LostInTheWoods

The closest weekend to 5th November when I was growing up was a spectacular time for me. The damp smell of leaves starting to decay, mixed with smouldering bonfires from the nearby allotments, remind me of where the magic would start.

First up, find the biggest wooden stake or pole we could find to act as our bonfire's backbone, and while my Dad stacked up the bonfire with accumulated garden rubbish, the gang of four (you know who you are are), would assemble, and try to construct a "Guy Fawkes". Amazing seventies throw back shirts and trousers were stuffed with leaves, and a head made from a paper carrier bag, and if we were lucky a hat. We would then retire to our respective houses to watch "World of Sport " or "Metal Mickey" or whatever.

Six o'clock would arrive, and our two families would assemble in our garden. The bonfire would be lit, and would be monitored and fed for the rest of the evening by my Dad. Then a large "Family Circle" biscuit tin would be brought forward with it's amazing bounty stashed safely inside... fireworks! Under close supervision we were allowed to light them, each taking our turn.

It was great fun, and every year there would be the inevitable firework that would not play ball. The fizzle would stop, and with huge anticipation... and then...zilch. After waiting a couple of minutes one of us would have to return, one year I remember doing this duty hiding behind an old dustbin lid. With no fuse remaining, these duds were usually sent to the bonfire at the top of the garden, where they fizzled and popped like a slightly excited bottle of coke being opened.

After the grand finale, which was usually the biggest rocket in the box, we would retire inside to eat lots of nice food, drink fizzy pop, and to initiate the annual "how many items can you stuff in a sandwich" competition. Great days....

To now, as an adult living in Sweden, those same smells waft around, but things are very different. Due to the fact that Sweden does not share the same history of a guy (no pun intended) with a spectacular goatee, intent on blowing up the parliament building and then getting caught, there is no Guy Fawkes night.

But yesterday (the 4^th) was a day of significance. It was what is called here a "red day". Basically a Bank Holiday, but they can happen on the weekend too... and I keep getting caught out when they actually occur. The reason for the red day? It was All Saints Day (for Sweden anyway, they have to be different), when traditionally the dead are commemorated. People often remember members of their family's who have passed away, and adorn the graveside with a long life candle, and it is quite an impressive sight to see a whole graveyard lit up. So I found myself lighting a small cylinder with a fuse, like I had done all those years ago, but for a very different reason.

That is all,
LostinTheWoods