Bonfire night tonight The fifth of November serves as a reminder that terrorist bombers eventually get their just deserts. In 1605 a bunch of them were thwarted in their plan to blow up the British Houses of Parliament, so the story goes. For their troubles they were punished in a way that made them wish they had found some other way to express their dissatisfaction with the authorities. Those were the days.
Bonfire night used to be a big thing here when I was a kid in the early fifties. certainly as big as Christmas and Easter - better even.
Bonfires and fireworks were obligatory where I lived. The latter being collected in the preceding weeks in pocket money equipped expeditions to newsagents, and the Fremantle stores of Woolworths and Coles. There was no self service in those days. Everything was behind a counter and you had to indicate to saleswomen what you wanted. The items would be put in a brown paper bag and held back until the cash had been passed over. The shops trusted customers even less then than they do now.
You could buy fireworks in two ways, individually or in manufacturers' prepacked assortments. The assortments varied, were usually expensive and mostly beyond my means. They were intended for cashed up people in a hurry, or those not knowing or caring what they liked in fireworks.
Bangers were pretty affordable. More so than the exotic stuff like Roman candles, Catherine wheels, Mount Vesuvius's and sky rockets. As I recall, most of these came from Britain.
My style was to buy whatever I could each week in ones and twos and then stash them in a shoe box under my bed. The collecting started at least a month beforehand, and almost every day the items would be set out after school and fondled in anticipation of the big night. Too much fondling of fireworks is a bad thing because the wicks can become impotent so that when they are lit, there is a misfire, or fizzog.
There were individual fireworks to suit every bit of change in a kid's pocket, from penny bombs upwards. There were even fourpenny bombs, and you would think they would have been four times as powerful as penny bombs, but I was always disappointed with them. A bit of a rip off, although the expression hadn't been coined then.
Naturally in the preceding weeks to 5 November there had to be occasional test detonations.
There were three main staples amongst exploding fireworks. They all came from China. Firstly there were the Tom Thumbs. These came in small mats, each individual cracker was about an inch and a quarter long and maybe three sixteenths of an inch thick. The wicks were platted to form a central cord so that if one wished they could all be detonated in a single fearful cacophony by application of a match. However its was more common for us parsimonious kids to unlace them to be exploded one at a time.
There were about 50 Tom Thumbs to a mat, and they were arranged in groups of about five red then five green. Twenty five crackers on each side of the plaited string. The mats came in paper packs of about half a dozen and were quite good value at about two shillings a pack. When undone, the individual crackers could be gingerly held by the tips of the fingers, something which invited a painful burn if not done in just the right way - especially if there was a backfire. Tom Thumbs were also very good for poking down ant holes to give the subterranean residents a surprise.
The next size of "bomb" from China was the Double Happy. These were about two and a half inches long and about five sixteenths of an inch thick. They were bigger versions of the Tom Thumb and also came in platted mats which could be undone. There were not as many to a string as the Tom Thumbs. They were always red. They came in red packets which had an illustration of a couple of Chinese kids with pigtails letting off fireworks.
The third staple was the penny bomb. These could also be purchased in packs, but it was more usual for the retailers to sell them individually, naturally at a penny each.
Penny bombs were quite powerful. Certainly it would be tempting fate to hold them by the tips of the thumb and forefinger. They were exciting for kids to put in other peoples' letter boxes, but my favourite trick was to use them to propel rockets. I made these from aluminium Alka Seltza or cigar containers. They were prepared by gluing balsa wood fins onto the tails. The penny bomb was simply inserted in the open end and detonated. The rocket would be blasted about a hundred feet into the air. Initially I ignited them with matches, but there was a while when I graduated to secretly experimenting with fuse wire and a length of power flex connected to the 250 volt AC mains at home to achieve remote control. I think I might have accidentally got a jolt and given up on that idea. There was also a problem with the descending rockets coming down on neighbour's roofs.
All these crackers were made from tightly rolled up Chinese newspaper around a central core of gunpowder. The outer wrapper was coloured paper to make them more appealing. When they exploded properly there was little left.
As I recall, the ends of the penny bombs were tamped with clay. The Double Happys and the Tomb Thumbs were crimped. The wicks of all three were of a grey paper-like material twisted with gunpowder. Burning time was a about two seconds, just long enough to light and throw them at someone's feet. I had heard of Tomb Thumbs being dropped down kid's shirts, but in my view that was asking for trouble. As the very least a punch in the nose.
Sometimes there would be duds, or fizzogs. These were still useful. All three types of cracker could be broken in half and the contents ignited to make a rocket-like whoosh while being held.
The morning after bonfire night was always marked by visits to other bonfire sites in search of overlooked fizzogs. But you had to be early - there were plenty of other kids on the scrounge, and some of them took a dim view towards invasion of their territory.
Not everyone built bonfires, but those of us who did knew where everyone elses' was. I built mine of the vacant bushland opposite my parent's house at 3 Galloway Street Attadale. That bit of bushland was partially vacant through my childhood efforts with an axe. I still shudder at the thought of when I brought the axe down into my instep when I missed a bit of wood during some bonfire building. It was off to the local GP Dr Wolf for stitches. I can still see the scar on my right foot. Digressing slightly, Dr Wolf was the son of Chief Justice Wolf, one our hanging judges in the good old days.
It was always a case of the bigger the bonfire the better. Size did matter. Sometimes I would get help from other kids in the street, but I was invariably the initiator. There was a problem with bigger bonfires inasmuch as they attracted attention from jealous rivals. I never actually experienced having one set alight prematurely, but I always had the fear that it would happen. My pyres were usually about ten or twelve feet high and were the result of a couple of week's effort.
A bonfire was not complete without an effigy of Mr Fawkes to burn. Mine were made of old clothes stuffed with whatever could be had. My dad's pyjamas on one occasion. The head was a stuffed brown paper bag. The face was drawn on the bag with my Mum's lipstick. The Guys were placed on the top on the last day, because to have done so earlier would have surely tempted fate.
Waiting for the darkness was an agony. In the distance the sound of exploding firecrackers intensified from early dusk. By about 7 pm everyone was getting into full swing and the bonfires were being lit. Parents always gathered to watch the fun in those TV free days. They were fun days - Double Happy days.
Tonight we will still observe the fifth of November at home. All the fun fireworks from my childhood are now banned in our so called "State of excitement." But you can still buy sparklers. Yesterday my wife and I bought a swag of Cylume bracelets and glowsticks in various colours which were being cleared out at Kmart for a song. We might even have a small fire in a brazier if it doesn't rain. Regretfully we've got nothing to make a loud bang except a drum.
© MMV Paul R. Weaver.
About the writerCheck out each month's subject index on the Calendar Page for my "common-man" monologues about survival in 21st century Australia – plus a little history occasionally. An original essay is added most days.
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
fremantlebiz's journal