It was raining, well sort of, light drizzle, more of a heavy mist, but a dampener for the usual bonfire night celebratory fireworks. On my way home after visiting my Mother I could hear fireworks going off in the vicinity of the two larger housing estates of Brackla and Broadlands but there was just the occasional bang, splutter or crackle that were nearer.
As I walked up Ewenny Road and entered my street there were a couple of private displays in progress in fairly close proximity, one I identified as probably my next door neighbour’s, and one a little farther away with loads of action, obviously some rather expensive fireworks were being ignited and presenting a wonderful display of pyrotechnics.
I could hear excited voices of young children and turned the corner to find a young family, Mum and three kids, two boys and a girl, standing in the street watching the fireworks. What was surprising though was they had a large dog with them. I remarked the dog was very calm, most dogs I’m aware of become a gibbering wreck on the 5th of November, “All part of his training” the young Mum replied, “He is only nine months old and needs to be calm in situations like this”. I was about to pursue the conversation but the excitement of the boys, probably aged about six and four, in their enthusiasm of seeing the big fireworks took me back to my childhood remembering too how I used to love the fireworks although we would never have seen anything like those we saw last evening except at an organised display. By now I had reached my driveway and they went on their way.
After feeding Flickr and making sure both his litter trays were useable, he wasn’t going to be let out that evening, I went upstairs to watch the fireworks. The show next door went on for a short while and the other display about a quarter mile away went on for some time but soon it became quiet and it wasn’t yet seven o’clock. There were a few distant bangs about an hour later but after that nothing, a very quiet Fifth of November, probably the calmest for years.
As daylight approached this morning, and the rain washed away any of the bonfire and firework mist generated last evening, I remembered how we used to go and visit our spent bonfire before school and kick at the ashes with our wellington boots hoping for a spark or two and then search for burnt fireworks which we’d collect, although inevitably they’d be a soggy mess of charred cardboard. Later we’d change into our shoes and wander off to school for another tedious day only enlightened with exaggerated schoolboy tales of the previous evening’s bonfire and fireworks.