‘Remember, remember the 5th of November’ is how the saying goes, but how often do you really experience a Fireworks Night worth doing so? We’ve all been to the local football ground, or a mate’s house to see your run-of-the-mill few fireworks, sparklers in hand (a gloved hand of course) but I never saw celebrations of much calibre- never had I been to Lewes!
Lewes (pronounced Lew-iss) is a small market town in East Sussex whose inhabitants really get involved in the glory of Bonfire Night, so much so that it has been bestowed with the title of ‘Bonfire Capital of the World’! Obviously dating back to 1605 (when the Gunpowder Plot took place) the celebrations in Lewes not only commemorate the downfall of Guy Fawkes and his cronies, but also those locals who were burnt at the stake for their Protestant beliefs during the Marian Persecutions in the 1550s.
The festivities in Lewes began life as random riots, which were in fact banned by Oliver Cromwell, during 1649–1660, only to be reintroduced later by King Charles II once he'd come to the throne in 1660. By the 1820s large groups of ‘Bonfire Boys’ were arranging rowdy celebrations involving bonfires and fireworks, in 1847 London police were drafted in, creating chaos. The Boys were no longer allowed to party in the streets, being removed to a fielded area outside of the town. Three years later, they were allowed back in, the revelry was more like it is today in the way of processions, and three years after that, the first Bonfire Societies were formed.
Now as per, I wasn’t planning on doing much in order to celebrate Guy Fawkes’ fall from grace, until my sister so kindly invited me along her and her boyfriend’s annual trip to Lewes (I say annual, they have been once before, and indeed missed most of the procession, but after last Saturday it will no doubt become annual). They explained in excited tones that it was amazing, “there’s a parade and just loads of fire!” so as a girl with a touch of pyromania this seemed right up my street. And so we went.
Driving down to Brighton, spending a few hours there and then catching the train to the little town with the big celebration was our plan, and by the size of the queue for the appropriate train, half of the country’s plan. At about eight people wide and snaking up, down and then out of the station towards the car park, it took us about an hour and a half before we were sat, squashed into a carriage. For an event which doesn’t advertise itself, and in fact deters outsiders, there was a hell of a lot people heading their way!
Once we arrived, we located a ‘good spot’ on the High Street to watch all the action, and the excitement and the anticipation grew. We started to hear drumming and see golden lights in the distance, as they drew nearer we saw men, women and children dressed in 15th Century clothing bearing flaming torches. The parade lasted a good hour and a half, and what an experience that was! With six different Bonfire Societies (as mentioned) each having a particular theme and float (to burn later on) we saw Red Indians and pirates, Zulu warriors and Tudors. Floats depicted Harry at Hogwarts, a large David Cameron wearing pink marigolds using a mangle ‘hanging us out to dry’, a somewhat smaller Nick Clegg frolicking in a bathtub behind him, and a flame haired Rebekah Brooks riding Rupert Murdoch, amongst other creations. Everyone was holding some sort of flame, torches, flares, some dragging carts simply full of burning stuff, and then there were the bangers. The members of the procession lit them on their torches and dropped them to the ground, moments later, a blinding flash of light and a surely ear-damaging ‘BANG’, not forgetting the small remnants of explosion (shrapnel if you will) which occasionally blasted against you. My sister and I getting hit on the elbow and legs- my leg now bearing a small cut and a peppering of red marks. But once the pain subsided and my sister’s boyfriend stopped laughing, I could get back to enjoying the festivities. My sister did remark she was pleased that her heavily pregnant self didn’t witness the parade last year, the bangers making her somewhat jumpy and potentially inducing labour.
I was so impressed by the effort everyone had gone to, the marching brass bands and drumming creating a truly superb atmosphere. One council opting for a more sinister look, donned black cloaks and haunting masks- green flames burning their torches.
Once the procession was over it was time for a pint, a pit stop and then onwards to the firework display, choosing one of six (the same one my sister frequented last year) we were not disappointed. Costing only £5 we got a very cheap night- the parade was technically free!
The procession members who bore torches marched towards the pyre and threw them on, it all seemed rather ritualistic, adding to the fantasy of the evening. The fireworks were (with the fear of cliché) magical. The brightly coloured sparks bursting in the dark sky forming such wonderful patterns, and the whooshing sounds some made were so satisfying and wholesome. It was a shame it had to end!
But once it had, it was that time again- to queue for the train. Having my baby nephew with us (who was fantastic, not crying once and being carried on his dad’s back the entire time) turned out to be a definite benefit, as a very nice St John’s Ambulance man let us cut the queue and therefore catch a train pretty quick smart. The fact that the bubba was dressed in a bear-like snowsuit complete with paws and ears probably helped with the cute factor.
Lewes was spectacular; the only downside was the queues, which in the end didn’t prove a problem (my advice, bring a baby/doll). I think I might wear some earplugs or indeed ear defenders like my nephew next time, just to combat those bloody bangers, but yes- I am definitely, 100% going next year. There was such a sense of community, families, old and young mixing together for a truly wonderful celebration, one of which I have never experienced before and am eager to again.
