Fireworks Night

My earliest memory of Fireworks Night was back in the 1980s. It was a display put on by my local primary school. It was popular annual event and raised money to help the school budget.

The first time I remember going, we parked up at my uncle's house and walked down. As we approached the event, the pavements became crowded and the going got slower as we were funnelled down through the school gate. I recall it was strange walking through the gate at night. We made our way out to the playing fields at the back of the school.

The organiser, presumably the head teacher, called everyone to start a countdown from 10. At zero, the large bonfire was lit. Small flames glittered deep within the wood pile, then it quickly rose through the shambles of petrol-soaked pallets and tree cuttings.

The immense heat from the flaming monolith could be felt from a good distance. Fire is an ancient phenomenon, and the fascination humanity has with it runs very deep into our prehistory. And so, it is understandable how it felt like everyone's eyes in the audience where transfixed by the blaze.

After a while, the first fireworks was lit and exploded into the night sky. Everyone turned their heads, looking at the light display in the deep darkness. Then, on the ground, Roman Candles fizzed and sparkled. The explosions, the pops and the bangs continued, while the acrid, sweet smelling smoke drifted across the crowd.

I remember the event being cold and my toes began to go numb half way through the event. The feeling of the joy at seeing the fireworks contrasted with the throbbing pain of my freezing toes. Part of me wanted to go inside and warm them up, but I also desired to stay. Just to see what was going to happen next.

The last firework of the evening was a Catherine Wheel. As it violently turned, spitting out sparks out across the grass, my mother whispered to me and told me why it was so called. It was named after the 4th Century Saint, Catherine of Alexandria. She was tortured on a wheel by the Emperor Maxentius. As the wheel was spinning, it broke. In response, the emperor beheaded her.

As the Catherine Wheel started to peter out, I thought about the sadness as the death of the martyr and how this opposed the awesome feelings of watching the light encrusted spinning wheel.

I think this feeling sums up fireworks night for me. The beauty of the fireworks fill my senses, but at the same time, it reminds me of our lives. Some of us burn so brightly and then our lives end just as quick. While others, remain on the ground and slowly dwindle away. We are but fireworks.

After the last firework spluttered to an end, we walked back down the road to my uncle's house. I remember complaining about my cold toes, and when we got home, my cousin took my wellies off and rubbed them in front of the electric fire. My auntie heated up her homemade mushroom soup and we scoffed it down with crusty bread. I slept well that night.

Over the years, I've attended numerous firework night events. Some large displays, some small private parties. I even went to an indoor firework party, with special small fireworks. The best ones are the big displays, where they can afford the larger rockets.

Even at my ripe old age, I still enjoy fireworks; the food, the nip in the air and the burning warmth from the bonfire. I never think about Guy Fawkes and the failure of the gunpowder plot, which is allegedly what we are celebrating. This story has fallen out of favour with the collective psyche of the country. Now it seems an excuse to come together as a local community and have a good time.

It is lovely bumping into people you haven't seen in the village for a time, catching up with them. Sharing a joke and having a brief laugh.

Fireworks night is something we can't experience on a TV screen. We can't feel the warmth of the bonfire, smell the sweet smoke hanging in the air or get that little nip of the toes, when we are simply sitting at home in our comfy lounge.

We have to leave the house, go outside and taste the real world. This is why Fireworks Night is one of my favourite celebrations of the year.

Alexander writes three newsletters. The Tales of Old England Christendom is where he writes about Anglo-Saxon Christianity. The second newsletter is called the Tower of Adam and here he writes about theology. The final one is called Agloria, where he discusses the intersection between culture and theology and has a series on Anglo-Futurism. You can find out more by clinking the links.

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