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conical shape. Branches, twigs, old newspapers, smaller bushes and garden clippings and anything else that would burn, were stuffed in and around the base. Miss Bridget gave us some old sheets and a mop, which we made into a ghost to sit on the top. Nan donated an old hat to put on top of its head.
    The momentous night finally came. The sun was just about gone from the cloudless sky and there was a coolness moving in from the west. It was due to start half an hour after sundown. Dad was late home again. It was becoming a weekly occurrence. We'd had our tea and bath and were lying on the verandah, watching for him to drive up the road. The build up for the night's events had made us all excited and jittery with anticipation.
    Eventually we saw his car with its parking lights on, coming from the southern instead of his surgery at the town end of Main Street. As he drove into the driveway and parked under the house, we rushed the car.
    "Well boys, this is a warm reception I must say."
    He got out of the car with only his medical bag. Our hearts sank. In an instant we did our own check of both the front and back seats before running after him as he entered the house.
    "What's up with you two tonight? You seem all worked up over something."
    "We've had our bath and tea, and done all our chores –" Doug began.
    "And our room's tidy," I added.
    "Well that's very commendable of you both." He washed his hands in the kitchen sink as Nan got his plate of smoked cod from the oven.
    "Have you forgotten what day it is?" Doug asked.
    "No, we always have fish on a Friday."
    "Stop teasin' 'em," Nan urged, adding, "They've been good all week." Dad smiled.
    "Oh, Cracker Night. Here. You missed the boot." He tossed the car keys to us.
    I caught them and ran through the hall, out the door and down the front steps. Doug followed so close behind, I could feel his breath on my neck. We grabbed two large paper bags from the boot and ran inside to the lounge room. We each scattered our bag's contents on the floor, running our fingers over the crackers as eagerly as a pirate drooling over stolen treasure.
    There were sparklers, tom thumbs, sky rockets, Catherine wheels, flower pots, roman candles, volcanoes and various other coloured crackers. As we counted the exact contents, I could overhear Dad and Nan's raised voices from the kitchen.
    "What am I suppose to do, just leave them?" he argued.
    "Son, I'm not sayin' what you're doin' isn't the right thing, it's just that people –"
    "I don't care what people say or think! I'm a doctor first. Hey fellas, you got everything you wanted?" We rushed in and hugged him around the neck. "Once I finish tea and changed my clothes, we'll go over. Done all your homework?"
    "Yes!" we cried. We watched every mouthful he took. He seemed to be eating even slower than ever.
    "Just this once, why couldn't he wolf his food down," Doug whispered.
    "Here you two, stop breathin' down yer father's neck. You'll give him indigestion. Help me pack the sliced damper for the soup."
    One of the great things about Cracker Night, Nan reflected, was that, "It brought everyone together", on both sides of the street 'cept Miss Kitty of course. Through the afternoon people had set up trestle tables and chairs. And even though it was Friday, we would be allowed to eat meat – only because it was such a special night. Nan had made a big pot of pea and ham soup to reheat on a separate little fire Dad had made, away from the main bonfire. She made the same every year Dad said since he was a boy.
    "No pea and ham soup ever tasted as good as Nan's pea and ham soup with damper on Cracker Night," he declared.
     

     
    The air was clear and still as we waited for Dad and several of the other men to strike the matches at the base of the bonfire. First one of the dads poured some kerosene around the base then they struck matches and threw them at it. Whoosh! A feeling of something primal and dangerous began to grow inside me as I and all the