Remember, remember, the fifth of November...

Giggling filled the night air. Giggling that should have been waking the neighbours, but they were probably awake already - how could they sleep while the air was filled with shrieks of excitement and the smell of meat and gunpowder. In fact, most of the neighbours were joining in with our festivities or holding ones of their own. Our giggling was unnoticed by them.

Up the steps we ran with cries of "Mommy this" and "Daddy that" and then back down again with sparklers in our hands and Daddy trailing behind moaning about children and growing up. Once we were at the bottom, on the sandy edge of the golf course, away from the animals and anything that could catch fire, he took them from us one at a time and used a lighter (not his of course) to ignite them before handing them back to us. I took mine carefully, weary of the sparks that were shooting from its top, worried that one would shoot off in the direction of my hand. I almost give it back to him, can even hear in my mind him grumbling about wasting time and money, but then Judy gets hers and runs off into the night with it, twirling it in big circles and trying to write her name before the light fades away. She is having so much fun and I want to join in. I look at my own sparkler, already burned through a quarter of the way and decide in an instant what I want. I chase after her, try to write my own name into the darkness, to leave my mark on the world, but I am not quick enough and the letters start to fade into the night before I can even finish writing them. After a minute of glorious abandon, the sparkler reaches the end of its tether, and Judy and I look at each other. I can't see her face in the pitch blackness, but I am sure that she looks about as disappointed as I feel. We have a moment of silence for the dead sparklers before she tags me and runs away, back towards the house, the giggling returned.

It's almost midnight and Daddy wakes me up from my nap on the couch and gets me to come outside and watch. He finds me a seat on the steps facing the golf course and then runs into the middle of the course where a metal bin awaits him. I see the spark of a lighter trying to be lit, followed by a dim fire that leaves a red glow even after it has gone out. And then it starts. The squealling that isn't coming from the children; the lights that linger longer than our feeble sparklers and in neon colours too; the lights that brighten the sky so much that I can see Daddy's excited face as he rushes to the next one, and the next, and the next. I watch in awed silence with Judy sitting next to me, both of our heads tilted towards the sky, our eyes darting from one spot to the next, wondering where the next one will come from.

And then it is over. There are no more lights, there is no more excitement, there is no more Guy Fawkes. Slow, yawning, the guests collect there summer coats and jackets, retrieve their plates and leftovers from the kitchen and jingle their keys in attempts to get the attention of husbands, children, loved ones of all shapes and forms. The first person walks out the door opening the floodgates for the rest, providing excuses for everyone, and within minutes the house is quiet once more. I try to keep my eyes open, tell Daddy that I'm not tired, that I want to stay awake and watch Beauty and the Beast again, but he is not fooled and he carries me to bed, tucking me in tight as I close my eyes and dreams of fireworks play in my mind.

Remember, remember, the 5th of November
The Gunpowder Treason and plot ;
I know of no reason why Gunpowder Season
Should ever be forgot.