Bonnievale — the name conjures up a flood of memories. I can see the weekender in the Royal National Park, so small it was referred to as The Dolls House. The smell of kerosene as it was poured to kick start the fridge when we arrived, and into lanterns, our only source of light. I can still hear Nan’s cries as the rusa deer came down to eat her red geraniums. Most of all, I remember the excitement of Cracker Night.

Cracker Night is painted in my brain. Nan would make the Guy Fawkes from old clothes stuffed with cotton wool, old leaves, dry grass and anything else that would burn. Dad would attach Catherine wheels for the eyes and mouth and sparklers around the waist. Finally, rockets were attached to the feet.   

Everyone collected driftwood, sticks and any old timber to create a big bonfire stack in the sand on the foreshore, far away from the shacks. Ranger Bill would supply a small dead tree by pulling it down with his tractor for us kids, and dumping it in a hole he’d prepared. Ranger Bill thought we should have a little bonfire of our own. 

Night fell and excitement mounted as the community gathered on the sand. Smells drifted in the air, making us salivate, the aroma of hot dogs, sauce and buns. We lined up, sitting in the sand before our little tree, scoffing hot dogs with sauce dribbling down our faces.    

The bonfires were lit. Pungent smoke filled the air, creating white clouds in the night sky. Flames danced and shadows caressed the sand. Our little tree was ablaze and our excited laughter filled the air as we danced with sparklers, creating rainbow circles in the air. 

The highlight of the night came when the flames of the big bonfire grew higher, hitting Guy Fawkes with a fizz! Whirr! Crackle! Bang! The Catherine wheels turned and churned, sending sparks and colour into the night.

At Bonnievale, Cracker Night was our favourite night of the year.