A long, long time ago there was an event we called �cracker night�. About two weeks before the historic date, our local shop at the Gap would sell a great assortment of things that would either go bang in the night or would light up the dark sky in a rainbow of colours. Colourful things were never our appeal – where is the danger in blue, green and pink. No, our interest centered firmly on those items that could blow things up. There was the �tom thumb� which could blow a little hole in a bull ants nest, or the �half penny� which could easily blow up your sister�s afternoon rest. But, at the dangerous end of the arsenal were the �penny bunger� which could blow up everything at home that was not nailed down or the ultimate in weapons of mass destruction, the �double bunger� which could blow up the neighbor�s letterbox – every year! Of all the options on offer, most interest for us boys was directed at the �penny bunger�. This was the best bang-for-bucks value you could get. One penny, about one cent today, was the amount you had to pay for this little marvel. It was about 2 inches long with a 1-inch wick protruding from one end. The gunpowder was housed in a tightly bound bright red casing. It was an implement of war that was feared and respected by us all. Now Penny bunger fights involved two teams of brothers on either side of a high standing and dense scrub. The idea was to light your bunger and throw it over the scrub into the opposition camp. Each explosion that caused the hoped for squeals and yells from the other side gave an equal degree of delight to the brother delivering the pain. It was not long into one fight when I began to notice that we were getting a greater proportion of missiles from David�s side than was reasonable. Then it occurred to me that he was simply throwing back our bungers that we were lighting and getting rid as soon as possible. So the new team instruction was to hold all bungers until the wick had burnt right down to the gunpowder before throwing it. Now this new technique worked fine until one time – I was engrossed in watching the wick burn down, when suddenly BANG! � right above my head came an explosion from the opposition team. I was so busy jumping around and giving the required yells and squeals that I had forgotten about the live one I held in my hand. Now, as my numb fingers reacted to the nuclear blast I finally understood why the letterbox lid would open and shut so many times in response to that �double bunger� attack each year.
