Remember remember the 5th of November

Today is Fireworks' Day in England. In the 50's London of my childhood I remember building an effigy of Guy Fawkes, who tried to overthrow Parliament some hundreds of years ago (history buffs please forgive the vagueness and google him yourselves), parking it on the front steps and asking for donations of pennies for my fireworks fund. "Penny for the old Guy ?" we'd weasel to our neighbours. Mine was crafted from an old pair of pyjamas stuffed with newspaper and a face drawn on a bit of old tea towel for the head and wasn't very handsome. I had no plans to burn it either, the way you were supposed to. Too big for our fireplace and no local bonfire that I knew about.
Sometimes kids and teens would randomly build a bonfire in the middle of the road and it would last for a couple of hours before the fire brigade (yes," brigade" my American friends, is what we call it, for soldiers of safety they are) hosed them away. One year my father agreed to take me on a tour of the neighbourhood and ogle whatever fires we could find. The night would be rife with smoke in what was usually a foggy and cold night anyhow and the primitive thrill of being out in the cold and dark, celebrating the death of some old geezer from history, whose effigy was often propped on a chair and stuck in the middle of the bonfires, appealed to my inner savage. Young boys were eager to toss lit "bangers" (not the sausage kind) at anyone's feet and watch out ! The sparks had a nasty sting. I came home that night with my black stockings riddled with so many tiny holes you'd have though I was wearing expensive crocheted lace jobs.
My mother wasn't very keen on firework night and sometimes tried to pretend she'd forgotten because after all she was a Scot and Guy Fawkes was not. I wasn't buying it though. How could she not see the kids and their stuffed Guys in pushchairs or broken down prams parked at tube stations and in shop doorways begging for pennies? I can imagine her puffing on her cigarette, head down, sprinting past the poor mites and being determinedly Scottish about it all.
She conceded to sparklers though and allowed these in the kitchen where we whirled them around in the dark oohing at the illusions of lighted circles hanging in the air, next to Mum's lighted cigarette,just sort of hanging there on its own.

Last time I visited London on November 5th, there were kids in Hallowe'en costumes and pumpkins carved into jack o' lanterns for God's sake watching parent-controlled orderly firework displays from a safe distance and bangers were banned. Not much thrill for the inner savage any more. The American Empire has its revenge in subtle ways, infiltrating the local customs, or so I thought. "Dinna be so daft, lassie. Hallowe'en started in Scotland", scorned my mother as she blew out smoke through her nostrils with contempt.

Oh yeah and did you also know that one of my ancestors invented the bicycle too? Look it up for yourself.