A Very Civil War

The barrage really began at about 6.30pm. There had been some sporadic action beforehand, a few distant single sniping shots and trails of coloured traces up into the darkening autumn evening sky but it was nothing compared to the main event. From a hundred different locations within a tight local radius, independently but as though at a pre-arranged signal all hell was unleashed. Such is the wrath that is bonfire night in the UK.

Me and The Boy sat facing the red hot glowing opening of the very tatty and rusty chimnea and took it in turns to feed in, charred inch by heat scorched inch, a large piece of timber extracted from the summer house a few weeks prior, now soft and damp from being rested up against the garage wall in all weathers but still very combustible in the searing heat in that conical apparatus.

Wood was in short supply after an enthusiastic clear out in the summer of 15 years worth of offcuts, old shelving, failed DIY projects, IKEA furniture and other scraps. It was something I now regretted in the scramble to find something to keep the fire going. I had already used up all the kindling from the domestic fire stock , a couple of logs and lengths of planed timber which just fell apart from rot when moved from the bottom of the garden.

The night had started off cold and clear.

Familiar constellations were still low in the sky but rapidly losing their brightness and definition in the swirls of smoke from surrounding back gardens and that distinctive odour of spent gunpowder. A loud explosion and Disneyesque star shower over our house indicated that the people across the road had ignited their largest array of rockets. Our own efforts had, in comparison, been a sorry affair with half a dozen fizzing tubes found in a tin on a garage shelf from I know not when but excitingly unpredictable for that. The traffic light flares from a firework called Red Mist struggled to reach any height and sounded unenthusiastic about being released. Crystal Cascade was well within the scope of the Misdescriptions Act from its actual behaviour. Against all safe practice I returned a few times in an attempt to light up a Thunder Burst before giving up completely with it.

We sat on the bench, with cold backs and kidneys facing the house but comfortably warm faces,chests and abdomens, fireside, to enjoy a  free sky full display but at significant expenditure to others. The larger and more impressive concussions and chrysanthemum bursts were cheered and an estimated monetary value attached as they reduced to just whispy clouds, silence and darkness. A banshee like screaming, sustained over a few minutes from the next street made me think of the eerie images of Katushya rockets from my World at War box set covering the Eastern Front.

Not wanting to lose an opportunity to extract some educational value from the outdoors event I remarked to The Boy that I could imagine the sights and sounds to be of some similarity to warfare. He groaned in anticipation of a lecture on military skirmishes, campaigns and sieges. In the distance another large explosion and reverberation of sound between the houses. The Boy chipped in that the outer defences were surely under sustained attack. Smaller concussive waves and flashes were followed by more noise. We could imagine the destruction of the landmark buildings and sites in our home town. Staccato rhythmic shots rang out. We were surely well illuminated by the fire glow and an easy target for a snipers bullet.  The assault was intensifying and our predicament worsened as we realised that our position was surrounded by the unseen forces intent on destroying our very existence.

The scenario was rapidly turning from mere speculation to a reality that we both found very disturbing. Having seen media reports of conflicts in urban settings not dissimilar to our own the sights, sounds  and smells of the night were becoming just too intense.

The fire in the chimnea was diminishing in a final hot, red glow of embers and we took this as our excuse to pack up and go into the warm, quiet and safe indoors. We were running away but felt happier to call it a strategic retreat.