The Roman Candle

From Great North Road

By Philip Pain.

It was around October 1955 when the shops were full of fireworks on sale for Guy Fawkes.

The 5th of November (this was always a big day on our family calendar as it was also my sister Lena's Birthday).

On this particular Saturday morning a few weeks before the big day a 10/- note "accidentally" fell out of my Mom's handbag and which I happened to find. You know the story of "finder’s keepers". Well with all this wealth in my possession I walked up to Boma street, at the end of 4th Avenue, and picked up Ivor Von Mollendorf who lived at no. 17 Boma street, showing him my ten bob. We took a short cut through someone's yard at the back of Ivor's house, across the railway lines into town, straight to Standard Trading.

Boy! Do you remember how many crackers a person could buy for ten shillings? All those squibs in flat rows, wrapped in red paper, with all those beautiful coloured Chinese dragons on the labels, packets of lady fingers (we used to unwind each one), jumping jacks and flash bombs. Well after the paper bag was full I still had money left and we decided (after much discussion) to buy a huge roman candle for half a crown.

On our way home we stopped in the veldt with the anthills at the back of Boma Street and we proceeded to blow up everything we could find. Putting crackers down ant holes to form bomb craters, flash bombs under tins to see how high they could jump. (Little boys just having fun. Fireworks are banned here in South Africa)

As the day wore on and we had used up all our crackers, including breaking the duds in half and lighting the gunpowder to make them go like a trapped skyrocket. First flames from one side of the break and then the other! We were finally left with the Roman candle. Now as our parents would probably not let us out when it was dark and also I didn’t want to have to explain where the firework came from.

Realizing that to enjoy the spectacle depicted on the label, we needed to be in a dark place. We decided, after another discussion (we always discussed things, I think this was to give each other courage when we were up to mischief), to view this fantastic event inside Ivor's parents garage (they were not home at the time). So into the garage we went and closed the big wooden doors and lit the candle. I guess Ivor and I didn’t know what a roman candle was, because we were sitting crossed legged on the floor when the show began. First pretty orange sparks showering out with beautiful little silver lights which jumped out and crackled, when all of a sudden there was this tremendous bang and the garage was filled with coloured balls of fire bouncing around all over the place (now I want you to use your imagination as to the panic we were experiencing while trying to get the doors open so we could get out). Me screaming, Ivor's screaming louder and then me louder than Ivor, each setting the other off. I was sure the world was coming to an end for us.

When we finally got out, which felt like hours, this stupid firework carried on every few seconds to spew out more of these fireballs. We were in total panic and only after it had died down did I notice that Ivor had some serious burns and was starting to whine. At this stage I thought maybe it was better that I go home before his parents came home.

It was a few days later while on my way home, I saw my mother and, Mrs. Von Mollendorf having a serious conversation in the road outside their house. Needless to say I made an immediate detour to get home; I waited around in the yard out of sight, up a mango tree, until supper time. When I eventually came inside, I was expecting to get "it" from my Mom and to my surprise she never mentioned a word.

Coming to think of it now my Mom often used to stop and chat to all the ladies over the hedge on her way home from town. It must have been my guilty conscious getting the better of me (punishment enough), but I was sure in my mind they were discussing me.

I remember Ivor had to be treated at the mine Hospital for the burns.

NB: My parents always told me: "Don't play with fire or you will wet your bed!" As if a kid is going to listen, we always knew better. (A box of Lion matches was the best thing a boy could have in his pocket.)

Cheers for now.