Sowerbutt's Fireworks

“Blimey, Bonfire Night. What’s going on?” The grey-haired man stared through the windscreen of the Leyland prison van. It was his second day back in uniform after retiring a couple of years earlier. With the call-up stepped up after Dunkirk, retirees from the Prison Service were being encouraged back to work. Bursts of red, gold, silver and orange shot over the street, a stone’s throw from Clapham Common.  Sprays of glittering stars, splashes of colour. Bunches of crackers, tied together with rafia, snapped and fizzed as they jumped along the pavement. Fountains whooshed gold, silver and green stars towards the overcast sky. Bangers, stuck in drainpipes and odd holes, added to the cacophony. 
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