It being that most sacred day in Lewes, November 5th this is all I have to offer at the moment. This morning at 6.30am down in New Anzac on Sea I heard an explosion which heralds the days' doings in our county town some five miles distant. The bonfire boys have greeted another anniversary in their long tradition of celebrating the disemboweling of Guido Fawkes and the remembrance of the burning of protestant martyrs outside what is now the town hall. The town supports several bonfire societies whose members spend all year preparing for their day of days. Torches are made by the thousand and 'Lewes Rousers' (a particularly violent and powerful type of Rook scarer) are stuffed into bags ready for chucking around the feet of the crowds tonight. The atmosphere has been building for weeks - collecting tins shaken in the streets, collectors dressed in their costumes, programmes being sold. Giant papier maché effigies are made in conditions of high secrecy in order that the 'enemies of bonfire' are not revealed until the last moment. We've been treated to all sorts over the years from George Bush to General Galtieri, to Maggie Thatcher, to local politicians. They're always superbly crafted, irreverent, often crude in subject matter and stuffed full of fireworks and explosives... at the end of the evening having been dragged through the streets (these things are huge) they are ignited to huge applause and joysome noise. Bonfire concludes with Bonfire Prayers said around the war memorial on School Hill after which rites of passage, lunacy or substance abuse cause some persons to run through the glowing embers of the spent torches. They feel no pain - until tomorrow.
