Oh Henry!

Chapter One. Crime and Punishment.

Chapter One 

Crime and Punishment 

The war had ended.  Dad was home for good. Now villagers were building a bonfire in the cricket field to celebrate VJ Day- just like the one on VE Day. Mum said there was bound to be a firework display too. This sounded like a lot of fun, but I thought it would be even more fun if Rev, P.C., and I built our own bonfire.  

I must have been born a pyromaniac. I loved to gaze into the flickering flames and bask in their warmth. If only I could get my hands on some of those magic sticks Mum used to light the fire. She kept them in some secret place. 

One day I was watching Mum bake when there was a knock on the front door. After wiping her flour-covered hands on her apron, she went to answer. I could see the tempting red box on the stove. She had forgotten it. In a flash, I climbed on a stool, grabbed the box, and ran out the back door to find my friends. 

Rev and P.C. were always easy to find as they lived on the same short street and could invariably be found playing on the nearby church green. They greeted my rattling of the box with great excitement. They had never played with matches either. Rev, who seemed to know everything, assured me that was what the fire sticks were called, but I had my doubts. They didn't seem to match anything.  

All of us knew that we shouldn't be playing with them, but what were three pre-schoolers supposed to do. It was VJ Day after all - a perfect day to make a fire. 

We scoured the green, looking for waste paper, bits of wood, and some black stones. Successful, we retreated to a nearby garden where I built a fire exactly as my mother would have done. We soon found out that the rain, which had fallen the night before, was going to cause some problems. Despite repeated attempts not even the paper would burn. Only three matches remained and we were nowhere near having a fire.  

"Maybe we should try and burn some of that grass under the wall," said Rev. "It looks pretty dry and there's lots of it." 

The grass, yellowing at the tips, was only slightly damp. I carefully piled it into what Rev called a TP shape and then P.C. struck a match. Success! We had found something that burned. Flames flared up along the yellow edges and rapidly moved along the stalk to the green, where a gentle hiss replaced the crackling sound. The small yellow flames slowly disappeared in a haze of blue smelly smoke. Not what you would call a bonfire! 

"What happened?" I asked. 

"Green grass just doesn't burn, but the yellow does. All we need is a pile of yellow stuff." 

"Good idea Rev," said P.C. "But we'd better make sure it's dry because we have only two matches left." 

We all agreed that this should work and immediately set about the task of collecting dry yellow grass. This proved difficult; most of the grass looked green and juicy. However, under the hedge at the bottom of the garden we found the remains of some flowers that had withered and dried. The flower stalks were the right colour and definitely dry. 

"Hey look they snap off dead easy and feel just like raffia," said P.C. 

"What's raffia?" I asked. 

"The stuff we use in Sunday school to make thingamagigs." 

"Oh that. I hope it burns like crazy because I can't stand the stuff. Come on Rev, we have enough now. Time to light our fire." 

This time we had it right. We could even warm our hands in the glow from the burning stems but the smoke was a nuisance. It had a terrible smell and when it got in my eyes, I started to cry. Luckily, neither P.C. nor Rev noticed. Eventually the flames started to flicker and fade. In a desperate attempt to keep the flames alive Rev threw some nearby twigs on to the hot ashes. The smoke thickened. I heard the sizzle.