Weeks before Bon Fire night we’d go ‘Chumpin’ for chumps.’ Chumps were any piece of wood or branches and chumpin’ was collecting them. We’d go chumpin’ in Lillands wood. We thought nothing of chopping down small trees and dragging them back to the Bonfire. Neighbours would give us Windsor chairs, chaise longues, chest of drawers which all went on the fire thus ensuring their antique scarcity value in the future. The fire was usually built with a tunnel to a den in the centre. This was so the fire could be guarded from rival gangs intent on stealing your chumps or worse still setting them on fire. I never quite understood the logic of guarding a Bonfire from the inside, “a pile of chumps with chumps inside”.

The night before Bonfire night was ‘Mischief Night.’ Mam if she remembered put a bucket of water on the gas cooker to catch any bangers or worse still jumping crackers dropped down the chimney.
A favourite trick was called ‘Bullroaring’. We’d stuff as much crumpled newspaper as we could up someone’s cast iron drainpipe, then we’d light it. If conditions were right the paper would burn fiercely like a blowlamp. The drainpipe sucked in air and roared like a rocket. It was quite alarming for the owners of the house but if they were lucky their drainpipe didn’t crack. Nowadays with plastic drainpipes they'd just melt.

The ‘Sneck trick’ was a particularly unpleasant coprophilliac caper. A sneck is the lever device that goes through a door to lift the latch so you could open the door. You held the handle, pressed the sneck down with your thumb; this lifted and disengaged the latch so the door could be opened. I think the whole thing is now called a ‘Suffolk Latch’.

The trick was to stick a drawing pin smeared with dog muck on the sneck. The dog muck helped to keep the drawing pin in place; ‘Blue-tack’ not having been invented yet. The unsuspecting person wishing to gain entry would press their thumb on the sneck thus pricking themselves on the prepared drawing pin. They then would automatically suck the thumb with the dog muck on. I think it was more the thought of it that seemed to amuse. I never saw it actually happen, but it's worth bearing in mind if you’re in Suffolk on mischief night!

From. ‘A glossary of Dialect of Almondbury & Huddersfield.’ Easther.
When Mr Franks, Vicar of Huddersfleld, was about to appoint a new incumbent to Slaithwaite, an old disciple well known for his plain speaking said, “Yo’ mun ha’ one ‘at’ll go to t’thumb-sneck as well as to t’brass rapper.” i.e. Call on rich and poor alike.

A 'SUFFOLK LATCH' WITH DRAWING PIN AND 'DOGGIE DO'

Another dog dung jape was to find a fresh lump, preferably not a white one as they tended to be dry and crumbly. When you got a good specimen put it in paper bag or wrap it in newspaper. Place it on a doorstep, set fire to the whole thing, knock on the door and run away. The householder on opening the door sees the fire and stamps it out. Thus getting 'doggie do do' all over his or her shoes. This prank is particularly satisfying if the dung is from their dog.

The taller boys supposedly indulged in peeing through letterboxes. I never met the legendary lad who apparently peed through letterboxes and instead of running away would knock on the door and ask how far it had gone. Tying opposite houses doorknobs together with clothesline and knocking on the two doors simultaneously needed planning. Knocking on doors and running away was by far the main prank of kids who wanted to irritate for England.

It of course didn’t work at our house if Doreen and me were out, as Mum and Dad were deaf. Now these kids who were good at knocking on doors and running away have all grown up. What are they all doing now? Grown up japes with a post-rationing cavalier disregard for the cost of comestibles. Are they for example, jamming potatoes up exhaust pipes, putting smelly kippers on car engines or replacing the gear stick knob with a plum? No, I suspect they are still knocking on doors. Even if you have a door bell it’s ignored, they knock very quietly, then they walk away quickly and silently but not before they’ve slipped a card through your letter box to say they’ve been. These kids have all grown up to become meter readers, plumbers, electricians and telephone engineers. They are still irritating England.

Wilf's new book 'My Best Cellar' (his autobiography up to the age of eleven) can now be ordered online. £ 9.99   download book sample here

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