The British tradition of remembering Guy Fawkes and the failed Gunpowder Plot in 1605 is still celebrated in November with fireworks. Most people have forgotten the treason and why the day is commemorated but, though the selling of fireworks are now restricted, it is still in our psyche to go watch a display – that smell of ‘gunpower’ drifting through the air, the colours, the bangs and the fizz . . . and whatever the size of the crowd, all accompanied by ‘ooohs’ and ‘ahhhhs’ in appreciation.
My childhood memories are of a cold, dank evenings in November with my Dad trying to balance fireworks on top of a rickety old ladder (with no heed to any ‘health and safety’ rules), lighting a fuse then running down the garden with his flappy garden coat held firmly down for the occasion by orange string hoping sparks would fly . . . literally!
Those were the days. Fortunately for us living in Plymouth, the British Firework Championships have become a ‘signature event’. The website tells me it was ‘created originally to bring the professional pyrotechnics industry together once a year’. Plymouth was chosen because of its ‘natural amphitheatre’ meaning people from all over the south west can find a spot to view them from . . . the cliffs, the Hoe, down on the beaches, on the water in boats of all shapes and sizes including the Brittany Ferry, people on SUP boards and . . . from Firestone Bay – a stone’s throw from where we live in Royal William Yard. But the best thing is . . . IT’S IN AUGUST i.e. the likelihood of clear skies and warmer temperature.
We have seen a fair few displays in all sorts of weather from different locations using Iphone cameras to our Canon on a tripod with a cable release. There are others . . . who just sit and enjoy . . . and then there is us hoping this year will produce the best photograph despite . . . !! Oh and of course, other countries have them too for all sorts of reasons . . . it would be rude not to attend . . . it’s in our psyche!
