Whitehall Civil Servants took control
Of the Bonfire on that
fateful date
One of them struck the
match, while
The rest filled forms
in triplicate
Whitehall Civil Servants took control
Of the Bonfire on that
fateful date
One of them struck the
match, while
The rest filled forms
in triplicate
At the Apple Bonfire Night party
One struck the match
to ignite the birch
And as the fire burned
six of his colleagues
Were in a huddle designing the merch
Health and Safety were in charge
Of lighting the
Bonfire this year
One of them struck the
match
Our Parliament has failed us
Ignoring the voice of
Britain’s
And following its own
agenda
In the House of Charlatans
Remember, remember
The fifth of November
When gunpowder smoke
fills the air
What a quaintly
British affair
Gathering with friends
and family
And oohing and aahing
with glee
The heat from the fire
is hellish
As Hotdogs are eaten
with relish
But as another hot
chocolate you drink
If you took just a
moment to think
Ask how such
traditions thrive?
As you symbolically
burn a man alive
On bonfire night
Across the land
Fireworks will be lit
By unthinking hand
And when you watch
The Catherine wheels
Spiral of fire
How do you feel?
Is it exiting to
watch?
Does it inspire?
As it spins and spins
The wheel of fire
Catherine was a saint
Who died on the wheel
Didn’t you know?
Now how do you feel?
It was an instrument
Of torture and pain
Think about that
As it spins round
again
I took my dog to a bonfire party
And he stared at the
fire blankly
I twigged as I watched
the fiery licks
It was because he
loved sticks
In fact sticks were
one of his joys
So the fire was like a
pile of his toys
Remember, remember
The fifth of November?
Gunpowder, treason and….
I really enjoyed our date
I’m so glad that you
rang
It was a brilliant Guy
Fawkes
Night that ended with
a bang
Remember, remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason,
and plot
For that was the day
Guy Fawkes failed
To blow up the bloody
lot
Are you wearing a Guy Fawkes mask?
Hoping to get coins in
your cap
“Penny for the guy” is
that the aim?
Well, you’re losing out
to that wino chap
My Bonfire night cracker
Always good for a
thrill
My favourite little
sparkler
I like to call “Catherine
will”
Bangers and sparklers
Weren’t the fireworks
At the Bonfire night party
But the girls I
invited
Remember, remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason, and plot.
They had the right approach back then
Blow up the bloody lot
My brother was five years older than me and as a
result from the time I was five years old he looked upon me as something of a
burden.
Now that might sound a bit melodramatic but it’s not
as if he had to raise me or anything although in truth I think he would have
preferred that.
But unfortunately for Peter his burden took a very
different form.
Ever since my fifth birthday he had to baby-sit me,
whenever he went out to play he had to take me along, and he hated it, which he
never let me forget.
It didn’t matter what plans he had, football, cricket,
riding his bike or fishing, you name it I was there too.
In fact I can only remember one occasion when he was
grateful for my company.
It was November 1966, I was 10 and Peter had just
turned fifteen the week before.
We were living in North London, where my dad worked as
a grounds man on Alexandra Park racecourse and we lived in a cottage on the
grounds.
It was the day before bonfire night which when I was
ten was a very exciting time.
I found everything about bonfire night exciting, the
bonfire in the back garden with the guy on top, hot chocolate and marshmallows,
but I especially enjoyed the fireworks, now they’re just bloody annoying, but
then they were magic when I was a kid.
However we weren’t the wealthiest family and money for
luxuries like fireworks was not easy to come by so we never knew if we were
going to have a selection box or a small box of bangers and some sparklers.
So it wasn’t until the afternoon of the 5th
of November that we heard the news.
Peter and I were upstairs and Mum and Dad were in the
kitchen when dad called up.
“Boys? Come down here”
We knew what is was about so we didn’t need calling
twice and we dropped what we were doing and ran full pelt down the stairs,
Peter got there first as usual.
“Alright slow down” Dad said as we slid into the
kitchen on the lino.
“Mums got something for you”
So we turned our full attension to Mum.
“Here you are boys”’she said handing a bank note to Peter
“for fireworks”
“Wow Five pounds?” we said in unison
“Yes” she replied, “I did a lot of overtime last
month”
“Thanks Mum” I said and hugged her, Peter took his
eyes off the note momentarily and joined me.
Then we did the same to Dad.
“Don’t waste it all on fancy stuff, you’ve got enough
there for a decent selection box and a few extras” he said and the realisation
dawned on Peters face that he was allowed to get them himself.
In previous years we had gone to the shop and Dad had
always bought them.
Even though back in those days kids could buy
fireworks and most tobacconists would sell you fags or you could get them and
beer from the offie, you didn’t need a note or anything.
We both ran out of the kitchen and started putting our
shoes on.
“Where do you think your going” Mum said to me
“I’m going with Peter” I replied, “to get the
fireworks”
“Oh no you’re not” she corrected me
“Hah” Peter said and smirked rather disgustingly
“But…” I began
“But nothing you still have chores left to do” she scolded
“But…” I began again
“You have toys all over the house that I told you to
clear away this morning” she said
Peter was heading for the back door.
Dad handed him a letter and said
“Pop my coupon in the post on your way”
“Ok Dad” Peter said and smirked at me again
“If I pick them all up now can I go?” I begged
“Too late” Peter said and went out the door “Bye”
“If I pick them all up can I run and catch him up?” I
asked
“No” Mum said sternly
I looked at my dad for support but he just inclined
his head and gave me a knowing smile that said, “You should have done it when
you were told to”
I went off sulkily and begrudgingly picked up every
toy car, soldier and Lego brick
And then sat down watching the clock
After what seemed like an age I went to the kitchen to
find mum, Dad had gone back to work by then.
“Why isn’t Peter back yet?” I asked her
She was stood at the sink and half turned to glance
over her shoulder at the clock
“I don’t know” she replied unsurely then after a
moment or two added
“Perhaps he had to go to more than one shop”
She accompanied this remark with a distinct nod as if
to confirm what a sensible conclusion she had come to.
Half an hour later she was less convinced.
“Shall I go and look for him?” I suggest hopefully
“No” she said firmly “I don’t want to lose two sons in
one afternoon thank you very much”
Then she began pacing the kitchen and muttering under
her breath, she had just began her sixth length when I spotted him shuffling
down the front path.
“Here he is,” I shouted
“Where?” Mum said and went to the window “thank God”
When he came through the door he looked very
crestfallen.
“Where on earth have you been?” mum said sharply
though clearly relieved
“I...” he began
“Let’s see the fireworks,” I asked
“I…” he began again
“Where are the fireworks?” Mum asked “Did someone
steal them from you?”
“I didn’t get any” he replied softly
“Why not?” Mum demanded
“I,,, I” he stuttered
“Well?” mum reiterated
“I lost the money,” I said
“You did what?” she shouted “you stupid boy”
“I looked everywhere” he said “that’s why I’ve been so
long”
“Do you know how hard I have to work to earn the money
for luxuries like fireworks?”
“I’m sorry” he said and began crying “but I retraced
my steps and I really have looked everywhere”
“Well that’s, that then” Mum yelled as she stomped off
down the hall “and don’t think you’re getting any more”
“Did you post Dads letter?” I asked
“Yes” he sobbed
“Well at least you did that right,” Mum said
“Perhaps it’s in the letter box,” I suggested
“What is?” Mum asked
“The fiver” I explained “maybe you posted it with Dads
coupon”
Peter looked thoughtful as mum came back into the
kitchen
“See your brother has got more sense in his little
finger than you’ve got in your whole body”
Peter stared at the floor as she ranted on, this was
not the first time she had said that particular phrase but it still hurt.
“You need to get yourself up to the post box and wait
there until its emptied and ask the postman to check through the letters”
Peter got up and walked towards the door.
“And take your brother with you” She said, “at least I
know I can trust him”
“Can we still get fireworks?” I asked as I put my coat
on
“Let’s find the money first” she snapped “and then
we’ll see”
I had to run up the path to catch up with Peter but
when I caught up to him he put his arm around my shoulder and said
“Well done kid,” he said
We spent the next hour sitting on the curb by the post
box until the postman pulled up
He jumped out of his Comma van and when he saw us
sitting there he laughed and said
“Ok what did you do?”
Peter stood up and explained what we thought he’d done
and he laughed again
“You wouldn’t believe the things people post in here
by accident” he said as he unlocked the door and began transferring letters
from the box into his sack pausing only once to brandish our £5 note.
We thanked him profusely and went running off down the
road and hoped above hope that Mum would still let us spend the hard earned £5
on fireworks.
She was much happier by the time we got home and gave
us both a hug before saying
“Now the pair of you had better get to the shop before
they close”
“Really?” Peter said
“Yes” Mum said and kissed his forehead
“Just don’t tell your father”
When
I was a kid in the sixties, we would squander a fiver every year on a bumper
box of Standard Fireworks, a good selection of the cheap and nasty.
Sparklers
you couldn’t light, Catherine wheels that didn’t spin, Rockets that barely left
the garden, Volcanos that didn’t erupt, Bangers that went “pop” and other
assorted damp squibs, but I still look back with fondness on our bonfire night
parties with all the oohs and aahs, but then nostalgia is a wonderful thing.
However
today the fireworks have evolved into something quite different, now they are
more like munitions than pyrotechnics, and bonfire night is more like the
barrage before the battle of the Somme, not so much provoking oohs or aahs but
more of a “where’s my bloody helmet”.
When I was a kid in the sixties we would squander a fiver every year on a
bumper box of Standard Fireworks a good selection of the cheap and nasty.
Sparklers you couldn’t light, Catherine wheels that didn’t spin, Rockets
that barely left the garden, Volcanos that didn’t erupt, Bangers that went
“pop” and other assorted damp squibs.
But I still look back with fondness on our bonfire night parties with all
the oohs and aahs, but then nostalgia is a wonderful thing.
However today the fireworks have evolved into something quite different, now
they are more like munitions than pyrotechnics.
And bonfire night is more like the barrage before the battle of the Somme
not so much provoking an ooh or an aahs but more of a “wheres my bloody
helmet”.
November the 5th, bonfire night
The gunpowder plot of
treason
Will from this day
forward
Be know as five-eleven
Guy Fawkes and his friends
Despite meeting sticky
ends
After a treasonous
endeavor
They were the only men
ever
Who entered our
Parliament
With real and honest
intent
Health and Safety were in charge
Of lighting the
Bonfire this year
One of them struck the
match
And ten more held an
extinguisher