Author: Sue Young

In November, boys would come round in late September, early October
asking for wood for bonfires
And if they didn’t get enough
Sometimes people would find half their shed missing
You had to look after your wood at this crucial time
Treat it like gold
Teenage boys could sniff it out.
Wood, not gold
And there was nothing they wouldn’t do to get it.
It was great if you wanted to get rid of a cabinet
Old bookshelf or table
Then you wouldn’t have to pay someone to take it away
And they would be so happy
You would be doing them a huge favour
But unfortunately, we never had any wood waste
Wood was precious in our home
And my parents would hide from the wood boys
As if they were bailiffs
Turn off the lights and hit the floor
I never saw their joyful little faces as I handed over an old
dresser, or a hefty wardrobe, as we didn’t have any spare oak furniture
to needlessly burn.
These boys would find their own little turf for their bonfire
Have it planned for weeks, possibly months.
‘Bommies’ would be compared with other bommies in other
fields, in other territories.
Pride was taken
Our bommie is bigger than so and so’s,
Our bommie is going to be custy, sound…
The best for miles around
The best in Kirkby
Never understood why they said ‘Bommie’ instead of
‘Bonnie,’ or ‘Bonny’ as in Bonfire. Maybe I misheard and they were saying ‘Bonnie’ or Bonny’
There was a lot that was baffling in those days
And, you just let it go if you knew what was good for you.
Just let the ‘Bommie’ go into the ether. You’re ten years old, the
puzzlement of ‘Bommie’ is the least of your troubles.
I think there may have been mafia like mentalities in the bonfire world at
this time, perhaps boys may steal and sabotage from other ‘bommies’, publicly deride the wood mountain. ‘Our wood
mountain is bigger than yours.’ conversation. The evening
would begin as soon as it got dark. 4p.m is some cases.
It would generally be no later than 6, and that would be considered
delayed gratification. It would generally be all over by 8p.m.

Premature combustion.

Actually, some of the best bonfires would be held back for a little later. 8.30 p.m
but practically all bonfire people would be indoors by 10
p.m or thereabouts because bonfire night has a 5 in 7 chance
of being on a school night. Bonfires would consist of chairs,
tables, wardrobes, bed frames, old Tom’s wooden leg,
anything wooden that was available and probably some wood
that wasn’t. Furniture could be stacked ten, twenty feet high.
It was a creative process. Something fit for The Tate. Try stacking that amount of wood without it falling while retaining an amazing asthetic quality at the same time. Dame Tracey Emin would be proud.

The bonfires, once lit, would create a thick smog that began
at sunset and would hang around until about midday the next
morning. Not many people could afford expensive fireworks
where I lived as a child, so bonfires were the main thing. Most times it
was just a gang of juveniles in charge of a bonfire, but
sometimes whole families and communities would be
involved.
There was a dystopian air, around ten o’clock, long abandoned bonfires still smouldering away, the fog soup
of smoke blurring the night so bad, you couldn’t see your
hand in front of your face, the smell of a burning bombed city
pervading the air for miles around and a strange calm and
eerie silence, that you don’t experience on any other night of
the year. Meanwhile, the formerly impulsive and restless fourteen
year old boys, are now exhausted and slightly smoke
damaged and safely tucked up in bed.
Bangers, unlike sparklers, weren’t pretty but they were relatively cheap. All they did was make a noise like a loud bomb, like a really loud bomb and that was it.
Okay, the children said, that’ll do! That’ll do just fine.
Fireworks are a strange thing. It’s in the word. Hello. Fire.
Works. It says it all. Don’t let them near your pets and
children.
In the 1970’s, 1980’s and 1990’s, young people, i.e
children, were allowed to buy and handle these dangerous
and candy cheap explosives, without any adult supervision.

There were casualities and they would be reported in the newspapers on November the 6th.

I don’t think I’ve seen a
‘bommie’ since 1992, or thereabouts. In the economically
depressed area I grew up in, it was a good thing to have
‘bommies’. They brought the community together, it was
good for neighbourhoods who were able to bond through the
miracle of fire. It was much needed entertainment and light
relief from the daily slug.
As a child, the ‘bommie’ was something I
subconsciously desired and needed, pressing my face up
against the glass for a glimpse of blazing sun in the hopeless
night. Huge bonfires dancing and jumping like fiery Ents
with a troupe of black clothed, hooded teenage boys,
worshipping and dancing around the fiery maypole, like
warlocks, idolising a bonfire which, always seemed to be
about to burn out of control and sometimes did, and the fire
brigade would come out many times that night.
Fire.
Childhood.
A brutal innocence.