In the UK fireworks are now a people’s celebration, sometimes a family gathering to mark a special occasion, mostly they are organised events held in city parks and on village greens where displays are enjoyed in the company of neighbours and friends.
It wasn’t always this way.
The first recorded British experiment with fireworks dates from 1242, when a Franciscan monk named Roger Bacon nearly fried his own bacon while playing around with saltpetre. He created “the roar of strong thunder, and a flash brighter than the most brilliant lightning”.
He might have been enjoying himself but other men were taking notice for other reasons.
In 1346, a mere hundred years later, the might of English longbow-men took the field at the Battle of Crécy in northern France, but it was also the first time a Bombard, a mortar-like cannon, was used in battle by the English.
As gunpowder shouldered itself a bigger role in the country’s arsenal, less destructive uses for it were explored. It was during the Tudor period that fireworks became a spectacle of entertainment, initially at the wedding of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York in 1486.
It was a later Elizabeth - Good Queen Bess - who appointed an official ‘Fire Master of England’, a sort of early Health & Safety officer. Alas, the appointment didn’t stop one display at Warwick Castle from setting fire to a nearby settlement. No one, it seemed, had taken account of the wind direction. Thankfully, only one person died. The Queen paid £25 in reparations, enough to buy the services of a skilled tradesman for 833 days.
The use of fireworks didn’t stay solely in royal hands for long. The likes of William Shakespeare’s company of actors, the Lord Chamberlain’s Men, were soon experimenting with pyrotechnic displays to enhance their performances. Yet, after what happened at Warwick, someone should have known that gunpowder and thatched roofing make for uneasy bed-fellows. Which is how, in 1613, the first Globe Theatre on the banks of the River Thames came to burn to the ground.
The grandest royal fireworks event was held in April 1749 on the order of King George II. It was to celebrate the end of the War of Austrian Succession and the signing of the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle.
A Hanoverian, George distinguished himself to History by becoming the last British monarch to lead troops into battle, so there was a somewhat personal aspect to this.
George also had a Health & Safety officer on hand, bearing the title ‘Master-General of the Ordnance’. Italian explosives’ experts were engaged to provide the spectacle, and a renowned stage designer for the Paris Opera was engaged to build a suitable set. The entire event was to be held in Upper St James’s Park (now Green Park) in London, close to the then seat of the Crown, St James’s Palace.
Between the Paris stage designer and the Italian pyrotechnics experts, a fireworks ‘machine’ was constructed – a pavilion of wood decorated to imitate stone, complete with spectacular embellishments. It was 410 feet long and 114 feet high, and approximately 10,000 rockets were installed within it. George Frideric Handel was commissioned to write accompanying music, which is still known as Music for the Royal Fireworks.
What could possibly go wrong?
A rehearsal of the orchestra was organised in Vauxhall Park six days before the planned event. Tickets were sold at two shillings and six pence, equivalent to a day’s wage for a skilled tradesman.
12,000 people attempted to attend. Most of the gentry lived north of the Thames, Vauxhall Park was on the south bank, and at the time only London Bridge existed as a road crossing. That was under repair. No one went anywhere, by carriage at least, for three hours. Handel’s music, though, was considered a great success.
Which was just as well, as not a lot of people heard it on the celebratory evening. April in Britain is known for its rain showers, something the Italian fireworks’ experts hadn’t taken into account. Rain it did, accompanied by a lifting breeze.
At 8.30pm the initial rockets were sent up, followed by a 101 cannon salute away on Constitution Hill so the smoke wouldn’t interfere with the spectacle. Then the fireworks display truly got under way. There were a lot of misfirings in the damp weather, and three men assisting were burned, one losing his eyesight. A stray rocket set fire to the gown of a lady spectator who was unceremoniously stripped to her underwear to save her life.
By 9.30pm part of the pavilion was on fire and had to be demolished to save the rest. However, there was so much gunpowder trapped in fireworks which had refused to light, it became a futile fight against the inevitable. The entire edifice turned into a giant explosive bonfire which was still burning at 2am. One writer of the time muttered that there were hardly any colours to be seen, even before the conflagration.
Today, the range of colours and form in aerial displays almost defies description. It is that “roar of strong thunder” which has been subdued as the move is for ‘quiet’ fireworks so as not to unduly disturb both wild and domesticated animals.
I can understand that. But feeling the shockwave of air pressure from the retort emphasises the spectacle and taps into our emotions. This is why low-noise fireworks are often synchronised with rousing music.
Sorry, Mr Handel. No orchestra.
Sources: various pages Wikipedia; YouTube; RoyalParks.org.uk; Londonist.com
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Regards - Linda Acaster
Portals to the Past