We came to Lewes in May 2000, with two young children, aged three and one. Before we had properly settled in, a dear neighbour had enrolled us in a Bonfire Society. We had little idea what we were letting ourselves in for.

At their first Lewes Bonfire Night, they were four and two. Twenty-six years later, those children are adults, and every Fifth of November they return to Lewes, as they have done throughout their lives. Bonfire Night has become one of the fixed points in our family calendar.

And what different lives they now lead.

Our daughter is an entrepreneur, working with vintage clothing, modelling, appearing as a film and television extra, and working as a costume dresser. Our son, Toby Vernon, is a jeweller whose brand, the ouze, has developed an international presence. From his workshop in central London, his jewellery has found its way to Paris, New York, Hong Kong and Japan.

Yet, whatever else is happening in their lives, Lewes draws them back. For Bonfire, certainly, and in Toby’s case, to support Lewes FC.

Over the years, I’ve marched as a Confederate soldier with Commercial Square Bonfire Society and subsequently as an eighteenth-century pirate with Southover. I’ve experienced Bonfire from within the processions, in costume, surrounded by flaming torches, drums, smoke and thousands of spectators.

More recently, as a Lewes Town Councillor, I’ve watched the celebrations from the Council Chamber overlooking the High Street. It’s a rather different perspective on the same extraordinary spectacle.

There is something remarkable about a town that devotes so much energy, ingenuity, organisation and collective enthusiasm to a single night. Lewes Bonfire is many things: history, theatre, ritual, satire, remembrance, community and, of course, an enormous amount of noise.

But for me, increasingly, it’s about family.

Our house, which generally accommodates three adults, is expanding to five tonight. Everyone will be coming and going at different times, and there’s little point attempting a formal dinner.

Instead, I’ve been cooking. Chipolata sausages and chicken thighs, nestled in a rich gravy of slowly caramelised onions, enriched with Harvey’s Dark Ale. There will be sourdough bread for mopping up the gravy, or mashed potatoes for anyone wanting something more substantial.

The idea is simple: a large pot of something delicious, ready whenever someone comes through the door, cold, hungry and smelling faintly of bonfire smoke.

Given the restrictions on getting into and out of Lewes tonight, I’ve cancelled my swimming coaching. There are evenings when the town simply takes precedence over everything else.

And so, twenty-six years after arriving here, we’ll gather again. The costumes have changed, the children have grown up, and my vantage point has shifted from the procession to the Council Chamber and, increasingly, the kitchen.

But the Fifth of November remains what our neighbour made it all those years ago: a family tradition.

And one of the reasons I love living in Lewes.

Twenty-Six Years of Lewes Bonfire

We came to Lewes in May 2000, with two very young children, aged three and one. Before we had properly settled in, a dear neighbour had enrolled us in a Bonfire Society. We had little idea what we were letting ourselves in for.

By their first Lewes Bonfire Night, they were four and two. Twenty-six years later, those children are adults, and every Fifth of November they return to Lewes, as they have done throughout their lives. Bonfire Night has become one of the fixed points in our family calendar.

And what different lives they now lead.

Our daughter is an entrepreneur, working with vintage clothing, modelling, appearing as a film and television extra, and working as a costume dresser. Our son, Toby Vernon, is a jeweller whose brand, the ouze, has developed an international presence. From his workshop in central London, his jewellery has found its way to Paris, New York, Hong Kong and Japan.

Yet, whatever else is happening in their lives, Lewes draws them back. For Bonfire, certainly, and in Toby’s case, to support Lewes FC.

Over the years, I’ve marched as a Confederate soldier with Commercial Square Bonfire Society and subsequently as an eighteenth-century pirate with Southover. I’ve experienced Bonfire from within the processions, in costume, surrounded by flaming torches, drums, smoke and thousands of spectators.

More recently, as a Lewes Town Councillor, I’ve watched the celebrations from the Council Chamber overlooking the High Street. It’s a rather different perspective on the same extraordinary spectacle.

There is something remarkable about a town that devotes so much energy, ingenuity, organisation and collective enthusiasm to a single night. Lewes Bonfire is many things: history, theatre, ritual, satire, remembrance, community and, of course, an enormous amount of noise.

But for me, increasingly, it’s about family.

Our house, which generally accommodates three adults, is expanding to five tonight. Everyone will be coming and going at different times, and there’s little point attempting a formal dinner.

Instead, I’ve been cooking. Chipolata sausages and chicken thighs, nestled in a rich gravy of slowly caramelised onions, enriched with Harvey’s Dark Ale. There will be sourdough bread for mopping up the gravy, or mashed potatoes for anyone wanting something more substantial.

The idea is simple: a large pot of something delicious, ready whenever someone comes through the door, cold, hungry and smelling faintly of bonfire smoke.

Given the restrictions on getting into and out of Lewes tonight, I’ve cancelled my swimming coaching. There are evenings when the town simply takes precedence over everything else.

And so, twenty-six years after arriving here, we’ll gather again. The costumes have changed, the children have grown up, and my vantage point has shifted from the procession to the Council Chamber and, increasingly, the kitchen.

But the Fifth of November remains what our neighbour made it all those years ago: a family tradition.

And one of the reasons I love living in Lewes.