbish ones that go whoooosh...nothing...plop.

Eventually we were all put out of our misery when my brother Nick singed his hand on a sparkler. All outdoor fireworks were banned and in their place my parent's provided a game for all the family to play and some indoor fireworks. Now, if you were thinking how sad, a game for all the family to play, you obviously have never experienced the utter uselessness of indoor fireworks. I hadn't met anyone who had heard of these until the other day when the subject came up and Bonnie's face suddenly registered the image of indoor fireworks, "Yes , I know, turd on a plate", she said "Yes, exactly". Indoor fireworks are perhaps the most pointless things ever invented, although they probably fit in to the same category as quorn sausages, decaffinated coffee and alcohol free lager. They are everything a firework isn't, they are colourless (unless you are in to grey), they are silent, they are safe, boring and small enough to light several on a plate and watch them, well, become turds really.

If I had never met Craig, I would still spend each Fireworks Night inside with the pets, complaining about the noise and the danger. Thankfully he saved me, forcing me to enjoy myself at the majestic Ally Pally display, now I love them and so do all the children except for Mike, who doesn't, but he thinks the hand dryer in public toilets is too noisy. So it was me Becky and Anna who made our way up the road last night to watch the Dunorlan Park display for free, from the roadside - well it was £6.50 per adult and £3 per child to go in. We took sparklers and chocolate cake, and we had a perfect view from just across the road, we stood and shouted out the colours as they came, whilst the police put away their orange cones. At the end, Becky gave Anna a piggy back down the hill, and we were first to be on our way home for baked potatoes, hot dogs and some rather good peppers roasted in red wine.

We had planned for Bonnie, Kevin, Archie and Brodie to be there too, but Archie was not well. I've saved some rainbow sparklers for them, so that we can have another go next week. I just hope that Bonnie didn't succumb to indoor fireworks, Kaliber beer and a nicorette patch to see the evening through.

Rx