Fireworks and a budgie named Tommy

We moved to Whitby when I was four years old. Budgerigars were very
popular pets in those days. We only had a stray blue one who was
generally quite scratty and timid, and too old to be taught to talk
properly.

But Mr and Mrs Ayre had a fine yellow one with a big head who hung
upside down and really liked me. I think he was called Tommy. He would
sit on my hand and say things and sometimes put his warm fluffy little
head in my mouth, though the temptation to gnash my teeth together made
me feel nervous, in the way that standing on the edge of a cliff might.
I got a lot of pleasure out of the fact that Tommy wouldn't even sit on
my little brother's shoulder, let alone regurgitate seed in his
mouth.

I liked playing with Tommy so much that a couple of times I just set
off and visited him without telling my parents. It was quite a
distance. They got in a panic and called the police the first time as
they hadn't realised I could even find my way there.

There were no other adults I visited like this. Mr and Mrs Eyre were in
the church choir and that's how I knew them, but my parents knew loads
of other inoffensive couples with shiny doorknobs and clean work
surfaces I could have befriended, and some of them even had live-in
children I could have played with. But no. I chose Mr and Mrs Ayre for
their budgie. I can't even remember what they looked like or if I ever
said 'hello' when i visited them.

This is a really frail connection, and nothing to do with Tommy the
Budgie. But on Bonfire Night when I was five, I stood with my parents
and brother and a crowd of people watching a firework display. In
Whitby they have a unique (I think) pier arrangement which consists of
two piers sticking out into the sea as they do, and a harbour in
between. But even in those days only one pier was used as the other was
unsafe. (I love piers and am happy to be living somewhere with a pier
again, even though I only go on it about 3 times a year. )

It was dark and we were on the safe pier watching fireworks being let
off from the grotty one. The fireworks would have looked crap to us
now! Then however, it was a decadently sumptuous display featuring more
than one colour. They broke over the water and it was magic.

There was a grand finale which I can't remember enough to describe.
Everyone cheered during this and for this reason no-one heard me scream
when something enormous heavy and hot landed on me. But there must have
been a smell of burning knee beacuse my Mother then had hysterics and
it was left to my Dad to work out if her heebie geebies were based on a
reality. I don't remember any pain but I do recall the delicious amount
of attention I got.

I had been hit by a sky rocket the size of a broom handle. I think it's
gone down in family history as being six foot. The man whose budgie I
was friendly with materialised out of the crowd and drove me to the
infirmary. I can remember the drive and that's all. There was nothing
dramatic, I was treated for burns but they made it sound serious in the
local newspaper.
From that day on to this, it hasnt affected how I view fireworks. I
think they're a terrible waste of money but you can entertain a lot of
people at once with them.