Why don't you make some fun rockets that blow up
an expanded pearoast-

Having learned stuff in GCSE chemistry and extrapolated on my knowledge with freely available reference material from the library, myself and two co-conspiritors used to experiment with anything from trying to make intoxicants by distilling essences of British woodland herbs (if we'd have succeeded we'd be dead, there's plenty of whack natural substances out there even in British woodland) and also propellants for rockets (which was the original aim).

We constructed the recipe for old fashioned black powder (civil-war era gunpowder) from its constituents, to fuel our desires to make our own firework-size rockets.

Sulphur ('flowers of') was surprisingly available over the counter from Boots (turns out they are a Chemist after all). Carbon powder was made by inserting hammer-smashed fragments of barbecue briquettes into C.'s mum's coffee bean grinder and giving it a whizz- and my my, that did a good job, making powdery black clouds wafting on the breeze in C.'s garage, so choking that we did the clicheed bandit Wet Handkerchief/Nose thing, to filter out the muck before it was hoovered up our noses and our lungs died of silicosis. While the carbon powder was impure, it was effective when powdered to such a fine degree.

We faked photo ID (using Letraset rub-down lettering no less!) to make purchases from a Birmingham-based lab supplier (Hoggs) as no-one in their right mind sold saltpetre to kids, so sodium nitrate was acquired under the guise of us being the office juniors from a local film effects company that specialised in pyrotechnics.

While there we ordered some powdered zinc and magnesium to add 'zing' (sparks)and then had to formulate the physical rocket casings to contain the fuel.

'C.' found some old aluminium tent poles and set to work cutting lengths, crimping off one end and lighting the other once it had been tamped down with the powdered solid fuel.

My design was inspired by nature, using discovered excess bamboo curtain rail (did the Chinese not make rockets from these?). Except, this was about a 30mm bore but nonetheless... bamboo was naturally compartmentalised aong its length, so drilling a hole in the section to charge it with fuel, screwing on tin-snipped stabilising fins and adding a card 'nose cone' for aerodynamic purposes was meant to yield a spaceworthy rocket.

Ignition of the fuel was provided by a procession of tightly-packed match heads being sellotaped into a cylinder to make a fuse that could be ignited (with yet another match) but giving time for a sensible retreat to behind a nearby thick-trunked tree.

We were ready to go for our test shots up a rural hill in the locality,at night, which meant that meant no windows would be getting broken or cops summoned. C.'s rocket shot off into the night with a satisfying whoosh- the zinc addition making a trail of pleasing sparks. My masterpiece of 17th century Chinese-inspired weaponry? Instead of shooting off into the distance it decided to promptly explode in a shower of sooty bamboo fragments. Oh. Disappointment.

Next revised plan- use stronger rocket casing. The tent poles were no longer available so I hied me to a local ironmonger/hardware supplier who not only sold chromed shower rail but also had a pipe cutter to cut it into uniform 30cm lengths. The fact it was shower rail and chromed was irrelevant, it was good thick steel pipe with a 1mm wall thickness.

My next rocket didn't blow apart as such but the propellant did ignite with a bang rather than a burn (the magnesium powder reaching its flash point probably raised the combustion temperature too quickly) so it seemed that I'd got a starter pistol instead of a rocket.

Hang on.

What I have is a proto-firearm.

can the thrust be reversed, and project a....AN... projectile?

I already had a box of desoldered polypropelene capacitors (from an old TV set I had disassembled) that was cylindrical and of an appropriate bore for the cylinder so I experimented with fuelling the tube, drilling a hole in the end for ignition and stuffing a close-fitting cap into the muzzle to hold in the charge but also being the 'bullet', while knowing that a blunt light plastic cap wouldn't carry the kinetic energy or slice through the air enough to be a dangerous weapon. More of a science project.

Affixing a hand grip (the wooden handle from a paint scraper with a jubilee clip screwed into its butt and holding the tube firmly) it resembled a crude gun.

I set off from study leave for my GCSEs with it in my bag, having shown it to people at school on the last day and having a fair amount of scorn and cynicism thrown my way for the rough appearance of my pikey supposed shooter. Looks did not flatter it.

So- I was stung by that derision and decided to demonstrate. I got it out of the bag to further disbelieving hoots of mockery and lit the match-head fuse. The fuel caught and jetted a 6-inch flame of hissing bright white chemical burn out of the rear fuse hole, which didn't result in the usual bang, but after a few seconds terminated with a organ-pipe toned 'phoot' as the rest of the charge ignited and shot the capacitor across the gap to the rail bridge where it pinged off. All of a sudden, silence followed by some of the cockiest kids reassessing my 'non cool' status. (spoiler alert, it never really changed).

But flushed with success, I set about reloading the tube and showing some of my non-school buddies. Let us go down the park in the early evening when it would be quiet.

The Audience of about 8 teen associates watches expectedly as I point the 'gun' out over the extensive duck pond for the demonstration. I'm an old hand at this now, practically a pro.

Light the fuse, listen to the fizz of the chemicals lighting up, wait for the expected sooty phoot. Await applause.

Except, this time, *BANG* and a brilliant white flash.

.
.
.
.
and I can't see.


ears are ringing, yet I can hear the sound of hasty hoofbeats as the previously-keen watchers beat a path to the general direction of Away, and I can only feel what I knew was directly in front of me, the railings around the duck pond, but I couldn't see anything. It wasn't darkness, it wasn't black it was just...absence of an input signal. Even black would have been an input, neither was it the snowstorm pattern of a TV with the aerial out- just.... no sight.

I was so scared and alone and aware that expected pain might be dimmed by physical shock...is there pain still to come?...how much of my face still is in place? Everything is tingly... I still can't see.... just waiting for the pain to kick in...oh shitshitshit what will my parents say shitshitshit... my life is over...I'll die a virgin (this was important back then)...

Then, having had just enough time to consider all the grisly options, my sight came back. I had been dazzled, no more. To quote the prisoner played by Michael Palin in the Life of Brian, 'You Lucky, Lucky bastard'. Hence my most scared moment.

I still went on to make them blow up even more but without holding on to them, and then the police finally cottoned on and found me and my fun stopped then. Just as well, if I'd ahve tried that these days I'd have ended up in Guantanamo bay....
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Thu 5 Apr 2012, 19:41, 1 reply)

damn!
why didn't you go to my school?
( real i'm not happy 'til you're not happy, Fri 6 Apr 2012, 1:13, closed)