the day i set my little brothers hair on fire for mw&g

In New Zealand we light fireworks on Guy Fawkes’ night. It is similiar to 4th of July except that 4th of July makes sense. Guy Fawkes was an unfortunate fellow with rather an elaborate moustache who tried to blow up the House Of Lords on November 6,  1605.  He was not even the ringleader. He got caught literally guarding the explosives, sitting on a keg of gunpowder playing with matches no doubt, as it  appears he was not a very  bright fellow. He was Catholic the guys in power at the time were Protestants. The Protestants confiscated all the gunpowder and poor old Guy  came to a rather sticky end.  And for some obscure reason this date has been celebrated with bonfires, fireworks and the burning of straw guys on Guy Fawkes night all over Britain and then around the commonwealth ever since. In fact in one way or another people have lit bonfires or fireworks on this night for over 400 years.

Except for us. Because our mother did not approve of  Guy Fawkes Night.  Aside from the obvious safety factor, and the barbaric nature of the celebration, evidently we may as well set fire to a ten dollar note.  Though I have to say that we saw no logic at all in her argument. How could setting fire to a 10 bob note be in any way entertaining.  However one year we outsmarted our mother  (or she allowed herself to be outsmarted more like)  and we were allowed to have a fireworks night of our own the night AFTER Guy Fawkes night.

I will explain to you how this worked. As you know we lived on a beach. On The Night, the beach was crammed with people cooking out, bringing their picnics, family and friends, their terrified dogs and when it was dark, lighting their bonfires and their  fireworks and having a grand old time.  You will know that you cannot let off fireworks until it is dark and in the dark they LOST plenty of fireworks. So my older brother hit on the idea of getting up really really early (before the other beach kids), the next morning,  going down to the beach and searching for the fireworks these careless people had lost.  Then when it was  dark that night,  we would have our own fireworks displays. It was a fine plan. There were six of us so we were able to cover a fair amount of terrain before Mum got up.  We filled bags with unlit fireworks, all kinds , rockets, tom thumbs, spinning wheels,  and this year I struck gold, I found a big unopened box of  sparklers.  I loved sparklers.

The night came and after pleading with mum for roughly 6 hours we were allowed to go to the beach and carefully light our fireworks as long as we did not shoot rockets at each other, did not approach the fizzers and carried buckets of seawater about with us,  just in case. We were  to stay within sight of the house and  look after the Littlies. The Littlies were the three youngest. That was fine, we all took one each. I got T.

T was a lovely little boy, he had piles of hair and the sweetest freckles and navy blue eyes as big as an animated cats. His eyelashes were so long that my sisters and I wondered how he was able to keep his eyes open they looked so heavy. He did not walk until he was almost 18 months old because I carried him everywhere and did not talk until he was three and his first words were ‘go away and leave me alone!’ Which we all found hilarious.

So I always had T, he was my little boy. He would have been about four years old this day,  I think.

So my sisters and I we are larking down in the shallows. I had given T a sparkler all of his own and lit four for myself, and with two in each hand I was writing my name in the dark.  Heaving my arms round and round writing for all I was worth before they went out. Then I saw a funny little fire in my peripheral vision. One of my sparklers had sparked into  T’s hair  and it had started a wee  fire. Oops.  I had set my brother on fire!

I dropped my sparklers hissing into the sea, rushed at him, caught him up and dumped him head first into the oncoming waves.  It was a warm early summer night. OK.  

He floundered about for a bit while I peered into the dark, checking that he had gone out.  And just as importantly I looked about to see that no-one had noticed me setting his hair on fire. Well, it was an accident! Then he stood up, dripping, this skinny little wet cat of a kid.  We puddled back to the shore and he looked at me with this really quizzical look. Why did you do that, he said quietly.   I paused, then sighed  and decided to tell the truth.  You were on fire, I said. Oh, he said as though this was a perfectly reasonable thing to hear. As though being set on fire by your big sister and then thrown into the sea by the same sister was a perfectly ordinary occurrence.

Can I have an other sparkler, he said and held up his dead dripping little fire stick .  Mine has gone out.

c