Guy Fawkes Night
Guy Fawkes Night Recollections
Bill Pitt-Jones
Guy Fawkes night 1960 (If my memory still serves me well). 60 years ago to the day.
The Royal Free Hospital Casualty Department with a bloody great hole in my leg, caused by a pocket full of bangers igniting.
Looking down seeing a deep red glow where the pocket in my jeans had been........People rolling me across the ground..........being wrapped in somebody’s coat to smother the fire .....my jeans being ripped off me ....Big bother Ted throwing me over his shoulder and running up the top of the road to York Way to flag down a Taxi .....He never got to the Dance he was heading for ........Big fight between my other brothers and the firework throwing youths they held responsible .....3 months off school ......Never ever again went near George Bean's Metalwork Class when they had the gas guns alight.
Never knew exactly who the neighbours were who came to my aid. And they never made a point of telling me. Just? Nice people who would always go to the aid of a young kid I suppose ......"Faith in humanity" ....But I will always remember their kind instant response.
N.B. Laying in the cubical I heard a familiar voice .... On looking round I saw the boy who lived next door ....He had been as daft as me and had been walking around with Rockets protruding from his pocket.
James Sanderson
Last couple of years at Laycock I got into the habit of going round the buildings early morning November 6th and collecting all the fireworks that didn't go off.
Lunchtime home from school, surrounded by my mates, I would attempt to light them. 1957, I decided to empty all the gunpowder out and light the lot up in one go. Match - strike - put to the small pile - nothing happened. So I pushed the match in deeper. Idiot. It blew and burnt my fingers badly. I had to beg my older sister, who was home for lunch from work, to take me up the health centre top of Barnsbury Park in Thornhill Road where they treated me and bandaged me up. Even bigger idiot, I then went late into school when I should have stayed at home. Showing off, I suppose. Hindsight tells me that my teacher developed an even poorer opinion of me than he had before.
Mickey Simmonds
Firework night was always my favourite day. I can remember being round Crossley Street with a few others when this girl threw a penny banger at David Gardner and it went into his school jacket, where he had loads of bangers, and set them off blowing a big hole in the jacket pocket. Lucky he wasn't injured, but in those days we were a bit silly.
John Thythe
The biggest bonfire, closest to where I lived in Union Square, was on the triangular bomb site at the junctions of Prebend Street, Basire Street and Coleman Fields.
It would be being built for weeks and all manor of combustibles went on it, crates, pallets, mattresses, old furniture and any bits of scrap wood, gathered by every kid in the area, who would climb it to get their wood to the top.
Families would gather in groups, to let off their fireworks in the streets. Potatoes would be put in the embers as the fire died down, for a hot, burnt black, but tasty spud.
I remember using my bike side stand, with the foot removed, as a horizontal rocket launcher. The rockets would whoosh along Prebend Street, about a foot off the ground, from Basire St. to Packington St. and beyond. With no traffic and most people having gone home once their fireworks were gone, the rockets had a clear flight path. On reflection, not a safe thing to do. Stupid boy!
Barry Page
I have many stories to tell about Guy Fawkes Night; all now recorded in my online memoirs. That said, there was one incident not mentioned that mimics some of your reckless adventures.
In Liverpool Buildings we had a fair sprinkling of obnoxious neighbours. One bloke was particularly loathsome, and he and my Dad had a bit of a dust-up one time over a trivial matter; Dad receiving the brunt of the assault. Anyhow, as I was witness to this, I decided to exact revenge on this A-hole. The method was to ignite a smoke bomb in his flat’s letter box. So, as it was near Guy Fawkes Night, I dismantled several penny bangers and loosely stuffed the gunpowder into a small cardboard cylinder. I made a cap to seal the cylinder and attached a JETEX fuse to it.
When it was time to wreak revenge, I got cold feet and didn’t place the smoke bomb in the letter box. Just as well as it turned out. As the bonfire was raging in Highbury Station Road, I took the smoke bomb and jammed it in between some of the railway wall bricks. Lighting the JETEX fuse, the ignition was almost immediate and, instead of the cloud of smoke originally intended, a huge flash and flame burst from the cylinder. If the bomb had been used as originally intended, a serious fire would’ve started.
A close call!
Raymond Silk
I used to love the penny bangers, those and Roman Candles, the only fireworks I ever bought. The 5th of November was a night for havoc, as I feel sure most GoBBs would concur. Nothing like a pocketful of penny bangers and the smell of bonfires. We used to go along the New River Walk. There was a bridge which crossed over it, and if you lit the banger, let it fizz and hold it as long as you dared, then dropped it in the river it would explode underwater, of course I wouldn’t dream of doing it now, but back then that’s another story. I also have a confession to make which some of you GoBBs may have been involved in. O’Shea, who I was sitting next to in the art class at Camden Road, produced a banger, I was holding it and O’Shea lit it, course it started to fizz and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I put it in one of the cupboards which used to line the classroom. The inevitable explosion followed. The art teacher – can’t remember his name – asked who the culprit was. I’m afraid I didn’t own up and the whole class got the slipper.
So sorry for that one GoBBs, stay safe.
Barry Page
A well known story of our time at BBS. The art teacher was Frank Walton, and the punishment, indeed, was swift and sure.
Michael Stewart
Hallo Raymond and All:
That teacher was definitely Walton and I was one of the kids who got punished. I remember it as a caning by the Bonk, but my memory could be playing me tricks. I think it was about half the class; those nearest the explosion, who got the treatment. It hasn't made me warped and bitter, at least not very much.
Bill Pitt-Jones
Guy Fawkes night 1960 (If my memory still serves me well). 60 years ago to the day.
The Royal Free Hospital Casualty Department with a bloody great hole in my leg, caused by a pocket full of bangers igniting.
Looking down seeing a deep red glow where the pocket in my jeans had been........People rolling me across the ground..........being wrapped in somebody’s coat to smother the fire .....my jeans being ripped off me ....Big bother Ted throwing me over his shoulder and running up the top of the road to York Way to flag down a Taxi .....He never got to the Dance he was heading for ........Big fight between my other brothers and the firework throwing youths they held responsible .....3 months off school ......Never ever again went near George Bean's Metalwork Class when they had the gas guns alight.
Never knew exactly who the neighbours were who came to my aid. And they never made a point of telling me. Just? Nice people who would always go to the aid of a young kid I suppose ......"Faith in humanity" ....But I will always remember their kind instant response.
N.B. Laying in the cubical I heard a familiar voice .... On looking round I saw the boy who lived next door ....He had been as daft as me and had been walking around with Rockets protruding from his pocket.
James Sanderson
Last couple of years at Laycock I got into the habit of going round the buildings early morning November 6th and collecting all the fireworks that didn't go off.
Lunchtime home from school, surrounded by my mates, I would attempt to light them. 1957, I decided to empty all the gunpowder out and light the lot up in one go. Match - strike - put to the small pile - nothing happened. So I pushed the match in deeper. Idiot. It blew and burnt my fingers badly. I had to beg my older sister, who was home for lunch from work, to take me up the health centre top of Barnsbury Park in Thornhill Road where they treated me and bandaged me up. Even bigger idiot, I then went late into school when I should have stayed at home. Showing off, I suppose. Hindsight tells me that my teacher developed an even poorer opinion of me than he had before.
Mickey Simmonds
Firework night was always my favourite day. I can remember being round Crossley Street with a few others when this girl threw a penny banger at David Gardner and it went into his school jacket, where he had loads of bangers, and set them off blowing a big hole in the jacket pocket. Lucky he wasn't injured, but in those days we were a bit silly.
John Thythe
The biggest bonfire, closest to where I lived in Union Square, was on the triangular bomb site at the junctions of Prebend Street, Basire Street and Coleman Fields.
It would be being built for weeks and all manor of combustibles went on it, crates, pallets, mattresses, old furniture and any bits of scrap wood, gathered by every kid in the area, who would climb it to get their wood to the top.
Families would gather in groups, to let off their fireworks in the streets. Potatoes would be put in the embers as the fire died down, for a hot, burnt black, but tasty spud.
I remember using my bike side stand, with the foot removed, as a horizontal rocket launcher. The rockets would whoosh along Prebend Street, about a foot off the ground, from Basire St. to Packington St. and beyond. With no traffic and most people having gone home once their fireworks were gone, the rockets had a clear flight path. On reflection, not a safe thing to do. Stupid boy!
Barry Page
I have many stories to tell about Guy Fawkes Night; all now recorded in my online memoirs. That said, there was one incident not mentioned that mimics some of your reckless adventures.
In Liverpool Buildings we had a fair sprinkling of obnoxious neighbours. One bloke was particularly loathsome, and he and my Dad had a bit of a dust-up one time over a trivial matter; Dad receiving the brunt of the assault. Anyhow, as I was witness to this, I decided to exact revenge on this A-hole. The method was to ignite a smoke bomb in his flat’s letter box. So, as it was near Guy Fawkes Night, I dismantled several penny bangers and loosely stuffed the gunpowder into a small cardboard cylinder. I made a cap to seal the cylinder and attached a JETEX fuse to it.
When it was time to wreak revenge, I got cold feet and didn’t place the smoke bomb in the letter box. Just as well as it turned out. As the bonfire was raging in Highbury Station Road, I took the smoke bomb and jammed it in between some of the railway wall bricks. Lighting the JETEX fuse, the ignition was almost immediate and, instead of the cloud of smoke originally intended, a huge flash and flame burst from the cylinder. If the bomb had been used as originally intended, a serious fire would’ve started.
A close call!
Raymond Silk
I used to love the penny bangers, those and Roman Candles, the only fireworks I ever bought. The 5th of November was a night for havoc, as I feel sure most GoBBs would concur. Nothing like a pocketful of penny bangers and the smell of bonfires. We used to go along the New River Walk. There was a bridge which crossed over it, and if you lit the banger, let it fizz and hold it as long as you dared, then dropped it in the river it would explode underwater, of course I wouldn’t dream of doing it now, but back then that’s another story. I also have a confession to make which some of you GoBBs may have been involved in. O’Shea, who I was sitting next to in the art class at Camden Road, produced a banger, I was holding it and O’Shea lit it, course it started to fizz and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I put it in one of the cupboards which used to line the classroom. The inevitable explosion followed. The art teacher – can’t remember his name – asked who the culprit was. I’m afraid I didn’t own up and the whole class got the slipper.
So sorry for that one GoBBs, stay safe.
Barry Page
A well known story of our time at BBS. The art teacher was Frank Walton, and the punishment, indeed, was swift and sure.
Michael Stewart
Hallo Raymond and All:
That teacher was definitely Walton and I was one of the kids who got punished. I remember it as a caning by the Bonk, but my memory could be playing me tricks. I think it was about half the class; those nearest the explosion, who got the treatment. It hasn't made me warped and bitter, at least not very much.