Bonfire Night, May the 24th, was always a high point of 1950s life. Saving pocket money for fire crackers and bungers was top of the list of priorities. I never found bungers very interesting; it was the multi-coloured fireworks which thrilled me, fortunate perhaps for the neighbours if they weren't similarly occupied. As the magic night approached, Dad would bring out the heavy duty hardwood post, which had a couple of metal loops and a nail, to hold either skyrockets or catherine wheels. The rest of the equipment consisted of a sturdy metal bucket, filled with river sand, supplied by Smee and Company. This was used to position all fireworks.
Dad was a stickler for safety, a man before his time. However, there was one time when all failed us. The fireworks were regularly stored in an Arnotts' biscuit tin, the ancient type with tight-fitting, hinged lid. The magnificent sum of 5 pounds ($10 - a fortune at the time) had been expended on dozens of spectacular goodies. For some reason, perhaps my clamouring for it, he set up a skyrocket and lit the blue torchpaper. The tin should have been well away but it wasn't. The top should have been closed but it wasn't. We lifted our eyes to the sky as the rocket blasted off, to be brought back to earth as the tin full of fireworks started sparking, then ran for our lives as the entire tin lit up with a spectacular display of colours, sparks and flames!
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