FLETCHING BONFIRE
A report by Peter Welch

It was with some trepidation in observing the weather that I considered the prospect of an evenings bonfiring as a guest of Fletching. Saturday 24th October 1998 had been wet and windy as a bad night on Bass and was showing no inclination to improve as Adrian (the Sidley Bonfire Builder) and I rendezvoused outside of a house in the centre of Hastings for the ritual painting process. As pristine, crisp new members of Hastings Borough Bonfire Society (red/gold/blue stripes) we had wangled onto the bus taking a contingent to the evening's celebration and to this end we were heading for the Stade for a 5.05 pickup. A half hour of donning warm foundation garments (I may be mad but I'm not daft) and donning a new mask layout, was followed by a brisk parade down to the Standard where a pint of Masterbrew gave the incessantly foul weather a slight glow - one of those 'what the hell, we're going' moments.

The wind-driven water whipped around the corners of the seafront as we boarded the bus (started out at Silverhill, calling at Warrior Square) and set out East to Polegate, then North-Nor-East for Fletching. Drops rattled on the roof like distant drum-fire and sheets of water lay to either side of the road as if the local farmers had decided to give hydroponics a fair old try. As the gloom of early evening settled across the landscape, a silvered crack appeared in the dull grey of the firmament - then a second and a third - was the evening going to break our way after all?

We debarked in the village and observed once again that phenomenon experienced by many yet rarely commented upon, that magnetic force of attraction which seems independent of anything so flimsy as gravity, in that it draws one uphill where necessary - or in whichever direction lies the bar. Ho! Past the barbeque to the Rose & Crown for a swift relief and a pint of Burton Ale. Before long the Hastings contingent have filled the bar, purchased their immediate requirements, and embarked upon the evening's conversation. Other uniforms, other costumes, faces familiar and new, clear or painted throng the snug, fill the corners and beseige the bar. Outside the weather has dried and the wind softened, stars can be spotted above. After the efforts of the day to dampen everything, it seems, that is not wrapped in three yards of polythene and coated in grease, this break must seem cruelly late to the pyromanic fellows on the firesite. Yet within moments the cry has gone out from the public address megaphones that 'there will be a display of fireworks at the end of the evenings procession' I learned later that the ignition would not be electronically controlled (too damp for the level of reliability necessary in such circumstances).

As we formed up for the first walk, torches were distributed and small children incorprated within the structure of the column - nervous and concerned parents may decry it, but I watched as a young man of twelve learned how to carry a torch safely, learned something of the art of keeping the thing burning, and began to absorb the feeling that comes woth bonfire. We, that is young Scott, Adrian and I, walked behind his step-mother who kept a careful handfull of his younger brother and sister, both also wary of the light and sparks at first but gaining in confidence as the night progressed.

A fair step out into countryside and double back to the village shouting Hellos and Halloos to the other Societies represented further up the column, in time turning upon our own section (and of course much bidding of Good Evening to ourselves!) and then in turn having the chance to greet those who followed us. Back to the Rose for some Harveys Sussex Ale to cut the dust and smoke and ready for the next stage, the walk to the firesite. The main road is scattered with small groups of people deep in conversation and small piles of discarded torches deep in embers. Slowly we reassemble to to march in the opposite direction, stepping out of the village to double back into it, and then, with torches sparking their embers into the pitch black fields, hedges and gardens, with fresh flames on sticks to hand, smartly at last to the fire to place ignition on the winded side letting the flames be fanned through the structure. Mud of course now abounds and the squibs, cracking for a while now in competition with the drums, add their own airborne spray of semi-liquid soil to the night's atmosphere.

The 'whump' of a mortar rising, followed by the crack of starburst and the first of a rythmic repeat of the launch like some half-heard heartbeat, confirms that the display team have overcome the adversity of the eliments to give of their best. A gradually quickening pace leads us into multiple bursts, whilst just visible on the centre of the site the launch of a cannonade of shells is marked by a furious sheeting of burning powder searing into the earth. Skywards, the result of this fusillade is an eye-widening field of colour and light spread across the sky. The fierce wind that has now got up clears the grey smudges of explosions to leave the canvas of night clear for the next work of art, whilst threatening to take my beloved hat into the inferno of the bonfire. Indeed the force of moving air has stirred the oxidation process within the fire to full spark, streaming the flames in a banner across the sky and revealing, as if a glimpse of underskirts or stocking-tops, the outline of pallets brushwood and timbers used in the construction.

The pyrotechnical display continues relentless and breathtaking, with something reassuring in the deeper, throater thunder of large mortars rising, before the site is is illuminated again by the sparks from canister bursting high in the air. It seems odd that whilst the show seems to continue uninterrupted for an age, it simultaniously comes to a close, as they all do, too soon. With a performance which would not have disgraced any Society, achieved in the face of probably the worst setting up weather for a long time (and we hope the last such for a long while to come), the Boys showed their colours, and I for one take my hat off to them (keeping it safely away from the fire of course).

With the final challenge of the evening, that of leaving the field via the quagmire at the gate whilst remaining upright throughout the performance completed, time allows for a swift retire to the 'Rose' where the yellow and black of Commercial Square entertain with 'Oh what a terrible song, sing us another' etc. for a creditable time. Fire carts containing the dying remains of spent torches, provide localised warmth for small gatherings, mixed Bonfirers and Constabulary, including one young lady copper with her colleagues lighter stuck in her back pocket (we didn't like to inquire too closely, you never know where you might end up if you upset them properly). Finally, time comes to return to the fold and we board the bus for a singsong journey back to 'sunny Hastings' where unbelievably the break in the weather has held and we can walk home in little more than a brisk and blustery breeze. one or two late night revellers take a double glance at the get-up, but conclude that I am harmless enough to share a laugh with. All in, a cracking evening, with an extra hour in bed and a glorious sunny start to Sunday - what more can you ask?

LEWES 1998
By Pete Thompsett

Ever seen a shoal of shimmering fish?
Swishing that way! Swishing this!

That was Lewes - Thursday night,
Skies were clear - Stars were bright,

First to the left - then to the right,
Bonfires burned and gave forth light.

The Grand Old Duke of York passed by,
It was clearly him - for he caught my eye,

He marched us up - he marched us down
He marched us up - he marched us down
He marched us up - he marched us down
We marched all round the f*****g town.

Bangers in streets - so loud so clear,
Why just Lewes - Why not here?

BATTLE BONFIRE
By Reg Wood

After being forced to drink more of Pete Thompsett's beer on the way, it was good to arrive in Battle to see that the better weather had brought the crowds out. There was also an over strong police presence, presumably on overtime yet apparently superfluous to proceedings.
Following refuelling at the Kings Head, HBBS joined other societies at the market square. The procession seemed very short after a long hike at Lewes. Our banner lit up before intended much to Shane's surprise and there were retorching delays at the Abbey. Yet another surprise, no thick mud at the firesite!

The Guy (who gave him the Cliffe jumper) clung on to life for some time before failing to gain a pardon.
The firework display was of exceptionally high quality and was followed by a splendid Guy Fawkes effigy which exploded in spectacular style.

Then it was off to the 1066 to reflect before going home,
but oh no! Pete still had some beers left!

RYE BONFIRE (1)
By Terry Lee

Rye once again lived up to it's reputation of holding one of the most spectacular Bonfire celebrations in the country. The procession this year followed its traditional route, with the tableau leading the procession for the first time.

The tableaus as usual were disappointing and seemed to have no relavance to bonfire. The procession was shorter this year as many societies were attending Nevill Bonfire.

The torches burned well and were easy to light due to the dry weather conditions. As the procession meandered its way through the streets things seemed to be very quiet with very few fireworks going off. Despite this, the fireworks on Hastings Banner brought a loud cheer from the spectators.

On reaching the bonfire it was good to see a burning cross which reminds us of the Sussex Protestant Martyrs who were burned at the stake during the Marian Persecutions of the 16th century. A time of great intolerance towards those whose conscience would not allow them to become subservient towards alien powers in Rome.

This year's guest bonfire lighter 'Rye Fawkes' was Chris Difford from the band Squeeze. The fire burned well with the welcome addition of the sound of Bonfire Societies discharging their fireworks.

The firework display was spectacular, it was both colourful and noisy with plenty of loud bangs. Once the fireworks were over HBBS retreated to the Bedford Arms for some well deserved drinks.

As usual Rye turned out to be a great evening and we are looking foreward to next years spectacular even

RYE BONFIRE (2)
By Peter Welch

After several weekends making torches, the day of Friday 13th November dawned clear and dry, and by around mid-morning the sixty or so pallets which would form the basis of the fire had arrived on various parts of Rye Salts. Construction commenced with Adrian's preferred four-square piles to 7 feet, surmounted by bridging pallets and boards to allow a further four piles to be centralised, and finally a single stack in the middle. Around and into this, the boards, lathes and slabwood were gradually laid to form the traditional pyramid shape and form the chimney through which the blaze would eventually grow. Scrapwood and kindling was accumulated in the four 'doorways' to ensure a successful ignition, and a bale of straw was added to the north 'door' to make things easier for Rye Fawkes to set things off.

Construction continued into the evening and recommenced early on Saturday admidst continuous drizzle and around six inches of water surrounding the fire, progressively adding a brown tinge to the picture as mud sprouted and grew on the Salts. The Funfair arrived early, but on discovering the tendency of their equipment to sink rapidly into the morass, decided that discression was the better part of digging themselves out again at the end of the evening and beat a hasty retreat, before we could scrounge tea and a bite. Then we set off to Petty's garden, to give the torches a final slosh in the dipping solution and load up the wagon. A quick sortie up to the Saltings to deliver a small supply of fire-sticks for the 'Chairing Down' of the celebrity guest, (and to leave a little 'dip' on the hotel entrance - sorry about that!) before finally parking up at the Salts around half-three, and a chance to ease back a little, for a while at least. Ho! for a cup of tea, sausage sarnies, shower and face paint - many thanks to Adrian's Mum, Maureen, for somewhere warm and dry to sit down.

Suddenly, 5.45 had arrived, and we returned to the Salts to erect the 'Flaming Cross', collect the wagon and head for Tilling Green, the starting point for the procession and initial torching up point. We there learned that the floats would this year occupy the exit road from the estate, with walkers behind, and so had to ditch a suitable pile of torches before leaving sharply to avoid being 'blocked in' then off to the Railway Station car park to await the road closure and take up position in Mason Road for the second torch up. Despite an advertised start time of 7.00 for the closure, cars were still appearing from all directions at 7.20, but we were by then occupied with firing up the 'Green Dragon' torch carts. Several attempts were made to spark them into life, including (in vain) the addition of a can of lighter fuel, before we finally adopted the 'sledgehammer' approach - four fresh torches and a blowlamp - that got them going!

Crowds surrounded us at the bottom of Conduit Street as we prepared to resupply the procession, and leaking 'dip' coloured the gutter. Suddenly the clamout for sticks developed, and Dave and I spent the next ten minutes heads down passing out torches by the handful. Finally, the procession had passed and we regarded the sorely depleated stock on the wagon before heading down to the Station entrance to deposit these remaining few (around a hundred and sixty left, out of over 1000) and then off to lose the truck round in Jempson's yard. this year I was able to reach the firesite before the fire was lit, and so could enjoy the spectacle to the full, commencing with the 'Chairing Down' procession with Rye Fawkes carried shoulder high in the chair. The Cross took fire quickly, and was swiftly followed by the fire, which after only a few moments was searing the night with flame.

The display set off with, I suppose, a bang, and certainly continued in that fashion including a spectacular fusillade of screamers and plenty of mortars. the pyrotechnicists(?) kept it up for around ten minutes before the end was signalled by the mighty thump of a 16-inch setting off - a tremor rang through the blancmange-like surface of the field as the sesmic vibration reached us from across the river, followed seconds later by the magnificent skyburst from this monster as colour and light were strewn across the sky. by now, the blaze had taken serious hold, and the searing heat drove even vetran Bonfirers to the edge of the roped area, whilst the croud retreated even further.

After this, the crowds dispersed swiftly, and it was only moments later we discovered where they had gone - every damn' pub in Rye was heaving! A long walk via the Pipemakers (and a pint) and back through the town led finally to the Bedford, just after last orders (typical!) and then back onto the firesite to stand and admire the remains of our labours. The embers glowed bright orange-red, littered with small blue flame, and we toasted ourselves with a 'tinnie' before finally retiring, weary but satisfied.

STAPLECROSS BONFIRE
By Peter Welch

Thanks to the weather at the end of October, the Staplecross celebration became the last of the season on 28th November. Due to other commitments, the usual transport arrangements were unavailable, and so Ho! to British Rail, Connex, or whatever it's called this week, for a lift to Battle to rendezvous with Battle Boyes bus at 6.00. And Lo, it came to pass that the track was up for the weekend and travel was to be by courtesy of Hams Transport silver bus, leaving on time but arriving some ten minutes later than intended at Battle station, leaving a brisk march to the other end of town (made it with seven minutes to spare - ow! me legs!)

Off we set to the village to arrive around 6.30 and wait for the Club bar to open (the longest fifteen minutes in history). Staplecross can be traversed in mere moments, and so I took a stroll to the junction up the road, taking a few moments before the War Memorial to ponder the ultimate goal of us all. Police presence was limited to a couple of patrol cars driving slowly through the streets and occasionally stalling their engines whilst turning off towards Bodiam (true - twice this happened!!). The clouds which had furnished the day's drizzle were now leaving the area, revealing a crisp moon and stars and boding well for the evening. Finally, into the Club for a beer, and a jaw with the few familiar faces arrived so far.

Within moments, it seemed, and certainly within two pints, the time had come to assemble and light up the preparatory to the foreshortened step down the road to the firesite. The gentle music of a generator wafted across the night, remenicent of so many summer (and winter) nights in a field - so many fields. The mud had been partially treated with chipped bark, making access fair if squishey, and we approached the bonfire to the sound of number twos, fours and the occasional 'Stuff me what was THAT?'. The last recitation of the Bonfire Prayer in active service for the year preceeded ignition of the fire, which was rapidly riddled with glowing fuses giving birth to cracks and puffs of smoke. The flames took hold and attention turned to the display in prospect.

The anticipation brought on by the postponement and the somewhat 'constrained' feel to the rest of the year's meetings was gradually sated as the initial whitefire rush was followed progressively by an increased intensity of bursts working their way slowly higher and higher, straining necks across the site. Two golden starbursts in symphony marked, we discovered, roughly the mid-point and were succeeded by an extensive variety of colour shells, and a stunning bank of 'twisters' before culminating in some of the highest, widest coloured stars, rivalling the best from each display to date.

From the last firesite jaw of the year, back to the Club for further refreshment in anticipation (and defiance) of the scheduled 9.30 bus departure. A splended conclusion to bonfire, involving some more negotiation of the public transport system in Battle (via a swift one in the 1066 Arms), and the earliest end to the evening on record - almost asleep (i.e. semiconcious) by 11.00.

Thank you Ewhurst and Staplecross Bonfire Society for a well-acquitted evening. Roll on next year!

The views expressed in the articles above are those of the Author and may not agree with the views expressed by HBBS