Lyng 1980

Friday night, darkness had fallen and the crew had given up with last minute preparations and were hanging about outside the crew tent, eating and relaxing. Without announcement a firework banged and blossomed overhead. A minute or more later another starburst lit the sky, followed just as slowly by another.

This slow trickle continued long enough for it to become a joke, each bright explosion greeted with a collective and very mock whoooooooooo of excitement.

Then steadily the pace picked up and one firework became two, three and more, and with the growing intensity the mock awe gradually changed into genuine cries of astonishment as we, and the village of Lyng, were treated, by Wilf and Tim, to a stunning demonstration of pyrotechnic art which built and built to a final abrupt crescendo. We stood shocked in sudden silence and darkness, and before we had time to break into raptures of cheering the silence was broken once more by a single enormous starburst which sparkled out as we shouted our appreciation.