Spirit of Bonfire
SERENA FERRARI
Near New England – where I grew up – the turn of the season was always characterised by the befalling of ghosts and witches and tricky treaters. As a child, the month of October was laced with the thrill of being spooked and sugar-high, and as an adult, I still get the rush – perhaps out of nostalgia – when the days get noticeably shorter and the nights significantly crisper.
But since my move to England five years ago, that nostalgia for spookiness and corn syrup has been replaced by the exhilaration that is Bonfire Night. Attending Lewes Bonfire religiously, this was my first experience in Hastings and what a place to witness the spectacle. Strolling along the promenade at dusk, I watched as children paraded around with the same recognisable enthusiasm, piercing their newly bought lightsabers in the air and chasing each other into the cordoned off street as parents amiably chatted over a drink.
I found a spot on All Saints Street, the Shakespearean houses and cobbled pavements setting the tone for the incoming procession. As the societies marched bearing their flaming torches and strapped drum kits, I sensed a kind of stirring within. It was not long before I found myself yelling into the night and raising my fist in the air out of solidarity with each passing member. For that is the spirit of Guy Fawkes: a collective loosening in the name of justice and revolt. And while I did miss the lighting of the bonfire on the beach, I managed to catch the tail-end of the fireworks at the seafront. The strident tear of each pyrotechnic as it ripped through the night sky was exhilarating and as colour rained down, I noticed a child wrapped in his mother’s arms, his face turned to the sky, his eyes wide with wonder.
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