Reflections on our night
I was a bit nervous to be honest that I would be the only person dressed as a pirate when I walked down to the High Street on Smugglers Night. Imagine my surprise when turning the corner when confronted with literally hundreds of pirates and smugglers. That was a relief if fact if you were not dressed up and only part of the onlookers I think you must of felt really left out.
I had an inkling something was up as I approached because of the incessant sound of drums in the air You could not work out where exactly they were coming from the beach, the high street or the pond? The answer was all of them!
Marching down the High Street was a real thrill, the flames flickering and glow from flares lighting up the December night.
The pubs were packed everyone seemed to be having a fantastic time, can we do this every Saturday?
Procession Marshall and Organiser
At the end of the evening when the final drummers had beat their ‘last surrender’ and retired to the Queen Victoria I followed them in for a drink. The bar was heaving and a high state of excitement echoed still as smugglers and pirates settled with the public to wind down after the evenings festivities.
I found a quiet a spot out back with my Harvey’s that wasn’t that quiet. Smokers gathered under the awning, all around me buzzing with stories about the evening. I realised that not only did I not want to talk it was almost that I couldn’t. The adrenaline was leaving my body so fast I felt like I was almost in a state of mourning.
I had not slept for over 36 hours fuelled on excitement and apprehension. Now it was over and the relief of getting the procession through the village safely seemed at that moment like a physical presence.
I sat quiet, surrounded by strangers and felt a weight lift away skywards leaving me a hollow husk of the person I had been an hour ago.
My glass emptied. I rose fragile and traipsed back to the bar. But that solitary personal moment had etched itself into my memory more than any firework.