3. A fireworks night to end them all by Anne Manchester and Sam Hatcher

When David decided in 2002 that he was going to join the Army, I must say I was doubtful he would have the discipline or stamina to stick with it.

But how wrong I was! I accompanied him to an introductory afternoon for applicants and their families, an opportunity to ask questions and meet some of the Army personnel. Later, I helped him buy his gear for the 12-week basic training course in Waiouru, including boot polish, toiletries, an ironing board and iron. Farewelling him at Wellington Railway Station as he mingling with the other rather disheveled and pimply young recruits, each equipped with their own ironing board, was a heart-wrenching moment for me. Our relationship was still rather taut, and our goodbyes awkward and rather distant.

Would David be able to stay the course? Who would his new friends be? Would he be able to make the radical changes in his life that Army discipline required?

A couple of weeks later I began receiving rather tender letters from David. I could see the experience was maturing and changing him within a very short timeframe. He wanted me to visit him during the occasional family visits they allowed during this training period. Already he seemed so much more relaxed and comfortable in his own skin, warmer and more open in his feelings towards me. Army training began feeling like a rite of passage for us both.

New friends were emerging - Sam Hatcher and Scott Bennett in particular. I could tell living at close quarters with these young men, out on exercise and in the barracks, was teaching David some great lessons about loyalty and dependability. One story Sam told me was about David having to carry Sam on his back to safety and medical assistance after he had almost developed frost bite in his toes, following a night camping out in freezing conditions. And Sam, too, had carried David on his back when he was in trouble. It sounded like a parable to me.

David was obviously responding well to the “ears open, mouth shut” philosophy of those early training days. He wanted to get through the course and be able to “march out” on his graduation proudly and confidently. To see him on the parade ground on march out day, looking so handsome in his dress uniform, his boots shining, and his eyes clear and determined was incredibly moving for all David’s family, but perhaps for me in particular. Old wounds were healing and a new chapter in our relationship as mother and son beginning.

But the spirited, determined David, the David whose fascination with all things incendiary, had not disappeared. And the story I heard from Sam one day about how they celebrated Guy Fawkes together in late October 2004 confirmed absolutely that David’s life-long passion for fireworks and explosions remained undimmed.

Who eggs on whom, I wonder? Who suggests they pool their money and buy $600 worth of sparklers from the Palmerston North Warehouse, the store’s entire stock? Much scheming and planning ensues, as sparklers are peeled open, their gunpowder contents poured into piles, then bound into bundles, the fuses tied and the “bombs” held together by gaffer tape. It is the ultimate in fun for David, as they work late into the night making bombs of all sizes, using one of those ubiquitous ironing boards as a table.

How successful will these sparkler bombs be? Some experiments on the rubbish bins around the Linton Army Camp barracks follow. They produce some pretty good explosions. But what about blowing up something more exciting? How about that old gun pit down on the demolition range? It hasn’t been used for years and no-one will miss it if they blow it sky high. David, the proud field engineer, is a little reluctant, not wanting to land himself in a heap of trouble and blot his copy book.

But Sam urges him on and David warms to the idea, overcoming his fear of getting caught. They lay the bombs, then throw the lighter to each other, undecided who will light the fuse. It falls to Sam in the end, then the two of them make a run for it, adrenalin pumping. A deep bang reverberates from the gun pit, the sound echoing and bouncing off the trees around the range. This is a fireworks night to end them all.

Suddenly they hear voices and torches are coming in their direction through the darkness. The last thing they want is to be caught by the military police (MPs) and held in custody over night. If they get caught, the consequences could be quite bad, as being in illegal possession of explosives is deemed a very serious offence. The best thing to do is to get to the river as fast as possible, cross over via the water pipe and make their escape into Palmerston North. When things have calmed down, they can then sneak back into camp, their exploits, with a bit of luck, undetected. All goes well, till Sam falls off the pipe. David laughs so hard, he falls off the pipe too and they must swim the last few metres through the murky water. They take off their clothes, ring out the worst of the water, then head for the city, hoping their clothes will dry a little more on route.

Half an hour later, they reach a taxi rank, jump into one of the cabs and head back to Linton. All seems to be going well, until they realise neither of them can pay the driver. The driver and David wait while Sam heads into camp to find his wallet. Taxi paid, they both make their way back to the barracks, passing the duty complex en route. There the MPs do indeed apprehend them, suspicious at seeing their wet clothes. They question them about what they have been up to. Were they trying to evade paying the taxi driver perhaps? Oddly enough, they are never charged with blowing up the gun pit. Of course people are suspicious it may have been them, but they have no evidence, other than the fact they were seen round the barracks earlier in the evening letting off fireworks. To have got away with such an exploit is a triumph for them both.

When David arrived in Eastbourne a week later to spend the weekend with me, I asked him if he had any special plans for Guy Fawke’s night. He told me he was kind of over it and didn’t think he’d bother this time. An extraordinary development, I thought. But I had no idea at that stage that nothing could beat the night the gun pit was blown to smithereens with sparkler bombs.

I have now heard this story on a number of occasions. The first was when Sam told it at the blessing of David’s memorial seat at Greenwood Park in July 2005. I think James had just told the story about how he and David, as little boys, had once set fire to the park, run home and hoped no one would find out they were the culprits. Sam was obviously inspired to cap that little anecdote when he took the microphone to remember his best friend.

And I heard it again when we gathered to mark what would have been David’s 26th birthday in November 2009. We begged Sam to tell it once again, especially for Sandy who had never heard it. Then the women who were perhaps closest to David during his life – his mother, grandmother, Aunt Catherine and Emma -- blew out the birthday candles on his favourite banana cake and, as the little flames were extinguished and the wisps of smoke dispersed, we sent forth our love to our beloved David whose absence still tears our insides apart.