Boom, bang & whistle

Since arriving in Portobello 10 days ago, most mornings I wander down to the promenade to have my morning coffee. Along the way I noticed a few houses with driftwood piled in the front yard, and assumed they used it for art or a log fire. I didn't think too much about it. I've more concentrated on the coffee awaiting me at my new favourite coffee house, the Beach House(www.thebeachhousecafe.co.uk). 

Over the last few evenings I have heard the thud of fireworks, but not understood their significance. Last evening I went for a walk about 6.30pm, and noticed a lot of booms, bangs and whistles. I followed the sounds and arrived at the promenade, where a surreal sight met my eyes. Dotted along the beach were 20 or 30 bonfires burning, hundreds of families with children playing on the sand and running along the promenade, and groups of parents standing around the bonfires chatting. In the midst of all this there were rockets, roman candles and catherine wheels going off! What a sight! 

Along the shore of the Forth to my right I could see some serious fireworks going off at Mussellburgh, and to my left the bonfires and fireworks extended all the way along to Leith. I could even see them across the other side of the Forth towards Fife. Thousands of people out (in 4 degrees!) having a jolly good time. Families were lighting little burners in miniature hot air balloons and watching as they rose high in the sky, eventually fading from view and, as the fire died, falling back to earth who knows where.

Finally I remembered it was November 5th - Guy Fawkes night. Remember? Something to do with a plot in 1605 to blow up the House of Lords at Westminster in London. We used to celebrate it. Before the nanny state kicked in, and kicked fireworks out. Now, the closest we get to a penny banger is at some festival or another where the organisers pay exorbitant sums to have licenced "professional" fireworks display personnel light the explosives, while we are carefully kept outside the exclusion zone.

I hung around the promenade for several hours, and eventually noticed, a few hundred metres down the beach, the biggest bonfire I've ever seen, as yet unlit. As the temperature fell further to 2 degrees, a gathering crowd waited for the match to be applied. Finally the bonfire, generously dowsed with petrol, roared into life to the cheers of onlookers. People stood around, warming their faces, ears and hands, with a friendly atmosphere pervading the whole scene. Finally, as the fires died down and sleepy children were carried off to bed, people dispersed, leaving behind a hard-core of teenagers determined to make the most of the fires, festivities and fireworks. Even after I was in bed, I could hear the occasional rocket launch after midnight.

I remember bonfires, penny bungers, roman candles, tom-thumbs and catherine wheels from my childhood. On occasion people were injured. On occasion frogs and tuppenny bungers had unfortunate encounters (I admit nothing). The Aussie answer was to ban them altogether. The British answer is to educate children to handle explosives carefully, encourage parents to supervise them properly, and to allow the community an excuse to simply get together and have fun. Perhaps there will be a few burnt fingers and singed eyebrows this morning. Perhaps they are a small price to pay compared to the enjoyment Aussies have lost to to the nanny state.