Over ten thousand people enjoyed Rye Bonfire Night on Saturday 15 November, the vast majority returning year after year. For Henry Burrell 2025 was a first, so what did he think of it?
“I’ve been standing here half an hour,” someone pointedly tells me as I try to shuffle onto the pavement opposite Rye Library to see 2025’s huge bonfire night procession sweep past.
I shifted myself back behind the patient local I had accidentally stood in front of. In spite of the huge crowds this is the closest my night came to any type of trouble whatsoever, a reflection of a family-friendly event and clearly THE Rye calendar highlight.
There are more pictures and reaction from this year’s spectacular Rye Bonfire Night here.
I moved to Rye in May, and the build-up to bonfire night has been palpable. I’ve been most impressed at the town’s apparent restraint in referring to it as Rye Fawkes, an open goal of a pun that this town seems just too classy to fully embrace.
I later learn this is the name given to the person who lights the bonfire. Such a newbie.
Despite my recent move to Rye, a fresh collection of friends barely six months old already feel like old pals, and it’s to one of their terraced homes at the beginning of the route that my wife Miriam and I head at 5pm to toast the evening and figure out what’s ahead.
At about 6.45pm, we think we’ve missed the start of the procession as homemade hot dogs go flying and people race to put their shoes on, but it’s a false alarm. The mechanised dragon is merely heading up Ferry Road to get in position, a hoard of torches in hot pursuit before a U-turn.
Video Martin and Kt bruce
At the library (tall ones at the back, please), we watch as the bonfire societies pass by torches blazing, each in their individual colours and costumes. Convicts. Monks. Pirates. Random. Proudly led by Rye of course, and the drummers.
“Scorcher! Scorcher!” the crowd shouts as the fire-breathing dragon passes by. So that’s what it’s called.
The same crowd are commentating too, welcoming the different towns and villages in the procession. Roberttttsbriddddgggge. Hailllshammm. Issfeeyullllllddd.
An onlooker stands out for being quite drunk, a sight I am glad to report was rare. As he bends down to pick up a discarded but still-flaming torch, a sharp chorus of warning chimes out from every bonfire society member in sight. This collective warning is followed by one member calling him out loudly – an awkward full stop to his initial terrible decision.
I think about heading back to Jempson’s to grab some supplies before the walk over to see the bonfire and the boat being burned, the reasons behind such aquatic animosity remaining unexplained to me. No one seems to know, but nor does it really seem to matter.
I go without a refuel as we cut up past Ypres Castle to beat the crowd heading down the High Street. Aren’t we the locals now!
Before we know it, we are metres from an impressive inferno, the blaze silhouetted by far more tricorne hats than I remember seeing in the procession. No one makes a health and safety joke as pops and bangs loudly punctuate the night. The firework display cuts through the mist and smoke with thousands looking skyward.
I can’t imagine how much effort goes into making Rye Bonfire Night, and from so many people too.
The next morning, I walk around the deserted town. It is like nothing happened. On the Salts I pass the smouldering evidence of last night’s grand declaration of Sussex tradition.
I’m happy I moved to a town that’s keeping it alive.
Image Credits: Kt bruce , Tony Ham , Mary & Mick Design .
I remember seeing Bonfire Night processions from the upstairs window of my great aunt’s house in Tower Street around 1950. Quite a sight for a youngster! According to tales in the family, the custom in the nineteenth century was to drag a burning boat through the town. Imagine the screams from Health and Safety.