Lewes is still a great centre for bonfires on 5th November, and nowadays the celebrations are peaceful. But it wasn’t always like that. The main elements in this story actually happened; only the names and some of the details have been changed, or made up.
The Great Bonfire Battle of 1847
(As told to me, Jeremy Bowles, by my grandfather William T Bowles, former Bonfire Boy, and former Alderman of the Lewes Town Council, in the snug of the Crown Inn, Lewes, on the 4th of November, 1900)
They called it the greatest bonfire battle ever, and I think they’re right. It was grand. I’m the first to admit that things had got a bit out of hand in the past at these events, but the town council and their police friends were just spoilsports, as far as we could see. The fun started when we heard about the old duffers who were to be sworn in as Special Constables to spoil our fun. You know the types: old chaps who were lawyers, bank managers, accountants and such, just proper miseries. Didn’t want anyone to have any fun, because they couldn’t, being as they were married with wives who told them what to do! Don’t tell your Gran I said that last bit, Jeremy.
I’d been a Bonfire Boy since 1844. We liked to have a bit of fun about bonfire night, and if nobody had made a fuss about it there wouldn’t have been be no trouble. Sure, we dragged burning tar barrels through the streets, and chucked the occasional one in the river, but nobody got hurt, well almost nobody, and there was never hardly any damage, either. A few years before, that old busy-body Mr Whitfield, the town clerk, had near got himself chucked in the river after a barrel, and then that rozzer, Inspector Flanagan, took offence at being jostled a bit by us. Well, a couple of the police needed a doctor afterwards, but it weren’t nothing really serious. Nobody died.
But that year, 1847, well, it took the cake it really did. What happened was we heard that the Special Constables were going to be sworn in at a special meeting at the Town Hall, so we decided to have a say in the matter ourselves. We gathered just off the High Street, and hid ourselves in the vennels, and waited. We were carrying some sticks, just short ones, nothing really harmful. Well, when they got as far as Keere Street we rushed them and had a right good time; a few of them fell over but most made it to the Town Hall, and the regular constables came out and got the ones that were on the ground, so nobody was really hurt.
Then we lit our tar barrels and started dragging them along the High Street, towards the Town Hall. I don’t know whether they thought we were planning to set it on fire, but the police stopped us by rigging up a chain across the whole width of the High Street, and by using that chain they managed to catch a few of the boys, who they threw in the cells! There didn’t seem to be much to do about that, so we all went and had a couple of drinks.
Now that I mention it, I’m getting a bit thirsty, what with all this talking. How about another pint?
That’s better. Now, as I was saying, we had a few drinks, and next morning woke with sore heads to the news that hundreds of police had arrived on the morning train from London! We found later that there was only 100 of them, but they made quite a sight, the massed ranks of blue uniforms, the silver on their helmets glittering in the cold winter sun. Well, they just stood about, and so did we, waiting for something to happen. It was all mostly peaceful until the evening; the mail gig from Brighton was coming into town, and it was at a fair lick when it got to the High Street. We thought it was going a bit fast and might have trouble stopping in time, so some of the Bonfire Boys ran out to help. The driver took offence at that, and got a bit carried away with the long whip he carried. A couple of the lads got hold of the whip and held on, and the chap was pulled right out of his seat on to the ground. Lord, did he set up a row, claiming his arm was broken and all. Happened he was right, it was, but we didn’t know that then. Anyhow, it had been his fault, we were just defending ourselves, and trying to stop a bigger accident from happening.
The London Police didn’t take that view though, and a few of them waded in and started cracking heads with their billy-sticks. When the driver chap had been carried away, still shouting something awful, well that was when his Lordship, Lord Chichester himself, appeared on the steps of the Town Hall, and started reading from this piece of paper he held out high in front of himself. Turns out it was the Riot Act. That’s what they mean when they say ‘reading the riot act’ you know; when they read it to a crowd that crowd has five minutes to bugger off.
Well, we didn’t much feel like doing that, so after the five minutes was up the London policemen gave a great cry and charged into us. There were so many of us, though, and so many of them, that it turned into one big free-for-all. You had to keep your wits about you to avoid being belted on the head by the policemen’s batons, and they likewise did well to avoid getting brained by ours. They did have helmets though, so it wasn’t a real fair fight. It went on for hours, and me and a small group of lads ended up facing off a few of the police constables, down by the river. I held up my stick and shouted, louder than the rest of them, that we could perhaps stop the fighting for a minute so that all of us could get our breath. Well blow me if one of the police, a sergeant, didn’t tell his chaps to stand back, as he thought that was a champion idea. So we sat on the ground there, by the riverside, six of us and four of them, and we shared some ciggies and had a bit of a chat. And you know what, they weren’t bad lads, most of them. Turned out that they hadn’t been told what to expect, and they thought they were coming to Lewes for a bit of a break. They were young, the sergeant excepted, about the same age as us, and I reckon more than a few of them enjoyed rucking as much as we did.
Tom knew where to find couple of jugs of cider nearby, and we shared them with the coppers. We got on with them famously, for about half an hour, and then the sergeant got up, brushed the seat of his trousers, put his helmet on, said thank you kindly for the cider, and announced that they would now have to arrest us. Well, as you can imagine, we didn’t like that one bit, so we rushed at them, quick-like, while the rest of the coppers were still sitting down. With three of us on the sergeant we got the better of them, and bundled them all into the river! They were a sight, all spluttering and shouting at us, and using words which I never heard a policeman using, before nor since. We left them to it, and ran back into the town. We didn’t reckon it would be a good idea for these chaps to see us abroad again that night, so we all took to our heels and headed to our own homes, where we stayed until the London bobbies had all gone.
Others weren’t so lucky as us, and lots of the Bonfire Boys had to spend a couple of months in the gaol, but with nothing on us we were able to go about our business as normal. It was my last year as a Bonfire Boy; my dad made sure of that. I went on to run the shop, as you know, and I even became an Alderman, as you also know, and those people who still think me to be a respectable person would be a bit shocked, I reckon, if they were to hear the story I’ve just told you. But it was all in fun, you know. Nobody got hurt, not really. The bonfires nowadays are all very safe, and I like to see the little ones enjoying the fireworks, but I still miss the old ways sometimes…
scrievin 