Saturday evening was hell here in our village. (It wasn't even the 5th, just the 4th!) Fireworks exploding constantly for about three hours, rockets landing in gardens and all the dogs (lots of people here have two or three dogs) in panic, or heavily sedated. Also, the horses up at the stables on Cadders Hill were terrified. One had to be sedated too.
It was like the Somme. I couldn't even hear my TV. But a (very) Norfolk woman said to me "Well oi reckon yew orter jest turn it up, yew fewl!"
As a child I did enjoy Bonfire Night, but we had Catherine wheels, sparklers, 'golden rain' and Roman candles. Never three hours of deafening hell!
Anyone remember using dad's old clothes and stuffing them with newspapers, adding a mask then toting it round the shops asking for "Penny for the Guy?"