The Fifth of November
Darkness falls by five,
The skies begin to come alive,
Friends and neighbours young and old,
Huddled up against the cold
Hats and scarves and gloves and coats
The whizzes and bangs sound out their notes,
Potatoes wrapped up in their tin jackets,
One by one they leave their packets,
Carving our names in the cold air,
The men of the house fireworks prepared,
Lighting the fuse and standing well back,
We launch to the sky our nighttime attack,
The whooshes, the whizzes the ooh's and the ahh's,
This annual tradition written amongst the stars
Explanation
Although it's a long way until bonfire night, a conversation on Facebook the other day tickled some neurons and I wrote this.
Darkness falls by five,
The skies begin to come alive,
Once the clocks have gone back at end of October and bonfire night arrives, it is comfortably dark by 5pm. On bonfire night itself (and usually each weekend either side if it falls during the working week), the skies are awash with fireworks exploding into the sky.
Friends and neighbours young and old,
Huddled up against the cold,
For our family, when I was a kid, our family, our next door neighbours and some friends from up the road all got together either at ours or the next door neighbours. Young children, our parents (who as they were above 30 were ancient to us!) all gathered together. Obviously, it's November in the UK, so it's actually not exactly the most inviting weather. Still, if it stays dry, it's not too bad.
Hats and scarves and gloves and coats
The whizzes and bangs sound out their notes,
As the evening goes on, other families would be having their fireworks, and the sky would be illuminated for many hours as if somehow there was an invisible orchestra set up to play in the sky.
Potatoes wrapped up in their tin jackets,
One by one they leave their packets,
For some reason, I always remember that we would have hot jacket potatoes wrapped up in silver tin foil. One by one....refers to both the jacket potatoes being eaten, but also the sparklers being taken out of their packets.
Carving our names in the cold air,
The men of the house fireworks prepared,
I think, and hope that it's impossible for someone to be given a sparkler and not want to write something with it, probably their names. The men of the house isn't in any way shape or form intended to be a sexiest term. But the lighting of fireworks did seem to be a "man's job", at least back then. Perhaps it's the whole "I am man, I make fire" thing!
Lighting the fuse and standing well back,
We launch to the sky our nighttime attack,
Always have to make sure that the fuse is lit and then everyone is standing well back! And then the sky above us lights up with colour.
The whooshes, the whizzes the ooh's and the ahh's,
This annual tradition written amongst the stars.
This is just the "ooh's and ahh's" sounds people make when watching fireworks, and this tradition between these friends and families reaches its peak.
