I'm writing this down quickly before I forget...
Over the past few days, there's been a feeling in the air. A 'certain something' that I couldn't put my finger on, something that made itself known to my memories, stayed long enough for my mind to register the feeling and then left before I could make sense of it.
This evening, walking back to the car after dropping in at our son's house (keeping socially distant of course), the feeling made a return visit and I not only realised it was there, I managed to grasp what it was and recognise it!
It's the feeling of Autumn!
The seasons have finally turned from Summer to Autumn and my mind and memories recognised it and greeted it like the old friend that it is.
I don't need a clock or calendar to tell me what time of year it is, or what season. I'm one of the lucky people who can just tell by the feel of the air. That is the best way I can describe it... The smell of the cold evening, the feel of the seasons - everything is tangible and the world seems to want to connect and communicate, but we rarely have the time or energy to allow ourselves such luxuries.
This evening, I went back to Autumns of my childhood. Not one specific evening, rather a sense of how I remember many similar evenings.
Cold air, not quite frosty, not cold enough to cloud my breath as I breathe out. A faint scent of woodsmoke hung in the air and the stars stood out sharp and bright in the sky.
The street lights illuminated the pathway and though we walked along the street in a town, not a village, in a different county to the one where I grew up, the sense of Autumn was so strong I could touch it.
Like an old friend, Autumn has returned and though I'll not be going out of the house, running across the front lawn and out into the street to find friends to play 'Hidey-bo' (Hide and Seek), 'Tin-can-a-lurkey' or myriad other games we played, I can still remember them and recount those stories here, in my blog.
When I describe my feelings or state of mind to people, they give me the 'side-eye' - a glance of disbelief or non-comprehension. I don't know whether that's because they've never experienced it or if they used to know what it was, but have packed it away with other childhood things and forgotten it.
This feeling, this memory - Tribal Memory if you will - it brought to mind the excitement and anticipation of a time of year that I enjoyed most.
Just after the summer holidays, when the clocks go back and the nights draw in faster than the summer, the tradition of collecting firewood for the bonfire on November 5th set us off. Of course, we also enjoyed and looked-forward to 'Mischief Night' - the night before Halloween and to October 31st itself, but for us, collecting fallen branches, bits of wood, cut-down hedges and just about anything that could burn was the adventure that we kids on our street took to with a determination that we all enjoyed.
It wasn't anything that was set-down in writing and we didn't suddenly realise the date, it crept up on us until someone would suggest it was time to start collecting firewood and building the bonfire.
It was usually built on our back yard. I suppose it was because our house stood at the end of a row and had a side road along side it, giving plenty of room to watch from a safe distance.
We'd find rope and maybe a pallet to use for collecting the wood and all together, we'd go off exploring demolition sites, old, falling down houses and waste-land. We'd ask people at the allotments, in gardens as they cut down trees and hedges - one year, I 'scored' a whole row of trees which had been pollarded. It took a full day to remove the wood and I remember the house owner looking on bemused at the number of children coming to fetch the trees. He didn't offer anything for the removal, but I know he was happy to see it go without any effort from him. We were happy that we'd have the biggest bonfire we'd ever had!
My parents bought fireworks for the bonfire and we ALWAYS had ours on the exact day - unless it fell on a Sunday. Back then, it was against the law to light a bonfire on Sunday.
Our dog, Bruce - a German Shepherd/Golden Labrador - was kept in the house on Bonfire night. Not because he was scared of the explosive bangs and flashes, but because of one particular bonfire night. My father lit a Roman Candle and stepped away from it. Bruce went right to the firework, picked it up, retrieved it and brought it back. The firework was taken from him and thrown over the garden just in time to prevent injury to hound or human.
Lesson learned, Bruce was banished forever after. We had to lock the back door too because he could open doors and get out.
That dog was clever in so many ways but he never learned the dangers of fireworks. 'Follow The Firework Code'
